The Road Narrows As You Go

by Lee Henderson

  Piper smiled. You’re cut from the same cloth as your man over there, he said.

  Who, Frank?

  Ha! No, but yes, him, too. I meant your friend Jonjay. Single-minded.

  Oh, yeah, me and those boys. Those two are nothing alike, but somehow I’m like both of them.

  I get that sense, said Piper. And that’s in addition to being your own person.

  A few minutes later, as we climbed down from the top of the rockpile with Sue, we heard the two of them laugh.

  Would you look at that, Wendy said, looking pleased with herself and frightened all at once as she pointed to the sailing stone at her feet. It was a flat slab of dolomite with a black top and on it there was an egg frying.

  Sunnyside up and crispy on the edges, she said and peeled the egg off the rock and ate it.

  Frank labelled his rubbings of the sailing stone’s path in numbered order, put them into the dufflebag with the other packs. Justine hovered around the back hatch and seemed to be doing math in her head.

  Kravis had enough of walking around in the pool of nothingness and came to watch Frank.

  So is this kid the one moving all these stones around?

  That’s no kid, said Frank Fleecen.

  Kravis pressed his hands to his hips and squinted. Know what I like most about it here in this dry emptiness? We are safe from Securities Exchange agents. We can say anything. Fucking liberating, isn’t it? Nobody calling. Nobody watching. There’s no one hiding around the corner.

  Don’t threaten me, Kravis. I don’t care where we are. There’s nothing left to talk about. Our business together is over.

  I thought we were partners …, said Kravis as if he was coo-cooing a baby.

  Frank snorted. Partners, says the tapeworm.

  All the work I’ve done for you. Don’t turn your back on me now. I’m not blind. I see the deals you aren’t cutting me in on.

  I’m not colluding with you, Kravis. Find some other sucker to break the law for you.

  Oh, so, then why do I still have a carbon copy of a cheque you wrote me, and an invoice for services rendered? I guess I forgot to destroy these.

  Frank said, calmly, If you’ve come all this way to extort me, let me dash your hopes on these stones right now. I’m not afraid of you. You’re a gnat sucking blood off the anus of Wall Street. I will crush you slowly.

  You’re funny, Frank. Extortion? Ha! You’re not used to being the one in debt, are you? Kravis said contemptuously.

  We walked alone through the quiescence. How fast was the pace of change in a place like this? Just the two of us assistants, Mark and Rachael, walking together, feeling once again like freeloaders along for a crazy joyride in a Gulfstream IV to this frying pan. There was nothing else to do but walk so we walked. Except make rubbings. So we rubbed more trails behind sailing stones for Jonjay. Our sense of time was in some ways heightened in the Racetrack Playa, where time did not matter, by our shadows stretching longer by the hour. Time was also the cacophony of our shoes in our ears compared to the vast silence of the motionless lifeless landscape. Mark finished off Justine’s bottle of vodka and had to be carried most of the way back to the Jeeps.

  Standing there at the Jeeps watching their shadows stretch were Wendy, Frank, Piper, and soon Justine Witlaw’s long, bobbing shadow joined our group and minutes later she arrived and stood next to us. It was her idea to buckle Mark into a Jeep so he would be out of the sun. Jonjay had collected over a hundred pages in the dufflebag and that was enough rubbings, we thought. We were ready to go. Frank asked where the other two were, Jonjay and his wife, Sue.

  Wendy checked her wrist for the time. But she didn’t wear a watch.

  We waited. Then we spread out a bit and started to call their names.

  Jonjay?

  Sue?

  Sue?

  Jonjay?

  There was no way of telling how far our voices carried across the playa, but they didn’t seem to carry at all. No matter how loud we shouted. Talking into the vacuum of the desert, or the portal of it, sometimes when we called out it sounded like we didn’t say anything at all, and other times we heard voices from across the aural mirage of a great distance. We heard the wind say, Sue? Sue? Where are you, Sue? In Death Valley, the wind could roar in and make no impression on the bright blue jar of day glittering over us with sunspots. And the moon was up there too, it had gotten into position long before the sun gave up its time in the sky. The hard mattress of the Racetrack Playa was lunar and stretched for miles in every direction. Sue? And a thousand troughs in the rock led into scalding, dead-end canyons. Jonjay? The canyons opened into more canyons. Jonjay? The mountains cliffs stood shoulder to shoulder like Haight-Ashbury homes. Where could they be? A giant sand dune reclined in the nude, sunbathing her long, bare legs.

  This can’t be happening again, said Justine. He can’t have. Oh balls. Frank and Wendy didn’t hear, as they searched face-first into the gale force of the wind coming out of the canyons.

  It was late into the afternoon and the sun would set soon. We had to leave now if we wanted to make it back to the Gulfstream before dark. That narrow road was treacherous in broad daylight. We shouldn’t stay on the playa any longer except they were gone. Exfoliating sandstorms and numbing drops in temp were known to rip through the playa at night. We wanted to call for help. It was not safe here. We had to find them. They were nowhere to be seen. We had to get out of Death Valley. Time was running out. Night would kill us all. We waited a little longer for them to return. We didn’t all want to be stranded, though. We must go. Yes, we must. It was time to leave Death Valley. Call for help at the nearest phone.

  I’m not leaving without them. They’ll die out here. Wendy was close to tears.

  The Motorola! said Frank and ran to the Jeep. His searched in his belongings for the cellular phone. He dialed. But he had no reception. Fuck, he said and threw the phone as far as he could into the playa. Frank said he would stay behind and hope to find them. He said, Leave me a Jeep. Then he went and dutifully picked up his broken phone.

  Piper Shepherd stepped up and said he would stay with Frank and not leave the Racetrack until we returned with help. And because Wendy was staying, Rachael immediately said she would, too.

  I don’t care, Justine pouted, I’ll drive. I can’t stand to look at this place one more second. The first phone I see, she said, I’ll tell them it’s an emergency. She took the Jeep with all the traces Jonjay did from the playa. For all anyone knew, his last works.

  Wendy said, Jonjay, he’s pure pranks. But Sue is not going to let this last. They are bound to show up.

  Even Kravis, who was not used to being silent, didn’t say a word the entire way back to the airport. The reflected desert burned in his eyes. Justine drove with her chin over the steering wheel with an eye out for potholes and rocks. Mark half slept. At the Stovepipe airport we notified the authorities, then Frank’s pilots flew us home while search and rescue considered what to do about Sue and Jonjay.

  Piper suggested we split up into pairs and circle the playa in opposite directions and meet up on the other side to learn if any one had seen anything. We could take it from there. That sounded fine to all of us except that was a three-mile radius. It was almost dark. Let’s just take the Jeep, said Wendy.

  No, he’s right, we should walk, said Frank. I don’t want to miss any clues. We might find her notebook or a pen … something.

  So Rachael and Piper split off and went one direction, Frank and Wendy went south to look for a mark of the missing.

  What we remember most about Death Valley was the relativity of things, the relativity of our size compared to the desert, and our weight, how incredibly heavy we felt, how our feet sucked to the ground, and how we shrank, shrank down to pea-sized, then to the size of a grain of sand, then smaller than that, to the size of the universe itself, one chiliocosm spinning among many. The heaviest, smallest things ever to exist, that’s what the desert told us we human beings were. Like those stones on t
he floor of the Racetrack Playa, we were sailing across this dry seabed on the coracles of our imaginations, a mystery even to ourselves.

  We didn’t see anything, we told Frank and Wendy.

  Neither did we, said Frank. But his face said he’d seen something.

  21

  According to Wendy, who told us later what happened, Frank kept saying strange, ominous things to her while they walked the edge of the playa. He was at first solemn and introspective, and so was she. The disappearance was aesthetic, that’s what Wendy believed. It was a vanishing for art. But that didn’t mean they would just as soon appear, it probably meant gone. Nothing moved except the wind. Blasting them with heat, the wind was like the door to the oven opening and shutting in their faces. They traced the perimeter of the playa where it met the slopes of the Cottonwood Mountains, looking to the ground for tracks, shoe prints, anything.

  Frank was soaked in sweat. The webbing of his toupée stuck to his forehead. He wiped away the sweat rivering down his eyebrows onto his cheeks. His shirt clung to his chest.

  Why would they vanish together? Wendy said. Maybe they climbed into the mountains and fell. In all these years, he never mentioned her name. Did they know each other?

  I don’t know, said Frank. I never introduced them. She knew his art because I bought those pictures … and the formula … so I mentioned him a few times over the years of course. Sue has an interest in art, for her writing. My wife’s writing, my financial business—that part of our lives is separate from our marriage.

  Sue doesn’t seem like the kind of person to play along with a prank like this, Wendy said. Unlike Jonjay, she might understand how worried we’d be and care.

  Frank’s eyes were up at the peak of the mountain, where the shadows were darkest, forming caves in the rock that channelled deep. There’s a lot I don’t know about her, I guess, he said.

  The North Star was out. The heavens were the colour of Delft. It was five in the afternoon.

  Ever since I first laid eyes on you …, Frank began.

  What do you mean? Wendy said. The more I think about it the more I’m sure they’re alive, they’ve just run away. You drove them away or … I don’t know what.

  You don’t believe that.

  Why do you like me, Frank? I don’t get it, we’re so different.

  We’re both here, aren’t we? He took her by the shoulders and pressed her to him, embraced her. She pulled away and asked what he thought he was doing. He mashed his chest against hers violently, as if trying to catch her, but she wasn’t falling. She twisted her neck and he took her by the jaw and brought her mouth to his and kissed her. She kissed him back.

  Then they remembered where they were—they could be seen, so they began walking again in silence. Frank stared at her the whole time as if on a cliff asking, What next?

  We decided to rest for now inside the old clay hut Kravis found earlier in the day, when it was still hot out. There we would discuss what to do next. The last breath of daytime remained on the charcoal horizon. Frank pried open the door and we all went inside and made ourselves at home. Frank lit the gas light and Piper poured drinks and lit a cigar. Wendy regarded the paintings on the wall, then went and sat on the bed beside Rachael while Frank walked back and forth under the gas light hanging from a hook in the ceiling.

  There’s no use pacing, said Wendy. Nothing more to do for now, so sit down. She patted the empty space on the bed beside her. It broke Frank out of the spell and he sat down. All at once, his shoulders slouched forward and he began shivering. Wendy put her hand on his back and tried to warm him up. Rachael got up and went and sat next to Piper in a wicker chair at the little card table and lit a cigar for herself.

  The park ranger arrived around seven o’clock. She was a handsome if dehydrated figure. Charismatic and tall, she had to bend to fit through the cavernous clay doorway. She pulled off her Tilley Endurables hat and shook out a mane of dusty blond hair, said, Make yourselves comfortable. Piper Shepherd’s long pants were this ranger’s short pants. Piper’s short pants might fit as the ranger’s panties. She was in her fifties, one of those women of the atomic age with doll’s hair, a fuselage brassiere pressed tightly against her khaki shirt by a tight black belt cinched around her hourglass waist. Callused man-hands, selfless maternal Earth-loving cowgirl, born to dominate in any field. In this woman’s case, that field was scorched earth.

  You’re welcome to smoke. Can I pour anyone a drink? All the art on the walls you see is by yours truly and for sale if you want to know a price. That’s the maars of Ubehebe Crater. That one’s of Zabriskie Point. I paint a lot of Dante’s View.

  Do you know our predicament? Piper asked her. We lost two.

  Was over the Panamint Mountains taking care of a flat, otherwise I’d been here sooner. Got the call and came directly. It’s too late for a search tonight. We’ll go out sunup tomorrow. Glad I caught enough to feed everybody, she said and showed us the fat chuckwalla she’d trapped.

  What happened? she asked as she set to work cleaning the animal.

  Went missing this afternoon, Frank said. A couple, man and a woman. A blond man in sunglasses and shorts. My wife is brunette, wearing a white hat and sandals.

  The ranger took a deep breath and wiped the dirt off her forehead. No, I never saw them.

  In your experience, do people often go missing around here? Wendy asked.

  I’ll say this, it happens.

  And then what? Do you eventually find most of them?

  Sometimes …, the ranger said and then turned her back on us to face the cookstove, putting the rest of her conversational energies into a blow-by-blow of her prep and cooking of the chuckwalla, a red meat of sun-drenched anabolic flavour spiced with chili flakes to taste, and not unexpected or unpleasant in its chewiness. Aided by the Wild Turkey sauce and side shooter, the meal went down quickly. The chuckwalla’s lizardskin was splayed on the floor, flattened out as the Racetrack Playa with all its octagonal scales, spread out to dry on top of some newspaper. We noted the pages had the comics, a repeat of Pan above last Monday’s Strays.

  The following morning a search-and-rescue team led by the ranger fanned out across the desert in helicopters and on foot to look for Sue and Jonjay. We waited at the playa.

  Those were our last minutes in the desert before going. We would not come back here.

  Did Jonjay know Sue? Wendy asked Frank again. He never talked about her.

  I don’t know. Friends? Not to my—.

  Tell me if you know, Frank. Were they having an affair, did they run off together? What do you think, Frank? Answer me.

  I don’t know. I really don’t.

  Did you argue? Did she want to leave you?

  I don’t know, no, we didn’t fight, said Frank. He looked ready to stay here and fry like an egg if Wendy told him to. You believe me, don’t you, Wendy? I had nothing to do with this. I have no idea what’s happened.

  Do you think they’re still alive? Wendy asked.

  Yes, he said. I’m sure of it.

  They must be in love.

  I don’t know, Frank said. I guess so.

  Wendy collected her lime-green Gremlin from the parkade under Frank’s building. She started the engine.

  What are you doing now? he said.

  What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going home. I’m going to go have a shower and bawl my eyes out. Jesus fuck, Frank. This whole trip was a disaster.

  I know, I know. I can’t even process … what happened. My god.

  And who was that guy, why was he with us? He was such an asshole. Seeing him should have been the first warning bell.

  Yeah, fucking hell. I didn’t want him there either, not a bit. Kravis and I should never be seen together, our lines of work are too enmeshed. The fool just invited himself. His inlaws own the Beverly Hills Hotel and he was there tanning, so he came all the way up from fucking L.A. to see me for no other reason than to turn the screws on me.

  That’s super fantastic.
So this is your criminal sidekick or something. You really are being investigated by these agents. I gotta get out of here.

  You have to trust me. I’ll never let you down, Wendy, I promise. I love you, Frank said.

  Don’t say that.

  But it’s true. I do. Please don’t go, Wendy. Stay with me.

  The Gremlin’s engine gave a startled howl and the vehicle chugged forward wearily and Frank had to leap away or get his arms torn off. She put the car in neutral again and held her foot down on the brake pedal. The street outside was all but empty.

  He came back to the window. When will I see you next? I have to see you, soon.

  I can’t, she said.

  Why not? We must, we’re in this together.

  In what together?

  Don’t you remember our … kiss? Wendy, were you lying to me then?

  You’re coming on so strong, Frank.

  No, I’m not. I know you feel the same way. I’m losing my mind, I know, I know. But please, you know it’s true. I’ve loved you ever since I first met you that night with Gabby. I never dared to say this. It seems pointless. I know what you thought of me. I thought you knew I loved you. I thought that was why you avoided me all these years.

  Maybe I was avoiding you. Maybe it is the reason, I don’t know. But I’m not who you think I am, Wendy said. You don’t know me. How can you love someone you don’t know? Besides, I’m impossible to love.

  Tell me you don’t feel the same. I’ll leave you alone. Just say those words.

  I need time to think, Frank.

  You’ll think about me? he pleaded.

  Don’t ask me any more questions, she said.

  Can I call you?

  No, she said and drove away. Followed the entire time by a rustcoloured Datsun.

  22

  STRAYS

  Wendy curled up on the couch and turned on a TV. We poured her chocolate cereal and fried her French toast and rolled her joints and flipped the channels for her. She lay there fetal as she took Biz through the events in Death Valley, recreating the crime scene as exhaustively as she could remember. We embellished when necessary. Had Sue and Jonjay died like pioneers, dehydrated, bursting into flames, sizzled, lost in the scorching dunes? Or had they run off together? No doubt this was going to be in the papers, Biz said. After all, it’s Frank Fleecen’s wife. See if it was only Jonjay missing, some flake artist, nobody bats an eye, Biz said. But now Sue Fleecen with him, that’s a scandal, that’s gossip for your treadmill crowd. Rich lady like Sue, every society-page columnist is going to want a piece of this shit pie.