by Nancy Lieder
dirt, you piece of shit. . . And you other
guys, join us or die!
Collins can be seen facing the confrontation from the bushes, fists in
a ball at his side, frowning. Finegan has his hand over his face,
peeking through his fingers at the sentry. He looks over at the
oarsman.
You try.
The oarsman says,
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You’re not in charge anymore Collins. You’re
disbanded. Turn over all the weapons. No more
tax collections.
Collins begins striding toward the bushes. His two armed guards are
smiling and bending over to put their guns on the ground. The community
he was attempting to rob had been standing as a group in the
background, but now scatters, fearing a shootout. Finegan says to the
sentry,
You dash over and collect those guns.
And then to the oarsman,
I’m going to stand out with my rifle. You go
down and make Collins drop to his knees and
hands over his head. . . Whack him if you have
to. . . But not too hard.
The sentry runs in a semi-circle around Collins. When he reaches the
other two formerly armed men, they all do high-fives and hug each
other. Collins shakes his fist at the sentry and points at him,
throwing out threats.
Arrest that man!
The oarsman steps out from behind the bushes and marches toward
Collins. He says,
They’re not even armed! Christ sakes.
Finegan steps out from behind the bushes, his rifle resting in his
arms. Collins stops his stride. The oarsman takes his club and punches
Collins in his gut, so he doubles over. Then he whacks behind his knees
so he falls on his butt.
Hands over your head. . . Hands over your head
I said!
Collins is rolling onto his knees, putting his hands up, but only part
way, sputtering objections. The oarsman whips some cord out of his
pocket and starts to tie collins’ hands together.
______________________________
The sentry is at the back of the houseboat, peddling. The oarsman is
sitting on a box near him, as they are taking turns at the pedals.
Collins and his two men are at the front, at the edge of the deck,
facing the water. Collins is still bound at the wrist, hands in front
of him. He is loudly protesting his arrest, citing statutes that he
feels authorized his presidency. He keeps this recitation up the entire
trip and can be heard in the background doing this nonstop.
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. . according to the Presidential Succession
Act of 1947 I’m in charge! . . Continuity of
government! . .
Finegan is also on the roof, his rifle resting in his arms, but he is
watching the three men at the front. The flooded city islands and
shoreline are seen in the distance, as the houseboat is heading out
into deep water. Joey is pacing the rooftop as usual, but looking back
at the bike seat, keeping an eye on the sentry and oarsman to ensure
they don’t leave the pedals and try to come forward.
. . I was under consideration for Secretary of
Transportation, dammit. . . The office was
vacant, so that puts me in . . All those other
people are dead, I tell you.
Rock outcroppings can be seen, and some trees. The island they are
approaching is not large, but has a long way to go before being under
water. It looks deserted, long since abandoned, and has no buildings or
farm animals in sight. Finegan says to Joey,
We’ll let the boat come close. Stop in about .
. now.
Joey hollers to the pair peddling,
Stop peddling!
The three men stationed along the front of the houseboat turn and look
at Finegan expectantly.
Untie his hands . . You want to go with him,
you can.
The two men are looking at Finegan and shaking their heads. Finegan
says,
Then push him into the water, it’s shallow
here.
Collins continues to complain,
. . This is kidnapping and treason . . You’ll
be shot for this. . . Death penalty.
Collins, still protesting, is shoved into the water and rises up,
sputtering. He can put his feet on the ground under the water, and
begins wading toward the island shore, thrashing and sputtering.
Collins turns to face the exiting houseboat, finally subdued, saying in
a quiet voice,
. . Oh dear . .
______________________________
That evening Joey is flinging the weapons they took from the armed men
overboard. The two men taking turns peddling are facing the rooftop, so
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can see this. The two men standing at the edge of the front deck have
turned to watch this spectacle. Finegan is holding court on the
rooftop, his rifle in one hand.
No more armed robbery! New rules. And leave
that pompous ass out there to yell at the
squirrels. Don’t go rescue him nor nothing like
that. . .
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Lost and Found
The houseboat is peddling along close to a shore that has occasional
rock outcroppings. Most of Memphis is at least partially flooded, but
the upper floors of high rises are above water. As with other
locations, earthquake and wind damage are obvious, even from afar. The
high rises have a spire here and there standing, metal shafts that are
flexible and do not collapse in quakes. Masonry or brick buildings are
a rubble, collapsed. Frame buildings are often simply tilted to one
side, thrown to the side during a large quake.
The remains of Memphis seem to go on for a long distance, to the right
and left of the houseboat. The tops of the Desoto bridge can be seen to
the left of the houseboat, on what was the Arkansas side. The Arkansas
side is completely flooded, as far as the eye can see. The remains of
Interstate 40 can be seen dropping down into the water and heading
toward the remains of the Desoto bridge arches. A rusty sign sticking
up indicates Interstate 40.
Finegan is standing on the roof of the houseboat, holding his short
wave radio with newly installed crank to gen electricity. He is
cranking away energetically, then holds the radio to his ear,
listening.
(scritch) . . approaching . . (snap)
Finegan adjusts a dial and listens again. Having located the group he
spoke to earlier by short wave, he interjects.
Yo, Finegan Fine here, trader. We spoke before.
Which hilltop are you on?
Memphis Papa answers,
I’d give you the GPS but we can’t raise that no
more. Are you that houseboat we see? What you
got rigged on the back?
Finegan explains,
That’s a water wheel. Slow, but works, and I
can steer. Direct me to you.
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Memphis Papa says,
You’re down river from us. Well, ah, what used
to be the Mississippi anyways. We see you when
we look at the sunrise, down, ya know, ah,
south of us . . Or what used to be south. Hell
of a mess, twisted
around and all. . . Come up
river a bit, and I’ll talk you in.
______________________________
Finegan is sitting on what used to be a dining room chair along a piece
of plywood being used as a tabletop. Several men and women are seated
around this table too, all in various kinds of chairs – folding chairs,
living room easy chairs, stools, and stepladders. The table is stained
in many places, having been used for many conferences. A large map of
the US is laid out on it, taped in places to hold it together and
frayed at the corners. Finegan is leaning on his left elbow, holding a
mug of coffee in his left hand, and pointing with his right hand. Joey
is standing just behind his left shoulder, standing on his toes,
peering at the map intently.
I started out upriver from Savannah. The river
was rising something fierce. By the time I
built my boat, I was going overland on the
water. That bad.
The group nods in unison. Finegan sits up straight and looks over his
left shoulder at Joey.
Joey here got separated from his parents. Ain’t
found ‘em since.
Finegan goes back to leaning on his left elbow and pointing at the map.
We worked our way around what’s now the new
coastline of Georgia. No maps for any of that.
I gather that Florida is gone.
Finegan sits straight again, taking a sip of his coffee.
I’m guessing you all have a better idea of the
rate of rise, but seems to me it just keeps
rising. . .
The group nods in unison.
Memphis Mama is a wrinkled, pale woman slouched at one end of the
table. She wears a flowered dress and has some kind of plastic flower
covered hair net holding her gray, greasy hair in place. A strand or
two of her gray hair escapes, hanging down on her neck or over her
face.
And the sun rises in the south and sets in the
north.
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Everyone just sits, stone silent except for the occasional slurp on a
cup of coffee. Joey is craning his neck to see every face up and down
the table, as he is intensely curious. It’s clear no one is going to
speak.
How come?
Memphis Papa is a grizzled man at the end of the table, sitting in an
easy chair that is collapsing at one arm and with upholstery that is
very stained. He has a beard, tousled hair, and wears a tattered shirt
with dirty cuffs. Like Memphis Mama, his posture also shows the effects
of too many conferences and not enough exercise, as he appears
collapsed into his chair.
We figure that the Earth shifted in space, son.
That’s how come everything got shook up, and
somehow that’s how come the water keeps rising.
. . Best we can figure.
Joey has dug the photo of his parents out of his pocket and flaps it in
the air.
Did my parents come by?
______________________________
Finegan and Joey are standing in front of a wall covered with pinned
notes. The note paper is of every kind - scraps of paper torn out of
phone books, lined notebook paper, pages torn from day-timers, notes
written on the edges of coupons, notes written on the carbon copy from
checkbooks, pages from children’s coloring books, etc. The wall is
covered floor to ceiling with some notes starting to cover other notes,
layering.
Martha, Ed Grover and I are to Cincinnati.
MacMahons are heading to Uncle John’s farm.
God help us! Little Bob drown and Big Bob died from the grief.
We made it! See you at the Hemp’s. Mitzy
Joey walks up to the wall and starts to read, when Memphis Papa
interrupts him.
This here’s for Arkansas, across the river from
us. They came up here like drowning rats on
anything that would float. We got a separate
room by state, so’s to reduce the confusion.
What state were your parent’s from?
Joey spins around on his feet, facing Memphis Papa, with a hopefully,
eager look on this face.
Georgia!
Memphis Papa says,
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This way.
They all walk down a corridor of an old office building that remained
upright during the quakes. Some of the rooms along the exterior wall
are cluttered with broken furniture and boxes of refuse cleared out
from the interior rooms. The exterior rooms have broken windows, so the
cardboard is weathered near the windows. The interior rooms are being
used for lost and found boards. There are labels on the door jams of
the interior rooms, arranged alphabetically - Alabama, Arkansas,
Florida, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Mississippi, Missouri, N
Carolina, Ohio, S Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, W Virgina.
Painted in red paint on the wall across from the Alabama and Arkansas
rooms is a general index, a list of these states, with an arrow
pointing down the corridor.
Memphis Papa walks ahead of Joey, who is literally at his heels.
Finegan brings up the rear. They stop in the Georgia doorway, Joey
bumping into Memphis Papa’s ample rear end.
Here we are.
The room is bare, not a single note pinned.
We got a few from Florida, came by early on
boats, but ain’t got nothing from the East
Coast to speak of. Too far by land.
Memphis Papa drops his hand to the top of Joey’s head, patting it.
Sorry son.
______________________________
Finegan and Joey are preparing to leave. They are moored onto the back
porch of an older home, which is listing into the water. This is the
current residence of Memphis Papa, who is there saying goodbye. Finegan
pulls the gangplank onto the boat while Memphis Papa gently tosses the
grappling hooks onto the deck. He has a warning.
You going upriver? Watch out for them yahoos on
boats, they been looting at night round these
parts.
80
Yahoos Afloat
It is foggy, a fog rising from the water as the air is cool and the
water, up from the Gulf, is warm. Finegan is peddling along silently,
well out from the shore. Joey is sitting on the front deck with his arm
over Barney, who has his mouth tied shut with a red bandana.
A floating city, a collection of many different types of boats or
floatation devices is bobbing up and down in the water. One is a group
of rowboats tied together at the front, so they form a wheel. This
seems to be a way of holding onto them more than a living space. One is
a yacht. One is a raft cobbled together from logs for floatation, with
a mattress in the center covered by a couple umbrellas. There are a
couple speedboats with plastic covers as rain guards, pulled back so
those living in them have air.
Sounds of whooping and yelling and spashing can be heard. Dimly,
through the fog, some young men and women are seen jumping into the
water, skinny dipping in the dark. There are no lights anywhere - not
on shore, not on the boats, and not on the houseboat.
______________________________
>
Finegan is cooking breakfast on the portable camping grill, flipping
fish over and sipping coffee with the other hand. Joey is at the back
of the houseboat, preparing to clean up after Barney, who does his job
on a piece of plastic, which is then slipped over the edge to be rinsed
and folded. A daily morning routine. Barney steps off the plastic,
giving his fresh turd a last sniff. Finegan is setting out 3 plates on
a box next to the grill. He dishes out potatoes from a frying pan set
to the side on the grill, then divides the fish. He sets one plate down
on the deck for Barney and hands another to Joey, then takes a seat on
one of the boxes to eat. Joey asks,
So they were yahoos because they were noisy?
Finegan has his mouth full, but answers anyway.
Ah, yeah, but don’t care about other people
much . . having a party all the time . . taking
what they want.
Half a dozen people have appeared on the shoreline, just standing and
staring. They are dressed in farm clothes, the men in coveralls, the
women in plain cotton dresses and hair in braids wrapped around their
heads. The men have clubs in their hands. Finegan waves but his wave is
not returned.
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Umm . . Looks like they’re a little touchy
about people in boats.
Joey waves too, and Barney barks once, wagging his tail. Finegan
decides to go over in the canoe, which has been tied to the side of the
houseboat. He gets into the canoe in broad daylight, so those on the
shore can see he is not armed and certainly, being outnumbered, is not
dangerous. Finegan says,
They look like good folk. . . See what this is
about.
______________________________
As Finegan approaches shore he raising both his hands up, holding the
paddle with both hands, to indicate no sudden moves on his part and