by Martin Clark
“He probably just said that so cool people would vote for him. That’s my only concern.” Rudy’s eyes were red, and his shirttail was hanging out.
“So what’s cool these days?” asked Evers.
“Don’t know. I watch MTV, read Rolling Stone, let them decide for me.” Pascal grinned. “You seem out of sorts, Evers.”
“Gee. Hard to imagine, huh?”
“Come live with us. No ambition, no disappointment. And no worries—not with Henry’s good fortune. No money problems, at least. Have a bong hit.” Pascal stretched out on his bed and handed Evers the water pipe.
“I’m tired of people, places and things. I’m tired of queers, mayhem, politicians, Betty Friedan, network TV, Hobert fucking Falstaf, affirmative action, the welfare system and my job.”
Rudy and Henry held up their hands. “Easy on TV, now. We saw some great TV not long ago. ‘A Special Celebration: Phil Donahue’s Years in TV,’ and a miniseries on the Jackson Five—‘The Jacksons: An American Family,’ or something like that. That’s entertainment.” Rudy nodded after he spoke to emphasize the point.
“That’s unreal.” Evers shook his head. “That’s like doing a special on Jimmy Olson, cub reporter, and the Archies. You know what I mean?”
“Don’t be so humorless and grim, Evers,” Rudy said.
“I’m about to go crazy. I want some normalcy and insight.”
Rudy giggled. “Gee, Wally, that Eddie Haskell sure is a pest.”
“Fuck you, Rudy.”
“If you’re not going to use that bong, Evers, pass it back.” Rudy snapped his fingers.
Evers looked at Pascal. His brother rolled onto his side and propped up his head. “Whatever.”
Evers lit the bowl of the water pipe and sucked the smoke into his lungs.
“That should cheer you up,” Henry said.
“Speaking of cheer, I was listening to Handel the other day, and it dawned on me that there’s no mirth in classical music. Not even in Fantasia.” Rudy was locked onto the TV screen; he didn’t look at anyone when he spoke.
“Damning and profound critique from someone watching a children’s movie,” said Pascal.
“There’s precision and synchronization, but no mirth.”
“Do you really think this lady’s going to come?” Pascal said. “We’re anxious to meet her.”
“The mother of the albino shrine.” Henry stood up and stretched. “You said she was nice looking, too.”
“Why would she come, though?” Pascal wondered. “I mean, her brother’s out of jail. You don’t know anything about her. She may not come.”
“I’ll tell you guys one thing.” Rudy tried to tuck some of his shirt into his pants. “I’m paranoid as shit. When she comes in here with a pistol and about forty chubby guys with yellow FBI letters on their nylon windbreakers, I’m going to swear that I don’t have anything to do with any of this.”
“You’re paranoid because you’ve been smoking dope for the last five years with very few interruptions,” Evers said.
“This is a Byzantine tale, brother.” Pascal had the bong between his knees and was tamping dope into the bowl with the top of a pen. “And it’s not like you to get into something like this. You don’t need the money. Are you sure she’s not working with the police?”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think so. If she were a cop, they would’ve arrested me by now. In fact, they would probably have done it at the courthouse—a lot of metaphor and populist justice in that image.” Pascal handed the bong to Evers, who passed it to Rudy without smoking any more of the marijuana. “And the other thing is, I didn’t do anything. I made the right call. It wasn’t even close. It was a minor drug possession case, and the police officer completely fucked up. The D.A. pretty much tossed in the towel.”
“But you lusted in your heart, Evers. You were conspiring to let him go.”
“I don’t think you should get arrested for using drugs anyway,” Henry said.
Evers laughed, and so did Pascal. “Really, Henry? I figured that you’d come down hard on the drug scene. Especially pot. It makes you impotent and leads to heroin addiction. In another month or two, you’ll be full of infected needle marks and wearing some guy’s old tuxedo jacket for a winter coat.”
“So her brother was innocent?” Henry sat down in a recliner beside the bed. “If you didn’t do anything to help, maybe she won’t come.”
“I let him go. That was the deal.” Evers looked at the TV. Mickey Mouse was dancing with a broom. “And she called me after the trial, not the other way around. I guess we’ll see. Of course, she has sort of paid me. That’s the only thing that’s troubling me about whether or not she’ll be here.”
“Paid you? Already?”
“Yeah. Well, she gave me … a deposit, I guess you could call it. I really don’t want to get into it.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” Henry wiggled his eyebrows.
“It was a payment I can divide with all of you, Henry. Sorry to disappoint your prurient side.”
“She’s supposed to be here around ten, right?” Pascal asked.
“What if she’s crazy or something? Or, you know, starts transforming in front of us, turns into a big-ass scaley lizard or some shit like that.” Rudy pointed his finger at Evers. “I’m serious.”
“I’ll watch her hands, Rudy,” Evers said. “The first hint of a claw or a skin change and the deal’s off.” Evers and Pascal started laughing. Henry smiled and shook his head.
“I’m just cautious, that’s all.” Rudy reached into a bag of Doritos on the floor beside the bed and started eating. “I’m looking forward to meeting her, too, I guess.”
“Well, Rudy, there is something peculiar about the whole thing. You’re right—”
“Shit, that’s her. I heard something.” Rudy twisted his head so his ear was turned toward the driveway. He was chewing the Doritos and still had a few of the chips in his hand. His speech was dry, and his tongue and lips were orange.
The men went to the window and then to the kitchen door, but no one was outside or in the driveway.
“I know I heard a car,” Rudy insisted. “And saw lights.”
“Whatever,” said Pascal. Everyone was standing in the kitchen. “We may as well move the reception outside anyway. It’s a nice night. I’ll turn on the bug killer and uncover the sofa. It’ll be good to keep an eye on things. I’m getting a little anxious myself.”
Henry picked up the bong, and everyone followed Pascal outside. They left the TV in the bedroom on. When they got to the couch, an old pickup truck passed by on the road in front of the trailer and kept going. The bedroom window was open, and the classical music from Fantasia was loud enough that the men could hear it in the yard. The scenes in the movie changed and made the light coming out of the bedroom dim and stutter, brighten and fade. A big green moth flew into the bug zapper, and it took several seconds before the electrical buzzing stopped and the moth died.
“There is absolutely no one out here, Rudy.”
“I know I heard a car. I know I did. And I saw lights. Headlights. Through the window.”
“Shit.”
“I’m going in for some scotch,” Evers said. “Anybody want anything?”
“Bring me a coat or shirt or something.” Henry was wearing a short-sleeve shirt.
“Hang on.” Pascal put his hand on Evers’ leg. “I hear a car.”
Evers heard something as well, and he saw lights start around the turn in the gravel road that passed Pascal’s mobile home. The vehicle was moving slowly and almost stopped when it came into view of the trailer. Then the lights picked up pace and the driver signaled to turn into Pascal’s driveway, even though Pascal lived next to an unpaved rural road and there was no other car in sight. Evers watched the rectangular yellow signal blinking; the vehicle cut into Pascal’s drive.
Ruth Esther shut the car door and waved at Evers and the others. She was driving a new white Explorer with a dealer’s tag. When s
he stepped in front of the Explorer, it appeared to Evers that she was wearing the same white suit and silk shirt, though the glow from the bug zapper made her appear purple from head to toe. The classical music was still coming out of the bedroom, Mussorgsky’s “Night on Bald Mountain,” rapid violins and deep bass. Evers introduced Ruth Esther to everyone, and they decided to go inside, into Pascal’s trailer.
“Artis is in the car. Do you care if he comes in?” Ruth Esther asked when Rudy walked through the trailer door. Rudy was behind everyone else, carrying two glasses and the bong.
“It’s fine with me,” Pascal said. No one else said anything.
“Well, it’s fairly important that he come as well. He has the third clue.”
“And you haven’t opened yours yet? That’s what you’re telling me?” Evers asked.
“Artis opened his the day he got it. I haven’t opened my father’s or mine. I guess I should put it this way. Artis wants to come in to make sure that the clues are all looked at together, and that he isn’t left out.”
Evers went to the refrigerator and opened the door. He took out a beer and unscrewed the top. “So how is he your brother? He’s black. Or Samoan or something. He’s hardly your brother.”
Ruth Esther smiled. “May I have a beer, too?”
“I’ll get one for you,” Pascal said. “Evers can be an ogre sometimes.”
“Artis is my brother, Judge Wheeling. We just don’t look anything alike. My mother is white, and her grandfather was an albino. There must be some dark genes somewhere else. I don’t think that the colors managed to mix much in either case. I don’t have any reason to mislead you about it. In fact—”
“How do you … how do you cry and have it look white?” Rudy interrupted. “How do you do that?”
“Damn, Rudy.” Pascal rolled his eyes.
“What?” Rudy’s eyes were almost closed, his hair flat and straight. He’d been wearing a hat, and taken it off when Ruth Esther came into the trailer. “What?” he said again. “Like you guys are Linus Pauling and Wernher von Braun and you already know?”
“What about Artis? Are you going to get him?”
“We have, like, a shrine for the charmed white drops. We keep them in a decanter in the freezer.” Rudy grinned and swayed a little bit. “I’m a doctor.”
“I’m flattered.” Ruth seemed calm and steady.
“They’re like enchanted.”
“Rudy, let’s get the clues for the trip, then worry about the shrine.”
“There’s no way that Artis is your blood, biological brother.” Evers returned to the subject.
“Does he have magic tears too?” Rudy stepped back and bumped against the refrigerator. He started laughing and rubbed his hands across his face. Pascal and Henry started to giggle.
“I’ll go get him. You can ask him yourself.”
Ruth Esther was gone for a few minutes. The men heard a car door slam, then voices outside. Artis came in first, Ruth Esther right after him.
“This is your brother?” Pascal asked. He squinted at Artis.
“I told you so. Didn’t I tell you?” Evers ignored the fact that Artis was in the room.
“No way.” Rudy had collapsed down the side of the refrigerator and was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed. “Shit.”
“This is my brother, Artis.” Ruth Esther put her hand on Artis’ back. He looked shorter and darker than Evers recalled from court. He had combed his hair, and it was dry and puffy, parted down the middle into two frizzy hemispheres. Artis was wearing sandals; his toes were dirty, and his toenails were cracked and yellow, banded with runs of grime underneath them. “Artis, this is Evers—Judge Wheeling, you remember him from the other day—and his brother Pascal. Rudy’s sitting on the floor, and this is another friend of theirs named Henry.”
“Hello. Nice to … meet you,” Artis said.
“This is very strange,” said Henry. “Flying-buttress-and-trapdoor strange.”
Ruth Esther sat down at the kitchen table between Evers and Pascal. She laid two envelopes on the table and then opened each one. “Artis, give me your clue, please.”
Artis bit his lip.
“Show us your clue, Artis,” Pascal said.
“No. I don’t know.”
“You don’t trust your sister?”
“I don’t trust nobody.” Artis narrowed his eyes.
Pascal pushed his chair away from the table. “Let’s go look outside, Evers. Henry, you and the car doctor stay in here with Miss English and her brother and the clues.”
“Where are you going?” Rudy wondered.
“Outside. To see if anyone’s there, okay? Now I’ve gotten jittery.”
“No one’s there. Why would there be?” Ruth Esther sounded weary. “Why would we drive here to open my two envelopes if we weren’t sincere about this? Or why would we drive here and then have someone steal the clues? Who do you think is out there?”
“We’ll just enjoy the evening more if we satisfy our paranoia.”
Evers and Pascal walked outside, and after he started down the steps from the trailer, Evers had to turn around and push the screen door shut. The air was pleasant, with some breeze in the trees and leaves. The movie and music had ended, and the bug zapper was quiet. Evers and Pascal walked to Ruth Esther’s vehicle and looked inside. The driver’s side door was not locked, and Pascal opened it. A light and a buzzer came on. The keys were in the ignition. The Explorer smelled new, and the backseat still had plastic stretched across it. The interior was completely empty except for a map, a pair of sunglasses and a car phone.
After they finished with the Explorer, Pascal and Evers walked around the trailer and the perimeter of the yard. They went to a path at the edge of the woods and looked in. Evers felt something very primitive and unusual, rushes in his belly and chest and hands.
“There is no way that guy’s her brother, Pascal.”
“Maybe he is. Whatever.”
“What do you think they’re up to?”
“Who knows. Perhaps they are simply honoring their agreement.”
“We’ll see.” Evers lit a cigarette. He could see the smoke from the match even though it was dark outside. “Should we check to see if they’re wearing a wire?”
“You decide—I don’t really care. I’m sorry I got all freaked out.”
“I don’t blame you.” Evers looked out at the gravel road. “Stay here with me for a minute while I finish my smoke. I’m not ready to go back in yet. Just keep your eyes open—that’s about all we can do.”
Evers finished his cigarette, and he and Pascal walked back inside the trailer. When they opened the door, Ruth Esther and Artis were sitting at the kitchen table with Henry. Rudy was standing beside Ruth Esther, holding the decanter with the albino tears, plastic top and two strips of tape. The shrine had become cloudy, fogged in under condensation. There were three pieces of paper on the table, and Henry was writing on the back of a napkin with a dull pencil.
“Evers, check it out. We have the clues. This is a treat. It’s like Wheel of Fortune.”
Evers walked to the table and looked over Artis’ head. Two of the sheets were clean, the folds still sharp and clear. One sheet—Artis’, Evers surmised—was dirty, flat and limp, and had begun to separate at the creases in two or three places. A thin metal key was lying at the end of the three clues. The first sheet had Na written on it, the second ke, U and the third Cl La. Under Na was the number 100. Under the Cl La was a single 0. Under the ke, U was an arrow which pointed down.
“It’s in Canada,” Artis said. He was agitated, rocking back and forth in his chair. “Canada. That’s it. Canada.”
“You mean like he omitted the ‘d’?” Rudy asked. “And threw in a couple of ‘l’s’ that we don’t need?”
“That’s a pretty big leap, isn’t it? Hell, it could be Colorado or California if you use that theory.” Henry continued to study the clues.
“It’s Canada, the country that’s right above u
s,” Artis insisted.
“Then it would need a ‘d,’ Artis,” Ruth Esther pointed out. “I think you’re close, but let’s look at it a little longer.”
“Then let’s see you all think up somethin’ better,” Artis snapped.
Rudy sat the shrine decanter on the edge of the table. The glass was clearing, and the frosted white top was visible; crystals and intricate patterns were frozen on the top, and it was stuck to the bottom of the container, fastened by several icy webs.
“We need some more dope for this,” Henry suggested.
“Whatever. I’ll go get the bong,” Pascal said, walking out of the kitchen.
“Bring enough for everybody,” Rudy said.
“Sure.” Pascal hesitated, then motioned to his brother. Evers walked up to him, several steps down the hall. “Are you all right with this, partying in front of these people, your job and this guy just being in your court and everything?” Pascal whispered. “It’s probably a little late now, but it just occurred to me—I just thought about it. I suppose it might have been better to consider possible problems before we met them in the front yard with a bong.”
“I guess that’s the least of my worries, huh? But thanks for asking. It is sort of strange when you think about it.”
Evers went back into the kitchen and looked down at the letters on the table. Artis had his head in his hands, winding and tugging strands of his hair. Evers heard a cigarette lighter click in the den, and his brother walked back into the kitchen with his hand over the opening in the top of the dope pipe and his breath held in.
“Nake La … can lake … a clan … shit, this is tough,” Henry said.
“Maybe it’s Louisiana,” Rudy suggested.
“Or Los Angeles.”
“Or Canada,” Evers remarked. “You guys have more frigging letter problems than your buddy Artis.”
“We’re just trying things out, Evers,” Henry said. “La could be an abbreviation you know, for Los Angeles.”
“Or La Crosse. It’s in Wisconsin, not far from Canada.” Evers winked at Henry.
For about fifteen minutes, the men and Ruth Esther gathered around in a circle and pushed the sheets of paper over the tabletop, guessing at words and states and countries, putting together syllables and scribbling possibilities on paper napkins and the back of an envelope.