by Diane Munier
“Maybe,” he said.
“Maybe?” she laughed. “Well, who do you thank, Jules?”
He was stuck a little. He thought he’d already blown her efforts to forgive her father. And the new information he was sitting on—namely, that Clark Blaise had given her house away—could do some real damage.
But for what?
He didn’t want to cause her pain. Not any kind. He’d seen women suffer. All across Europe, he’d seen the worst—children, mothers, end of the line in any mess hall they’d put together, the begging, the pleading for leftovers, the empty coffee cans in their hands.
Did God hold court in a big bar in the sky, where the cherubim were nothing more than Potato One, Potato Two with wings? He had no idea, but yeah, it got settled in Europe. He was up there. In spite of all of them, in spite of his old man…God was up there.
“I thank my lucky stars,” he told her, because anything else he could say on it, on her, on anything, was just too damn big.
He hugged her again and looked past Baboon and his eye caught Gorilla’s. Screw the VA. He liked Gorilla’s idea better.
Chapter 41
Isbe liked to dig around in Jules’s head. These questions she came up with, out of the blue. Like the next morning as he’d gulped his coffee. Did he hate Christmas? Was it sad for him? Did his father let him decorate a tree? And speaking of fathers, was he ever going to visit his? Ei-yi-yi he had no effing idea.
He was driving the girls to work. They’d been quiet this morning after the night drinking and watching the fights. Then for them two, him and Isbe, the world they were creating in their bedroom, living room, kitchen, bath…the world of exploration they created…he had loved her up and down, up and down, back and front, until one or two in the morning. He was still smiling, went to sleep smiling, woke up smiling, still smiling.
His love…her love…it had changed the sky, made it new. He saw the clouds now, the patterns; did people see what he did? Arches and porticoes, right there on the horizon; shadows of heaven, right there. Didn’t anyone else see this? Why weren’t they pulling off the road to look and point and marvel? It…sky…life…was beautiful.
No wonder Isbe had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and he’d had to rouse her when they reached the phone company. He soft-talked her awake, and the two in the back were giggling as they got out. So what?
For the first time ever, he’d parked and gone into Ill Bell with his wife. She wanted to show him where she’d worked all this time. He met her supervisor and saw her take her place in the long line of young women working the boards. Francis and Dorie were there too. He wished Audie and Bobby could see this.
He soon left, and just like she explained, he found the office on the first floor where he could inquire about applying for work. He was clean-shaven and his hair was combed back respectably. Maybe Bobby had had an influence. Nah, maybe not. Jules knew how to spruce up. There were some girls in the office coming around to look at him, to smile. He had no idea what they saw. He was a man. Sheesh. Married at that and one woman in his eye, just one.
He filled out the paperwork. If he got hired, he’d have to go to school, do some training, and that would be ongoing. Well, if Baboon could sign up for something like architecture…well, why not? He was as smart as that ape.
He wasn’t stupid. He hoped he wasn’t. No, screw that head ducking; he knew he wasn’t a dummy. If these other moogs filling out these papers could do this, he certainly could. That’s what he’d learned in the army. He could hold his own, and everybody put their pants on the same way.
He’d been a good soldier. He’d been told that enough. Actually, he excelled. But even still, he didn’t step up, take promotions. He didn’t want it—being singled out. He felt like it was giving himself away—giving someone a right to step a little further up his ass. He liked to stay on the edge.
It was a miracle someone like him ever got married. Bobby saying they were too young, that was an excuse. Bobby was twenty-four, like Jules. That wasn’t young. They’d lived a lifetime.
But women were different. They knew stuff about being together. It came natural. At least to Isbe. And Dorie, she had more to her than showed right off. Getting Baboon in school—hats off to that little bird.
So he filled out the papers, careful, his handwriting good, him always proud of that. He handed them in, and the girl there told him when to come in for the test. So he left there feeling better, like he would figure it out…the future.
He was walking down the street after that. He felt like a convict getting out of jail, figuring how to get back into society. Not that he’d ever been in—except for the army. And without Isbe, he didn’t think he would have had the direction to do shit in kind of a normal way. But now it was just a means to an end.
He’d work above board, and he’d work a little in life’s basement. Whatever it took—the means to the end—whatever it took.
He saw that cop car cruise past, and he watched it from the corner of his eye. It slowed, but it kept going. It wasn’t him. He didn’t think so. But it was coming, today, tomorrow—he’d fight the dragon.
But he already had the prize.
Chapter 42
“Say you love me…love me.” They were connected, physically; he was moving, sweat on his forehead, his back, muscles in his arms straining, he was asking, urgently, that she say she love him.
“I…do. I…do,” she answered, her heated eyes not leaving his, her face flush, hair stuck on her forehead, mouth open and lips so red.
“Say it…say it…you love me,” through his teeth; oh God, he couldn’t last much longer.
“I love…I love…you…” she answered; then she thrashed her head side to side and made a sound, and her back arched a little, her breasts—oh God.
“I love you,” he said, his body flowing into hers, his words too, for they had been the heart taking over his voice, his mouth, the most heartfelt words he’d ever spoken.
When it was over, he wanted to fall next to her, but he lowered himself and kissed her softly. “Good?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, her reddened lips in a wide smile.
God.
He took the test at Illinois Bell. He’d been nervous—school, it had been a while. He was troubled in school, didn’t know how well he could do beyond primary grades where he’d loved the teachers, the attention; all women, they were kind, they smelled great—and they seemed to pity him or something, but either way it was attention, and he didn’t have a mother, and he remembered being taken to the sink, quite often, one of them wiping his face, combing his hair, sometimes bringing scissors and trimming his hair, always thick, always wild…like that thing inside him.
And clothes, they’d brought him clothes, never new, but he didn’t expect that. They were new to him, and no one had much, not really. The one or two who did made fun sometimes, but he didn’t care. He was always strong; he could always hit, but it made his teachers sad, his mothers, so he just took it, quiet, and he learned to be angry mostly, but he already knew he had to see everything, hear everything.
And food, they made sure he had something to eat, sandwiches cut into triangles, and baloney with bright yellow mustard. It was too pretty to eat, but he did eat; they had to slow him down sometimes. They’d bring him one; they didn’t know he could eat three. He could.
Slow down. He’d heard that a lot. Slow down. But he was greedy—for life. And moving. He wanted to move and move. But Isbe—he’d grabbed on. He was staying now.
He liked the work. Since the war ended, everyone and his uncle wanted a phone installed in their home. Jules caught on to things quickly, and they seemed to think he had it—whatever they looked for.
He’d already gone to Mel’s and worked it out with Cabhan. He put five thousand down, which left him close to broke. “I need some more time for the rest. The government is slow. Maybe a month before we close,” he said.
“What? I told you I ain’t a charity—I ain’t a bank. You gonna ride in t
hat Buick a whole other way!”
That was bullshit. Cahban wanted Audie, and Audie was holding out. Long as he did, Jules figured he was safe.
To add insult, Jules had gotten a paper signed and notarized as a receipt for the five grand, but Cabhan wouldn’t sign it. Back and forth they went. Cabhan said, “Fooker, my patience is gone.”
Jules pretended to lose that round. Cabhan fed off it.
“That loan is what—six, seven years of a straight guy’s salary? You’re a working fooker now, boy. You let me know the second we close. And I’m charging interest. For the wait.”
He sucked his teeth and folded his hands against his waist.
“What interest?” Jules asked, staring at the five grand this charade was costing him.
“Couple of things coming up.”
“Long as this squares things,” he’d said.
Cabhan nodded. “We’ll see.”
He put his hand out to shake, and as usual, Cabhan looked at him like he was shit. Then he surprised Jules and reciprocated. Jules could detect no hard labor on Cabhan’s fingers and palm. But the hand he stuck in his pocket after…it had a feeling he knew wouldn’t wash off.
So a couple of weeks later, he was well on the job, and he was off his shift, waiting for Isbe to finish. She’d talked him into letting her work a little longer. She didn’t have to, but she wanted to. So that’s what he did; anything to make her happy. He loved her that much, not just a deep-down feeling that was in a place where there had been nothing before, but in what he did, every day. He tried to show her—back up the words he couldn’t stop saying, especially during their sex—oh God, their sex. It always felt new…well, it was new…but he wondered if he’d ever get used to it…he never would. He loved being married.
He was leaning against the building, waiting there at the main doors on Washington when Audie pulled up. He was there for Francis most nights. Jules took the toothpick out of his mouth and walked to the car.
The Buick had a shiny coat of wax cause Audie about rubbed the paint off it every Sunday as he parked it in front of Francis’s pad and talked her ear off while he waxed it with the dedication of a lover. But now Gorilla was leaning, looking at him through the passenger’s window.
“What?” Jules said, looking in, but he knew soon as he saw Audie’s face—the what.
“Get in,” Audie said.
“I can’t. I got my car—the girls.” Audie knew this.
“Take them home and drive over to my house and don’t mess around.”
“What?” He didn’t mess around.
“We got some work.”
“I just got off work.” But he knew what Audie meant.
Jules straightened and knocked a couple times on Audie’s door, and Audie pulled off.
Isbe called to him, and he turned around. There she was, his girl. She hurried to him. They were celebrities around here. Some of the girls clapped when they kissed. It embarrassed him, but Isbe ate it up. She gave him an extra-long hug.
The other two had come out. Francis told them to go on, Audie was coming.
“He’s not,” Jules said. “You ride with us.”
On the ride, Isbe scooted close to him. “Why so quiet?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m driving here.” Why would he try to get a word in with the hen party? They talked non-stop, those three, all the way home. They never ran out of things to say because they had some kind of comment on every little thing.
“Somebody’s grumpy,” Francis said from the backseat.
“He needs his supper,” Dorie pretended to whisper to Francis, but yeah, it was for him.
Isbe cooed in his ear, “Does Jules need his supper?”
He smirked a little and gave her a look, good and dirty. She knew what he needed.
“Jules, Wules,” Dorie echoed, and the girls all laughed.
He couldn’t help but smile, even though the work from Cabhan had come.
Chapter 43
A body in the trunk. Jules gazed down upon it since Audie had popped the Buick’s shiny lid. They were in the sticks again, and the early fall sun was setting like a heavy tombstone way across the trees.
“Get him out,” Jules said, all business now. He got his hands under the sheet of canvas that shrouded the stinking carcass of a man.
“I had a hell-a time getting him in here,” Audie grunted, lifting the corners of the canvas some that the rotten remains were curled upon. He was beaten and naked. He must have been stiff by the time Audie had loaded him. He was oddly folded in the middle.
“I know this guy,” Jules said. He knew it was Stan because of the big liver spot side of his neck. It still showed, with the bruising and lividity and the cuts and burns and holes and stink—it was him, sure as shit.
Audie got his end, and they carried Stan further into the woods. He was naked, obviously tortured.
“We undertakers now?” Jules asked, because walking on the wild side was losing its luster.
Audie didn’t answer.
They took Stan pretty far in and dropped him without reverence.
“I’ll get the tools,” Audie said, going back to the Buick.
Jules threw more of the canvas over Stan’s face. He looked some at the body, but crap, not this—dick cut off, balls too. He remembered Cabhan said Stan had that problem, showing Winkie in the wrong place, wrong time.
He walked away a little and lit a smoke. It helped with the smell and the fresh air, but not enough. He pocketed the match, and he’d take the butt with him. He’d seen worse than this, so much worse, and so much more—open mass graves—he’d looked in, let the smell pull him; he had to look, he had to understand—but there was no understanding. It was just that way—something so evil unleashed—if you’d doubted God, couldn’t find Him, said He wasn’t—too subtle, too far away—well, the devil wasn’t as shy.
The devil, when he moved, you didn’t wonder—didn’t doubt. You didn’t say a thing. You couldn’t find words. But you believed. You knew exactly who it was.
It’s what settled him with God. He said, okay. You must be. You must…be. And if you’re not…we’re screwed. We’re hopeless because this…is real. So you are too. Cause if this…brutality…is all there is…there can be no beauty. No blue in the sky or green in the earth.
Isbe couldn’t exist. Love couldn’t exist. If there wasn’t something else, something other than what he’d seen in the living…and God, God…in the dead…the world would disintegrate into hate. In agony. In weeping and gnashing of teeth.
And she’d asked…if he believed…and all he could get out…pretty much…was yes.
Audie returned like a good Boy Scout, flashlights and all, pickax, shovel, small can of gas. Jules knew about Scouts because some good soul had tried. He’d made it through one camp-out before the old man put the hammer to it. But he knew what a Boy Scout was. Maybe that got him ready for the army. Maybe not. Nah. It was the old man that did him the biggest favor. The old man taught him about hate long before Europe. Maybe, when he looked into those graves, it helped to already know a demon.
But Audie, loaded now with the proper tools for dismantling a body, had come a long way since that first guy they’d put in the cistern.
They got busy.
“You kill him?” Jules asked. He hadn’t wanted to know, but then he’d said it, he’d asked.
“Why?”
“Oh—it like dat? You mob now—one of the boys?”
Audie checked the body. No pockets—of course, so no identification.
“You do this?” Jules said again. He knew Audie was getting in deep with those guys.
Audie took the pickax and started to break ground. He was panting a bit, and he looked at Jules and grinned. “Francis won’t marry me.”
“You blame her?” Jules said.
Jules got the shovel and started to dig, then Audie, then Jules again. The ground was heavy and damp, and it took more than an hour, and it was dark when they took the corners of the tarp and
dropped the whole thing in. They doused those parts with the gas, threw in a match. “Barbeque time,” Audie said.
When everything was blackened and ashy, they shoveled the dirt over, then moved debris by the light of the moon, two monkeys scrapping in the woods.
Riding home, they were quiet. “What am I gonna tell Isbe?” Jules said aloud, though he’d only meant to think it.
They smelled like smoke and he’d gotten dirty. He didn’t think there was blood. Stains, maybe.
“You said we went fishing?”
“I said you were looking at some property. Maybe for a clubhouse.”
“Yeah? That’s a good idea? Francis hear that?”
“You think she might marry you if you buy a clubhouse?” Jules laughed.
Audie shook his head. “We can’t just live together. She wouldn’t do that either, and people wouldn’t put up with it most places…a man and woman not married…sharing the bed. Who does that?”
“So what—you sneak around—you practically live there now,” Jules said.
“Rosie pays the rent. Guess you know what a little nest egg your wife has.”
“My wife?” Jules said. He only kept things from her for her own good. But the thought that she’d keep something from him…he didn’t like that at all.
Chapter 44
“Jules…you been up to something.”
“Why you say that when you’re asleep?”
“I was asleep. Until I heard the water running.”
“I needed to wash up.”
“Jules,” Isbe sat up, the moonlight streaming in the window, the shade left up even after all the times he’d told her about it, that moonlight, eerie as in the woods burying a dead body, now most alluring as it bathed her in its deep midnight blue.
She was looking him over. He didn’t want to interrupt, but, “That my favorite nightgown,” he said, as he dropped his towel and decided he’d sleep bare, “to take off.”