The Wash

by Cary Christopher

  “No, I’m thinking I may have to stalk him.”

  Sara laughed, “This whole thing is so high school of you.

  “Seriously though. I think I may have to be the one to make the first move. He seems like the shy type.”

  Sara reached into her bag and pulled out her cell phone.

  “Here,” she said. “I’ve got his cell number. He worked with Steve to get Ruth’s old car running again so she could sell it.”

  Cindy smiled and shook her head no, “Too forward.”

  “Well, I never thought I’d see this day,” Sara laughed and dropped the phone back in her purse.

  The remainder of the trip was pleasant. The girls hadn’t spent a day without Steve in a long time and it was good to get away from The Wash. Sara dropped Cindy off twenty minutes before her shift started and then sped home to use the kits before Steve got off work. Within a half hour, she’d used all three. The first one had a faint minus sign and the other two read “no” clearly. Her shoulders slumped as the weight of it hit her. She didn’t realize just how much she’d wanted it to be positive. The thought of something new, something different happening in her life right there in The Wash was more than just exciting. It was necessary. Things needed to be shaken up some. She slid down onto the floor, hugged her knees in front of her and began to cry.

  Back at Dora’s, Cindy had just finished trying to call Sara for the fourth time. Certainly, by now she’d used the kits. She walked over to the kitchen, asked Dora what the special was and then headed back to the front of the restaurant to set the white board up when she saw Robert heading down the street on his bike. She quickly walked to the entrance as he was about to pass the door.

  “Hey, bookworm,” she called. “You coming by for dinner?”

  Robert slowed down and stopped just a little beyond her.

  “Not tonight,” he said. “I’ll probably make something in the kitchen at Jim’s.”

  “Too bad. There’s no one here and I could use the conversation.”

  Robert smiled at the invitation.

  “I really shouldn’t. I have to get some things set up before we open the doors.”

  “Would it be okay if I came by later to talk books?”

  Cindy could see his face battle between wanting to say yes and wondering if it would cause a scene. There was a small furrow that happened above his eyebrows and the deep brown eyes seemed to focus beyond her momentarily. Later, when she thought about it, she realized he’d likely never had a woman be so aggressive before.

  “Sure,” he said. “It’ll likely be slow tonight with the holiday so close. I could use the conversation myself.”

  “It’s a date then,” she said and watched that weird expression cross his features again.

  “I guess it is,” he replied with a crooked smile and then kicked off the curb, pedaling toward Jim’s.

  Sleep that night was restless for Sara Cohn. She lay in bed, Steve snoring beside her and stared at the ceiling. She’d done a pretty good job of hiding the pregnancy tests in the trash, not that Steve would have looked. Even so, she didn’t want to bring the subject up if she didn’t have to. Cindy had practically blown up her cell phone until finally Sara answered and told her the news. She seemed genuinely saddened. Sara hadn’t mentioned all the other things she’d been thinking about. Like how life was too safe and routine here in The Wash or how she was starting to feel like the world was passing her by. Like how she was beginning to realize what Cindy meant when she said she wanted to get out but couldn’t drag herself to leave.

  Thinking about it now, she could feel herself getting worked up again. She closed her eyes, tried to slow her breathing and forced herself to relax. She thought of the drive to Parowan; the snowy pastures, the lake on the way to Brian Head that already had ice forming on it. As she drifted to sleep, her mind turned to how the needles stood out on the pines, each individually waving to her as she passed. She saw a bluebird, its colors standing out bright against the branches of a small tree and she watched it push off, swoop overhead and drop down so it was gliding beside her.

  She was running. The air was brisk and cold but she was wearing her favorite running pants, a tank top shirt and a visor. She could see the steam coming out with each breath. She felt fantastic. She glanced beside her at the bluebird just out of reach. It seemed to be looking at her from time to time, as if gauging how she was reacting to all this. She was in her zone, that point where she felt like she could run forever. The road just seemed like a ribbon, unwinding before her with new adventures around every corner.

  “You’re moving pretty fast for a pregnant woman,” the bird said, its voice a chirpy singsong.

  “I’m not pregnant,” Sara said. She continued to stride forward, paying attention to extend her legs out and searching for any pronation in her step.

  “You certainly are,” replied the bird. “No one can be as thin as you and carry a belly that big if they’re not pregnant.”

  Sara looked down. Her stomach was the size of a volleyball. It was peeking out from under the tank top, but as she continued to run, she noticed it felt light, as if her child were completely weightless. She slowed to a walk and put both hands on either side of her stomach. The left one felt a small kick and she paused.

  The bluebird circled around and landed on a fencepost next to the road.

  “Why’d you stop?” it asked.

  “I shouldn’t be running like this. It might hurt the baby.”

  The bird shook its small head and made a sound like it was spitting.

  “Nonsense,” it said. “Strong body, strong mind, strong baby. You need to keep going. Your child is meant to rule. He must be born strong and ready to fight.”

  Sara looked at the bird quizzically.

  “Meant to rule?”

  “You are chosen, Sara. You are what we call the Ciuapipiltin. The honored women,” the bird chirped merrily. “You have a God in your womb. Keep going, Sara. I’ll show you the way.”

  It flew up and circled around her before darting ahead. Sara began to run again. It felt good and she could barely even feel the weight of her stomach.

  ‘My baby will be a god,’ she thought to herself as she followed the bluebird’s song through the pine forest and beyond.

  V

  Closing up that night had been just a little bit awkward for Robert. Cindy had most definitely shown up. She’d spent the entire time chatting with Robert about everything from books and movies to life itself and the few times J.B. had come by Cindy made him feel like a third wheel pretty quickly. She’d stayed a few hours, only having a couple of drinks and then she’d left, but not before passing Robert her phone number and making him promise to loan her a Murakami book. J.B. played it cool until everyone else left. Now, the two were cleaning up the last of the night’s messes and an uncomfortable silence sat between them.

  Robert broke it.

  “Hey man. You okay?”

  J.B. stopped what he was doing.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Look, let’s just cut the macho bullshit. We’re too close for that. Cindy invited herself to the bar tonight. She saw me on my way to work. There’s nothing else going on.”

  J.B. bowed his head slightly, “You know what, man? It wouldn’t matter if there was. It’s your life. You should be able to do whatever you want. Besides, it’s not like I’m dating her or even interested in dating her.”

  “Well I’m not dating her,” Robert pushed a mop and bucket through the kitchen door as J.B. followed him through.

  “But you’re interested in her aren’t you?”

  “She’s an interesting person, yes.”

  “Now who’s playing the macho man?”

  J.B. threw a dishtowel and hit Robert in the back.

  “Do you or don’t you think that she’s attractive?”

  “Of course I think she’s attractive and yes I think she’s interesting.”

  “So, do you want to date her?”

  Rob
ert turned around and rolled his eyes.

  “I’ve had two conversations with her.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Do you want to date her?”

  Robert didn’t answer.

  “It’s not a difficult question,” J.B. continued. “I asked you if you thought she was interesting, you said yes. You’ve said you think she’s attractive. Do you want to date her?”

  Robert looked J.B. in the eye, his frustration obviously high. He hated being backed into a corner.

  “Sure. Sure I would like to date her.”

  “Well then grow a fucking pair and ask her out!”

  “Why the fuck are you yelling at me?”

  “Because you’re being a pussy!” J.B. replied. “I’ve known you for almost ten years and I’ve seen you pull this shit with girl after girl. You’re interested but you’re too chickenshit to do anything about it. There’s not another woman in this entire county that you’ve even remotely shown an interest in. Sack up and call her.”

  “But you two…”

  “What about it?” asked J.B.

  “You two just broke up.”

  “I’ve got no regrets and I’m pretty sure neither does she. If you’re even remotely interested in pursuing her, you need to do it.”

  Robert nodded, “Thanks man.”

  J.B. took his hands out of his pockets. He reached out with one and Robert shook it. J.B. held it tight for a moment, “Just be careful. We have a lot riding on this place and now is not the time to slip up.”

  Robert nodded again and J.B. let go.

  The following morning, Robert woke up around 8:00, showered and headed over to Ruth’s to check on her. As usual he found her in the kitchen, a half pot of coffee sitting in the coffee maker and a deck of cards laid out in rows in front of her.

  “Solitaire?” Robert asked.

  “It would be pretty funny if it wasn’t.”

  He walked in and poured himself a cup of coffee before taking the seat opposite Ruth.

  “You find out anything about that rock?”

  “No,” she replied while her gnarled fingers put the deck back together. “There’s no mention of it in any of the things about the house that I have here. None of the papers I copied from the historical records over the years were any help. It’s a mystery.”

  “I guess it is,” Robert replied, sipping his coffee.

  Ruth took a sip of her own and looked out toward the window.

  “It’s a beautiful day. It’ll be one of the last ones for a while. What are you doing today?”

  “I don’t know yet. I don’t have to be at the bar until 4:00. There’s no real reason to get there early today. I may ride into town and get a bite to eat for lunch.”

  “That reminds me. Will you all eat rutabagas if I make them for Christmas dinner?”

  Robert raised an eyebrow, “When have we never tried something you’ve made?”

  “True,” Ruth muttered. “J.B. will eat them if no one else will. I still don’t have a meat dish. If you go into town for lunch, would you swing by Joe’s and bring something back?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem. What are you in the mood for?”

  The old woman got up and went to the spice cabinet, “Look around and just get whatever strikes you.”

  “Will do,” Robert said. “Ruth, what do you know about Cindy Walker?”

  Ruth turned a raised eyebrow to him, “Why exactly are you asking?”

  “It’s not that,” Robert said flatly.

  She barked a short laugh and turned back around, “She’s a sweetheart. I don’t know her all that well but I know that before you came along, she and Sara Cohn went out of their way to help me a few times. I remember they brought me groceries once and both of them offered to help me clean house if ever I needed it. I never took them up on it.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  “Well, she’s lived here all her life. She’s worked at Dora’s since she was in her teens.”

  “She’s got a bit of a reputation doesn’t she?” Robert asked.

  “What about it?”

  “Is it for real?”

  Ruth turned around and looked Robert in the eye, “Who cares?”

  Robert couldn’t mask his surprise.

  “Robert, people spend way too much time concerned about the past. Take it from an old woman, what’s important is what’s happening now and what’s going to happen next.”

  “Since when did you become a Buddhist?”

  “Since you asked such a stupid question. Cindy Walker is a grown woman and she seems to be a decent and self-sufficient one at that.”

  “Rumor has it she’s been dying to get out of here though. So why do you think she hasn’t left?” Robert asked.

  “Why are you still here? Why am I here? Why do any of us stay in The Wash?”

  Robert shrugged, “I don’t know.”

  “Because it’s home. Now, why are you asking about Cindy Walker?”

  “We’ve had a couple of conversations recently. Just small talk mostly but she’s a lot smarter than I gave her credit for.”

  “What do you mean?” Ruth asked.

  “I guess I had her pegged wrong is all. Anyway, that’s it. I enjoyed talking to her and just wondered what her story was.”

  “So you like her, huh?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because if you didn’t you wouldn’t be asking me about her.”

  “I guess so. Still, it’s a little weird. I mean, she dated my best friend.”

  “Are you embarrassed about that?” asked Ruth.

  “It’s not embarrassment. It’s something else.”

  “Well whatever it is, it’s stupid. Life’s too short for embarrassment.”

  Robert stood up, “That’s pretty much what J.B. said.”

  “So you should listen to us,” Ruth replied, turning back around to her spices.

  “And pick me up some cayenne pepper while you’re in town.”

  VI

  Christmas morning was foggy, something Ruth couldn’t remember seeing in all the years she had been a resident in The Wash. She’d seen her fair share of snow drifts and misty rain but this was fog like she’d seen in San Francisco; so thick she couldn’t see Robert’s place from her own house.

  She turned away from the window. It was 4:00 a.m. Her arthritis woke her an hour before and she’d decided to get up and make the best of it. She sat dealing out a hand of solitaire when the sound of running water reached her ears. She stood up and walked over to the sink. It was shut down tight. She turned toward the living room and saw a splash as she reached the doorway. A steady stream of water was coming down from the box she and Robert had found in the cellar.

  “What the…”

  She reached up, pulled it down and walked it back to the sink being careful not to slip in the water pooling on the floor. Opening the lid, she pulled the stone out of the box and laid it on a towel, then wrapping the towel around it Ruth briskly dried the stone off. As she watched, water began to bead up all around it, and streamed off the sides into the sink. Gently, almost reverently, she took a finger and pulled a drop from the stone to her lips. It tasted pure and clean.

  Ruth looked over at the clock on the wall. It was barely 4:15.

  “He’s got to see this,” she muttered aloud and picked up her phone to call Robert.

  Forty-five minutes later., Robert had gotten hold of J.B. and both were standing in the kitchen with Ruth. She held the wet rock out to J.B. and handed him a towel.

  “Go ahead, dry it off and see for yourself,” she said.

  He looked at her through tired eyes and took the rock. Within moments of setting it back down water beaded up on the surface and began running in a stream across the counter.

  “Holy shit,” he muttered.

  Robert reached over and picked up the stone. He placed it back in the sink and made sure the drain was open.

  “Have you ever heard of anything like this?” />
  “Water coming from rock?” J.B. asked. He stood marveling at the stream running off the sides of the stone and down the drain. “Other than the leprechaun story, there’s only one more, I’ve heard. My grandmother told it to me. She said it didn’t even have a tribe associated with it. It was before the tribes, when we were all one people. Prehistory, I guess you’d say.

  “The story talks of a people who traveled the land fishing, hunting and enjoying all the earth had to offer. They respected the land, so it was good to them. They wandered from one end of the world to the other and as they were just about to reach the farthest end they stopped and made camp. The next day, one of the young warriors in the tribe was walking on his own, looking for a good place to hunt when he came upon a large crow. It sat perched on a mound of stones with great sadness in its eyes.

  “He asked it what was wrong and it said, ‘I have seen the end of the world.’”

  The warrior asked the crow to explain and it told him of a dream where men like the warrior walked the earth and took advantage of it. They had stolen from it and never repaid their debt. The crow said the dream made him so sad he could no longer fly or look for food. He was rooted to the mound of stones and his feet would not budge. The warrior watched the crow cry until finally it laid its body down on the stones to die. The warrior was distraught and he lifted the crow to his breast. He looked down and said, ‘Tell me. Tell me when this is going to happen.’

  “With its dying breath it told him, ‘These stones are witness to my sadness. When the stones cry, the world will end. So, the warrior took the stones back to his people and told them the story. They proclaimed them sacred and kept them from that day forward.”

  Robert looked at J.B., then at Ruth.

  “And…?” he asked.

  “And that’s it,” said J.B. “That’s the story. When the stones cry, the end of the world is near.”

  Robert shook his head, “Well that’s just great! There’s no moral or conclusion or anything?”

  J.B. shrugged, “Native American myths don’t work that way. You don’t necessarily get a moral like you would in other cultures.”