by H. M. Mann
Sucks, doesn’t it?
Yeah.
You do the right thing and you’re still down and out. Ain’t life grand?
You saw me?
Yeah. The Hill would be proud of you the way you beat that boy down.
Yeah, they would.
Too bad you changed your ways, Manny Mann, or you’d know the cure for everything that ails you.
It ain’t no cure. It’s a death sentence.
How do you know your friend Reaper didn’t find the cure, huh? Maybe he saw God on the grill of a city bus and wanted to have a little chat.
That’s crazy.
What have you been saying? That sometimes crazy works?
Don’t listen to me.
Can’t help it, bro. We’re kind of in this thing together.
I hate it when The Voice makes more sense than I do.
The next morning, I report for work and painfully wash some dishes using long yellow rubber gloves. The heat building up inside them leads to sweat, the sweat trickles into my cuts, and the hot water doesn’t help at all. My hands feel like they’re on fire.
“Uh-oh,” Rose whispers as she places more plates in the sink.
“What?”
“Look who’s here.”
I turn and see the Human Resources Coordinator standing in a doorway. “So?”
“So? The HRC never comes down here.”
The HRC. I don’t even know her name. She’s just a bunch of initials. I nod at her and return to my dishes.
“Mr. Mann, come with me,” she says.
Uh-oh.
I peel off my gloves as carefully as possible, but I know I leave skin and scabs inside. “Yes ma’am.”
Rose steps between us. “What’s this about?”
“There’s a problem with Mr. Mann’s paperwork.”
I roll my eyes at Rose and smile. “I must have spelled something wrong. Don’t worry.”
But I’m worrying the entire time that I follow the HRC, who doesn’t say a single word, to see Doc Agee, who gives me a mournful look when I enter. Oh yeah, it must be time for the drug test.
“Doctor Agee, why hasn’t this man been given a drug test?”
Doc Agee fiddles with his files, eyeing me occasionally. “I was, er, examining him about the time, um, Mrs., um, Mrs. …” He snaps his fingers. “Mrs. Something with the blond wig, you know, the one who got sick from the salmon?”
Doc Agee is a terrible liar, and I try not to laugh.
The HRC can’t keep her hands still, and they flutter all around her like a butterfly. What is she so nervous about? “That doesn’t matter now. Just give him a drug test.”
“Now?” Doc Agee looks at me. “Right now?”
I swagger over to him. “Give me the cup.” It’s been twenty days or so. I might be okay.
He hands me a cup. “You sure?”
“I’ll try not to miss.”
But I can’t pee right away once I’m in the little bathroom, mainly because they’re on the other side listening, and partly because I don’t have to pee. So while they listen out for me, I listen to them.
“I am in so much trouble, Doc.”
“There, there.”
“I mean, if Rose Neal vouches for someone, I don’t have to do a background check. That’s the way it’s always been. Anyone she’s ever recommended has turned out just fine, and some have been with us for years after her recommendation.”
“Rose is an excellent judge of character,” Doc Agee says.
I look down. Nothing yet.
I hear the rustle of paper. “But look at his application, Doc. Did you have any idea at all that he was a drug user?”
“Why no.”
Oh, now I can pee, and though I don’t fill the cup, the sound keeps the next part of their conversation from me. I open the door and hand out the cup first so I’ll have two hands free to zip up my pants. Doc takes the cup and sets it on his desk while I manage to pull up the zipper.
“Here, I’ll show you,” Doc says, and he winks at me. He motions me over and rolls up my sleeves. “No track marks here, just two tattoos. How’s that dog bite doing?”
Oh yeah, the stamp. “Almost fully healed. Thanks for asking.”
I then follow the HRC to her office where I stand still while she fidgets in her chair. “I know what really happened in New Orleans the other night,” she says.
“Oh.”
“So I ran a background check on you. Usually these take up to ten days, but imagine my surprise when I find out today that you’re on probation in Pennsylvania. Your name came back that quickly, Mr. Mann.”
I point at my paperwork. “If there was a spot for that on that application, I would have marked it. I told the whole truth on that application. And as for what happened in New Orleans, I was defending Penny’s honor.”
“That’s not what the New Orleans police told me. They told me you maliciously wounded a man who was minding his own business dancing.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, I roughed him up, but he was clawing at Penny’s more than dancing.”
“Well, this company doesn’t like that sort of thing at all. The company prides itself on its staff.”
“And it should have pride for me, too. I’ve been working hard on this boat.”
“That’s not the point, Mr. Mann. I’m sure you’re a good worker, it’s just that … you will have to be terminated.”
Ain’t life grand.
“We can’t have it get out to the passengers that one of our staff has a criminal record. It’s not good for business.”
Terminated. Criminal record. Not good for business. Just like that. I don’t speak because I’m used to it. I bull my neck and nod my head instead.
“You’ll get your last check, and because you have direct deposit, you’ll have to close your account.”
I’m good at closing accounts. “Anything else?”
Her hands start to flutter again. “Um, you’ll need to turn in your uniform and your badge.”
“Fine. Anything else?”
Her hands tremble as they fly. “When we, um, get to Memphis, I’m, uh, I’m supposed to turn you over to the authorities.”
“For breaking probation or for breaking that guy’s face?”
She catches her right hand with her left and settles both back to the desk. What, she’s afraid I’ll steal on her, too? “For both, I think. I’m not sure.”
I can’t go back to Pittsburgh like that, and I sure don’t want to go back to New Orleans in handcuffs. I’d lose another year, maybe more for an assault conviction, even if I pled guilty, and maybe another six months just for skipping probation, and there’s no telling what would happen to me in jail in New Orleans. I’ll bet the white boy is the son of some rich guy who can buy a jury rigged especially for me. And I don’t want my son’s first glimpse of me to be at a jail with me wearing a jumper and a number.
“I, uh, wasn’t supposed to tell you that, Mr. Mann, so, um, don’t let on that I told you to anyone, okay?”
Which is another way of saying, “Please get off the boat before we get to Memphis so I can keep my job.”
I laugh in spite of the situation.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
“Nothing has changed,” I say with a smile.
You took the words right out of my mouth.
“Are you looking out for me, or are you looking out for your job?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer.
“At least one of us is honest,” I say.
And now I have to get off this boat and the sooner the better. Closing my bank account takes a few signatures, and I have nearly ten bundles’ worth of cash in my hands.
Now we’re talking!
Shut up.
After what could be my last hot shower for a long while, I’m changing out of my uniform into my old “captain’s” clothes and collecting my notepads when Rufus busts through the door.
“I heard,” he says.
“It was bound t
o happen sooner or later.” I just wish it had happened later. What did I get? Three weeks of freedom? I should have enjoyed those days more.
“What you gonna do?” Rufus asks.
“I could get off at Tunica.” Because of the rain a few days ago, not many passengers went to Tunica, a casino town in Mississippi, but those who did said it was wall-to-wall people. I could get lost very easily there.
“Tunica? We’re almost there. We should be arriving in less than an hour.”
I point at my traveling clothes. “I’m ready.”
“Lots of police there.”
“It’ll be okay. It’s easy to get lost in all that neon.”
Then Rose shows up with a backpack full of fried chicken, sandwiches, brownies, and a half-gallon of sweetened iced tea.
“How’d you know I’d be leaving?” I ask.
“I know you,” Rose says, “and I know that if I was you, I wouldn’t let someone just take me, especially if I was innocent. Besides, you ain’t finished yet, are you?”
“No. I’m not. I’m not ready to go home yet.”
“Okay then. Take Highway Four as far as it goes—”
“I’ll be fine, Rose,” I interrupt. “Really.”
“You could go down to my people,” Rufus suggests. “They’ll hide you out for a while. I mean, we got three hundred acres, right? Plenty of places to hide. There’s this one place at the head of the hollow—”
I laugh because “hollow” comes out as “holler.” He is so country! “I don’t want to bring them any trouble.” I shake his hand. “I’m a fugitive from justice, remember?”
“Yeah.” He squeezes my hand gently for a change. “I’ll never forget you, Manny Mann.”
Rose steps between us and kisses my cheek. “Seems you’ve been a victim of justice, too.” She gives me a long hug. “I’ll be praying for you.”
“Me, too,” Rufus adds.
Then Penny bursts into the room, spilling a plastic bag of notepads and pens onto the floor. “I, uh, I heard you liked to write.” She has tears in her eyes as she collects the notepads and pens. “You’re gonna be careful, right?”
“Yeah.” I take the notepads and put them in my backpack as she drops in the pens. “I’ll be careful, sister Penny.”
She hugs me. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”
“Don’t be.”
She kisses my cheek. “I’ll be thinking of you, brother Manny.”
I step back from her. “I don’t have much time, so …”
“You get your money?” Rose asks with an edge in her voice.
“Yes ma’am.” I nod. I know what I have to do. “I’ll, uh, I’ll need to give you some so you can write some checks for me and mail them back to Pittsburgh.”
She smiles. “I’d be honored.”
I count out all but ninety dollars or so and give the rest of the money to Rose. “Just split it in half,” I tell her. Then I write two quick notes to Auntie June and Mary:
I don’t know where I’m going, but I’ll try to keep in touch somehow. This will be your last check for a while. Emmanuel.
I address two envelopes and hand them to Rose. “You might, um, want to explain why the checks are from you, you know, so they don’t get torn up.”
“I will.” She reaches into her vest pocket and withdraws a calling card. “I have about an hour left on this thing, so feel free to use it to …” Her eyes fill with tears. “Use it to stay in touch with those you love.”
Then we do a group hug, just me, an old black lady, a big black man, and a young white-black girl, and it feels nice. “Thank you all.”
“It’s y’all,” Penny says.
“Sorry. Thank y’all for everything. I’ll never forget you.” As long as I live and then some.
They stand with me near the gangplank as the American Queen eases into the dock at Tunica. All the things I want to say to each of them go unsaid, but I hope they understand.
Only Rose speaks. “Make haste slowly,” she says. “And get up mighty.”
“I will,” I say, and with a simple wave, I blend in with the rest of passengers and walk off, disappearing into another neon sky.
Part III: On the Rail
13: On the Illinois Central
It’s a lonely sundown walk through Tunica, which I guess is as glitzy as Las Vegas is supposed to be only on a much smaller scale, but I don’t notice any of that glitz until I’m a couple miles past the casinos on Highway 4. All those lights and electricity beckoning people to spend money, and here I am with less than a hundred dollars and a backpack full of food, notepads, and pens. I know I’m better off. I just wish I didn’t have to leave three good friends behind.
You still got me.
You aren’t my friend.
I could be.
Past the small town of Little Texas, I leave Highway 4 and see some train tracks running north and south. I had seen the Reaper and several other kids jumping on trains once, and it didn’t look too hard. Of course, those trains weren’t moving very fast, and I’m definitely not as young and agile as I used to be. I hope I can manage. At least I’ll be miles away from where I’m supposed to be. But do I go north or south?
Time to think like a cop. I imagine the cops in Memphis searching the boat and coming up empty. “He jumped ship, Jimmy Joe,” one will say. “But where, Bobby Ray?” the other will say. “If I was him, I’d go south, Jimmy Joe.” Jimmy Joe will scratch his crew cut and ask, “Why’s that, Bobby Ray?” Bobby Ray will stick an entire pouch of chewing tobacco into his mouth and spit a stream onto Jimmy Joe’s new shoes before saying, “Cuz he wants us to believe he’s going south since goin’ north will only take him right into trouble, so he tries to make us believe he’s goin’ north when he’s really goin’ south.” Jimmy Joe will wipe his shoes off with a monogrammed handkerchief and say, “So we’ll put out an APB on him all points south?” Bobby Ray will smack Jimmy Joe on the back of the head. “Ain’t you been listenin’, Jimmy Joe? If we do that, we’ll spook him for sure and then he’ll run east or west. We got to make him think he’s safe.”
It’s amazing what goes through your head when you’re on the run.
You been watching too much TV, Manny.
I know.
I decide to follow the tracks north for no real reason. The air, though cool, is so humid I begin to sweat, and in half an hour, I am glistening. Maybe it’s dew, who knows? And except for the occasional scrape of my boots on the railroad ties, which are as uneven as the pavement on the Hill, and some annoying gnats and mosquitoes buzzing around my ears and eyes, it’s so quiet that I can hear my stomach growling. I eat some of Rose’s good chicken, tossing the bones into the thickets on either side, and just generally make haste slowly until I hear a train whistle in the distance. I should have stayed back at a crossing where trains slow down sometimes. Out here in the wilderness, that train won’t be stopping or slowing for anything, and if I jump and miss and get dragged under the wheels …
That wouldn’t be good.
No, it wouldn’t.
I decide I need more sugar and eat several brownies, tearing off large chunks and downing them with some iced tea. If nothing else, it will make my backpack lighter. I stand in the middle of the tracks and look for the headlight of a train. Nothing. Okay, now do I get on the train on the right side or the left? Does it matter? The cars have doors and ladders on both sides, don’t they?
Like one of those cars will have an open door.
Hush. I’m thinking.
I could shoot for the caboose, but if I miss, I’ll have to wait on another train, maybe one that won’t come until daylight. But what if it doesn’t have a caboose and I wait for nothing? And don’t some folks work in the caboose? They may not be too friendly to a new passenger. I may just have to aim for a middle car and hold on for dear life, maybe even get dragged a little ways.
Better tie your shoes then. You know how you love those boots.
Shh.
I hear the whistle
again, and it seems to be coming from the south. It’s hard to tell since it echoes some. I eat the rest of the chicken. If nothing else, I’m going to have a nice last meal and the lightest backpack possible. I even suck down the rest of the iced tea, but I keep the container, just in case I have to pee.
When the ground begins to shake and the rails begin to hum, I know it must be close. I just wish I could see it, but this stretch is so flat. I should be waiting near a hill or something, so I can—
There it is, and it’s in a hurry, a single white light growing bigger by the second. Right or left? I take out a quarter. Heads, I go right. Tails, I go left.
You choose this moment to flip a coin?
I flip the coin and see George Washington’s head. To the right then, but how close do I stand to the rail? And why does the ground slope down from the rail? Probably so folks like me have trouble jumping on. Here comes the engine and—
It’s already by me.
There ain’t no way I can get on this train!
You got that right.
It has to be doing thirty, maybe forty miles an hour. What was I thinking? And it’s so dark! I run north alongside the rushing train looking for an opening, looking for anything I can see to hold onto. A few have little ladders, but most don’t. How do they do this in the movies? I’m not a stunt man.
While I run, I tie the backpack to my chest and feel the iced tea sloshing around in my stomach. I shouldn’t have sucked it all down, but I needed to be lighter, and—
Is that the caboose back there already? I have to get on now!
I trip over something and fall, knocking the air out of my lungs.
Very smooth.
Shut up.
This is great. Maybe I’m not supposed to get on this train. Maybe I’m supposed to lie here in the dewy dirt being dive-bombed by mosquitoes until it’s light enough to see. Maybe I’m supposed to—
That wasn’t the caboose. I stand, the wind whipping through my clothes. This is one really long train. Is it slowing down? The horn sounds from far to my right. Maybe there’s a crossing ahead, and they have to slow down. I start to trot, the squeal of the wheels reminding me of Rufus and his pig farm.