The Plenty
Page 14
Chapter 13.
Hank Murphy lifted a garbage can and dumped it into the back of the truck. His partner, Tommy Blanks, never showed up that morning, so Hank dragged his ten-year-old stepson Roy along to help with the garbage route.
"Like that smell?" asked Hank.
"It's awful." Roy covered his nose.
"You learn to love it. There's something clean about garbage."
Roy, whose face always seemed on the verge of sneezing, kept a gloved hand over his nose while he dragged another aluminum can toward the rear of the truck.
"Oh, it's not that bad, Roy," said Hank, rubbing his beard, grown for deer hunting season. "And it's chilly out today. You should smell it in August. You should see it then, too. All kinds of squirmies inside. Makes you skip lunch. Smells don't bother me no more. Garbage is nothing after you've worked on the rendering truck, picking up roadkill. I've handled more dead animals than a pet shop owner. Now, garbage – it's the smell of all smells combined, and to me, since we bought this truck, that's the smell of money. It opens the pores in the nose. Smell of all smells. All smells put together into one cocktail." He spoke toward the house, "A penny for your stink, sir!"
Together they lifted the can, dumping out a pile of clothes into the truck, clothes that the homeowner no longer needed.
Roy put his hand on the lever to crush the pile. "All clear?"
"Just hold your horses," said Hank, pulling out a Minnesota Gophers t-shirt from the pile of clothes. "Only one little hole in this shirt." Then he felt charitable. "You want it, Roy?"
"No, I don't want it, Hank."
He tossed the t-shirt at Roy, who stepped aside and let it fall to the pavement. "And what's this here?" said Hank, rummaging in the trash pile. "Lookee what we have here." He pulled out a package. "Snickers bars, Roy. Unopened, too. Who throws out Snickers bars? They don't get old. Halloween came a little early this year for Hank. You want one, Roy?"
"No. God, you're gross. Can I pull the lever now?"
Not listening, Hank inspected the wrapper of one of the bars and put one in his flannel shirt pocket.
"I'm pulling the lever."
"Did you say 'all clear'? Gotta say it," said Hank. "I don't want to lose a leg like that guy from Sharpsboro did a few years ago. Or was it a wing?"
"I said 'all clear' already."
"But I didn't give the all clear back to you." Hank unwrapped a Snickers bar and took a bite.
"That's disgusting."
"You mean delicious?" asked Hank, chewing and talking. "When I first started doing garbage routes, I had your notions. Then one day Tommy couldn't stop himself from eating a Kit Kat he found. Found a whole bag of Kit Kats. Couldn't believe he ate 'em. A few hours passed and he hadn't died yet and they were sitting on the dashboard. Looked so good sitting there, I had to try one. People throw out perfectly good food all the time. If the wrapper's intact, ain't no big deal."
"But it's garbage."
"People throw things out for lots of reasons. Maybe old man Dyerson's on a diet," Hank said, referring to the home owner, "and he's getting rid of his sweets. Maybe his old lady said the kids can't have candy as a punishment. Both of them could stand a few years without nougat." He took another bite. "Know what I mean?"
"All clear?"
"Keep your pants on. Here, look at this. Threw out a sign, too. Usually this place just has regular trash, but today…today." Using his forearm, Hank rubbed the dust off the sign and revealed the photo known as Enstrom's Grace, a common wall hanging in Immaculate. "Picture of an old man praying before he eats. That, or he has a migraine." After viewing it again, Hank said, "I'll give it to Grandma, she'd probably like it. Put a new frame on it, be like new. I got my Christmas shopping nearly done this year, thanks to the garbage route." He tucked it under his arm and motioned to Roy the 'all clear' signal.
As the garbage disappeared under the truck's mandible, Roy shook his head. They walked to the doors and climbed into the truck cab to move on to the next house. On the dashboard, Hank propped the second Snickers bar in a position to entice Roy. "Maybe I'll take that candy bar home to your Mom. Think she'd like that?"
"No," said Roy. "Because I'll tell her it was in the garbage."
"That's where she found me," said Hank. "Like I said, lots of usable things in the garbage if you dust 'em off. Put your seat belt on."
Hank sniffed the t-shirt again as he started driving the truck to the next block. "They washed this shirt before they threw it out. People throw out washed clothes with one little hole." He smelled it again. "Could use another wash, just to be safe. On second thought, smells a bit like my clothes, like it was worn one too many times. Or a hundred too many. You know when the arms smell even if you douse it in detergent? Of course you don't know that smell yet, you're a kid. I will tell you this, Roy, people find it strange when they see me wearing clothes that they threw in the trash. It's awkward. Not for me, but for them. They give me a strange look, like I know a secret about them. Like their clothes was reincarnated or something."
"Why d'ya think Tommy ain't here today?"
"Who knows. I don't like him spending so much time with his motorcycle gang. Thinks he's Harley-Davidson himself now. Feel like he's cheating on me. I'd fire him if he didn't own half of what I own. And he's the one who thought garbage would be a good idea. I said dump trucks and backhoes, but no, he said, garbage is year-round. Not sure why that sounded like a good idea. Now I spend all year in a truck. I hope Tommy has a good excuse. But he's dumb. So probably not."
Roy said, "That's what he says about you."
"He's got a lot of growing up to do, that Tommy Blanks. He's the little dope who never grew up. Missing work. Heck, I haven't missed a day of work in years. If I see him on the street here outside his house, I'll run him over. Better have a good excuse. Let's pick up the pace, Roy, then we can go hunting, see if we can't get you a deer."