The Resolutions

by Brady Hammes

  Sam walked over to Gregor, who held an ax in one hand, a cigarette in the other. “Where’s Ivan?”

  Gregor pointed to the barn, where she saw the lower half of Ivan poking out from beneath a pickup truck.

  Sam walked over to him. She grabbed a shovel and struck him hard on the shin.

  “Aye!” he yelled, sliding out from beneath the truck. “What?”

  She attempted another blow, but Ivan caught the shovel and wrested it from her grip.

  “You fucker!” she yelled. “Do you have any idea what kind of damage you’ve done? You ruined my life with your crazy shit. I told you I didn’t want to see you anymore. Why don’t you understand that?” She waited for a response but nothing came. “Answer me!”

  “I wanted to see you,” Ivan said pathetically.

  “And you thought throwing a rock through a window was a good way to get my attention?”

  “Who is he?”

  “It’s none of your business who he is.”

  “Do you love him?” he asked.

  “What’s it matter, Ivan?” she yelled. “Why do you care?”

  “Because I love you,” he said.

  “Well, I’m afraid the feeling isn’t mutual,” she said, and started down the road. “Don’t ever look for me again,” she yelled back. “I’m done with you. I’m done with all this shit.”

  * * *

  —

  SHE RETURNED HOME TO FIND Marie and Owen snuggling on the couch, watching a Russian dubbed version of Die Hard.

  “Hey,” Marie said, standing from the couch. “Where did you go? I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Don’t,” Sam said, stepping into her bedroom and pulling the door closed behind her.

  “Sam!” Marie yelled. “Can we talk?”

  Sam opened the door. “What?”

  “Can I come in?”

  Marie closed the door behind her and sat on the edge of the bed. “Nikolai pulled me aside after rehearsal and told me what’s going on.”

  “Then what else do you want to know?”

  “I want to know why you never told me. I want to know why you didn’t feel like you could ask me for help.”

  “Because I’m not looking for help, Marie. I’m looking for people to mind their own fucking business. Which should be easier now that I’m leaving.”

  “Where are you going?” Marie asked, unfazed.

  “Chicago, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t really have a master plan.”

  “Do you think you should talk to someone about it?”

  “No, I don’t,” Sam snapped. “You’re beginning to sound a lot like Nikolai, and I don’t like it.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m worried about you.”

  “Yes, that seems to be a theme around here.” She had tried so hard to conceal it, and she wasn’t sure if she was more devastated by the loss of her job or the fact that she’d been found out.

  Sam’s phone rang. It was Max. “I need to take this.”

  Marie left the room, and Sam answered the phone. “Hi.”

  “I tried,” Max said. “I did.”

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said, trying to hold it together. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  Sam walked to the window, where she watched a deer high-step through the snow. “I haven’t been honest with you.”

  “I know,” Max said. “Nikolai told me everything.”

  “I’m such a fuckup,” she mumbled. The tears were flowing now. She had trouble getting the words out. “I let you down. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Max said. “I’ll be fine. I want you to do what’s best for you right now. You’re a beautiful dancer, Sam. There will be other ballets, and when you’re ready there will be a role for you. All I want is for you to get better. We’ll work together again. Maybe not here, but somewhere else. I know that much.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I keep saying that, and I know it probably doesn’t mean much, but that’s really what I am. I’m just sorry.”

  “I know you are.”

  There was a moment of silence as she considered what else she might say.

  “Goodbye, Sam,” he said gently. “I wish you nothing but the best.” The line went quiet. “Fuck!” she yelled, throwing her phone across the room. Despite his assurance that they would work together again, there was an obvious finality to the call. The false little world she’d constructed was crumbling around her.

  She grabbed the bag of drugs from her dresser. She considered the white powder that had caused her so much grief. She knew she needed to quit. She also knew it wouldn’t be easy. But she must. She must come to terms with the fact that once the drugs were gone she would step through an imaginary door into a life of sobriety. But even thinking about a drug-free life brought forth a torrent of future cravings. How could anyone expect her to not partake in something that her body now required, something as essential as oxygen? Resisting heroin felt like being handed a glass of cold water at the finish line of a marathon and being asked not to drink it. It was like dropping a mouse in a snake’s cage and asking the snake to babysit while you run some errands and then returning to find the mouse gone and the snake gorged and loafing in a nest of wood chips, with a pleased look that said, Really? Did you really think that wasn’t going to happen? That’s how insane it was, the idea of her life without drugs.

  She guessed it was about a quarter gram. She considered saving a little, but that would dilute the high and since this was her last time doing this shit, she figured she might as well treat herself to the kind of oblivion-grasping, checkout high she deserved; a ceremonious, firework-filled close to a pretty shitty chapter of her life. And afterward, the drugs would be gone and she would be finished, forever. But just the thought of going a whole day without drugs was terrifying. And this fear of a day without drugs compounded her distress, because it meant this whole thing ran a lot deeper than she wanted to admit.

  She opened her computer and found an email from her mom.

  To: sambrennan362@gmail.com

  From: cynthiabrennan0762@gmail.com

  Subject: Flights

  I don’t mean to nag, but that’s what mothers do! You still haven’t sent me your flight info. I hope it isn’t because you haven’t booked it yet. Jonah gets here the 23rd and Gavin said he should be here soon after that. He’s going to New Mexico for some strange reason. He’s very elusive about the whole thing. Did I tell you his show got canceled? He’s a little sore about it, so please don’t say anything unless he brings it up.

  Let me know what time your flight gets in and Dad will pick you up at the airport. Also, I just read an article in the Tribune that the baggage handlers at the airport are stealing Christmas presents. So if you did any shopping, make sure you carry them on the plane with you ;)

  —Mom

  She clicked over to a travel website to see how much this visit would cost her. Moscow to Chicago three days before Christmas was not a cheap flight. She knew she shouldn’t have waited this long—only fugitives and the bereaved bought last-minute plane tickets. She considered going to New York, where she could hide out at her friend Nikki’s loft until she was ready to confront the disappointed faces of her family. But as much as she dreaded the fallout from this visit, the idea of spending Christmas alone was even more depressing. She found a one-way ticket that left Sheremetyevo at 9:00 A.M., $1470 USD. She plugged in her credit card info and hit submit, knowing that she would be paying off this visit, both financially and emotionally, for a very long time.

  JONAH

  “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” LAURENT BELLOWED. He was wearing a Santa hat and decorating an anemic, three-foot-tall silver Christmas tree. Two patrons sat in the corner shooting dice, while Clement doused the tree with packaging peanuts meant to repre
sent snow. A limp string of flashing lights hung above the bar and “Little Drummer Boy” blasted from the stereo in the office. The place reminded Jonah of a failed office Christmas party. It was the first visual indication that the holidays were near, and he was reminded of his reason for returning home. He’d packed up his camp earlier that morning and schlepped his belongings back to town. His plan was to spend the night at Laurent’s, who would then drive him to the train station the next morning. He’d been looking forward to going home for weeks, but his encounter with Slinky cast a pall over the trip and he worried about the fate of his elephants while he was gone.

  He ditched his bags in the office, then joined Laurent and Clement, who were now hanging the tree with ornaments. “Nice-looking tree,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Laurent said. “It’s not real, though.”

  “Get out,” Jonah said. “I figured you made a trip to the North Pole over your lunch break.”

  Clement crowned the tree with a lopsided star he’d cut from blue construction paper.

  “Perfect tree for us,” Laurent said, beaming. He took a step back to admire their work. A moment later, the door to the restaurant swung open and Slinky and Mateo stumbled in, their voices amplified by booze.

  “Hello, Elephant Man,” Mateo shouted. “You ready for our big trip tomorrow?” Mateo’s surliness had been softened by a night of heavy drinking, and as far as Jonah could remember, this was the most he’d ever said to him. Slinky, meanwhile, had found the remote control and was flipping through the channels, finally settling on a soccer match between Kenya and Ethiopia, which he watched with the intensity of a man with money on the line.

  “I thought I was taking you to the train?” Laurent said to Jonah.

  “You are,” Jonah said. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “No no no,” Mateo said, grabbing a beer from the refrigerator. “No need for the train. I have to go to Libreville to see my mother, so you can come with me.”

  “No thanks,” Jonah said.

  “No…!” Slinky yelled at the TV, which showed the Ethiopian goalie lying on the ground with his hands over his head while the Kenyans pawed one another in celebration.

  “Fucking Ethopians,” Slinky said, abandoning the match for a French-dubbed version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. The smile on his face indicated he was familiar with the movie and derived a great deal of pleasure from it.

  “Elephant Man,” Slinky said, motioning for Jonah to come over. “I have something of yours.”

  Jonah walked over to Slinky, who removed Jonah’s passport from his own back pocket. “I found this in your tent.”

  Jonah felt something collapse inside of him. He’d assumed his passport was still tucked in his backpack. He hadn’t considered the possibility that it had been taken along with his camera. He sensed the situation closing in around him, his options dwindling.

  Slinky leaned toward Jonah. “I told you I would convince you to help me,” he said. “Here’s how this will work. Mateo will pick you up at ten tomorrow morning and drive you to Libreville.”

  “I told you I’m not doing this,” Jonah whispered. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to shield Laurent from their conversation.

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “I’ll get another passport at the embassy,” Jonah bluffed. He knew the embassy wasn’t open on weekends and that his flight left in less than forty-eight hours. He just wasn’t sure how much of this Slinky knew.

  “Suit yourself,” Slinky said, tucking the passport back into his pocket.

  There was no way Jonah could smuggle ivory, but he also knew he wasn’t getting home without a passport. Getting caught with ivory would result in a prison sentence, though refusing the request could result in a death sentence, either for his elephants or himself. He did the mental arithmetic but couldn’t come up with a satisfying solution. “What happens if I get caught?”

  “I told you not to worry about such things,” Slinky said. “Just make sure you’re ready to leave tomorrow morning. Once you’re back in Chicago, my cousin Andre will be in touch. He’ll arrange for a meeting. You give him the ivory, he gives you the money. Then you return it to me after Christmas. If there are no problems, you go back to talking to your elephants in the forest.” Slinky stood up from the bar and clapped Jonah on the shoulder. “Very easy for you. No problem.” On his way out the door, Slinky stopped to admire the Christmas tree. “Nice tree,” he said to Laurent.

  “What was that about?” Laurent asked as soon as they were gone.

  Jonah shrugged. “I guess he’s giving me a ride to the airport.”

  “Jonah?” Laurent said, his face demanding an explanation.

  Jonah had considered telling Laurent everything, but there was nothing he could do to help. “I’d rather not get into it.”

  “I don’t like the look of this,” Laurent said, sweeping the empty beer cans off the bar.

  * * *

  —

  JONAH WOKE EARLY THE next morning and logged onto Laurent’s computer to fire off a few emails. He sent a note to his mother informing her that he would arrive at O’Hare on the afternoon of the twenty-third and that he’d take a taxi into the city. He still hadn’t heard back from Sam, which was fine, since a whirlwind tour of Paris was about the last thing he felt up for. At three minutes after ten, he heard a honk and looked out the window to see Mateo approaching in a battered Toyota pickup truck with a camper shell over the bed. He grabbed his bags and told Laurent goodbye, promising to email pictures of snow.

  Outside, Jonah loaded his bags in the truck, then walked to the passenger door and noticed another man sitting shotgun. Mateo, from inside the truck, nodded toward the back. Perfect, Jonah thought, ten hours in the bed of a pickup. Slinky hadn’t mentioned that he’d be riding with the cargo, which consisted not only of a crate of tusks, Jonah discovered, but also four burlap sacks of coffee beans and three caged chickens. The road was rough and punishing, and the chickens were squawking and cawing at such a crushing pitch and decibel that Jonah briefly considered suffocating them with his T-shirt. Soon, the small cab window slid open to reveal a bearded man with rotten teeth and a goofy smile. “Chaud?” the man asked.

  “Yeah, it’s a little hot. Maybe you could keep the window open.”

  “Poulets,” the man said, pointing to the birds. He spoke with the wonder and awe of a toddler.

  “Oui,” Jonah said. “Ils sont à vous?” He nodded and the man did the same. “Did you fellas do some Christmas shopping?”

  The man continued nodding, though he obviously didn’t understand a word of English. “Bought your girlfriends coffee beans and live chickens?” Jonah continued. “That’s very sweet of you. Très romantique.”

  Mateo’s hand reached across and slammed the window shut. Jonah banged on it a couple times before sitting back down. The chickens were still carrying on, so he threw a handful of coffee beans at the cage, which he immediately regretted. Caffeine, he realized, probably wasn’t the best sedative.

  They drove through the afternoon, stopping every couple of hours to bribe officials at checkpoints. Twice they let Jonah out to stretch and both times he considered running into the surrounding forest. Mateo would usually disappear momentarily before returning with additional cargo—marijuana, automatic weapons, an aquarium containing a six-foot python—until Jonah wondered whether they planned to shoot him, feed him to the snake, or some combination of the two. Jonah was battered, filthy, sore, despondent, and ultimately alone. If he weren’t alone, he might have tried to overtake Mateo and his goon, but he possessed neither the energy nor bravery to stage such a coup.

  At dusk, they arrived at a concrete structure that advertised itself as a Nightclub Pizzeria. Jonah’s heart jumped at the possibility of pizza and cold beer, but the club was empty save for an elderly woman who emerged from the kitchen with a t
ray of charred songbirds. In a precooked state, he might have been able to educate the men about their dinner, but now, as he lifted one of the birds from the tray and cracked its wings and tried to extract what little meat was available, he felt as though he might vomit. When the tray made its way around a second time, Jonah politely declined and went outside to eat his last granola bar.

  After dinner, they piled back into the truck. Jonah moved the cargo around to create a rectangle of empty space in which to sleep. He stacked the crate of marijuana on the aquarium to ensure the snake didn’t wander around in the night, then unrolled his sleeping bag, balled a couple T-shirts into a pillow, and crawled into bed. He was no stranger to crude sleeping arrangements, but between the bouncing and pounding of the dirt road, the noise of the chickens, and the threat of the giant python staring at him through a half inch of glass, he knew whatever sleep he found would be intermittent. He almost wished he’d been taken at gunpoint and shoved into the back of the truck and forced to do this thing that violated every tenet of his moral code, because at least then he’d be a legitimate hostage rather than a feckless grad student without the balls to demand a proper seat.

  * * *

  —

  MORNING ANNOUNCED ITSELF WITH a rectangle of sunlight to the face. Jonah crawled out of the truck and into the concussive din of a fast-moving city. They’d arrived in Libreville sometime in the night. Jonah spotted Mateo sitting on a curb some distance away, shouting into a cellphone. Taxis and motorcycles sped past, and two men were arguing in front of a wheelbarrow filled with oranges. It was a blunt transition from the quietude of forest life, like being shoved half-asleep into a coliseum.

  Jonah walked over to Mateo, who was now scribbling something down on a piece of notebook paper. “What’s the plan?”

  “Come with me,” Mateo instructed.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t worry,” Mateo said, walking a few steps ahead of Jonah.