American rust (29 page)

5. Isaac

A
head of him were the lights and signs of a Wal- Mart. He was walking very slowly; it took forever just to cross the parking lot and when he got inside he stood in the doorway in the blast of hot air until the greeter motioned him forward. Salvation Army type—looking you over. Probably call security.

Bright in here, he thought. I just want to sleep. Find a quiet corner. No, eat first. Do not leave without eating. Taco Bell right there and a Pizza Hut, you can spend two dollars. He made his way to the line for the Taco Bell and looked at the menu overhead. What has the most calories? Two bean burritos and a taco. Balanced meal. The body a temple.

After his food came he took a glass of water and sat slowly eating. Almost too tired to eat. Give it a few minutes. No, your head is clearing already—coming up from under water. Blood sugar rising. Close the eyes, just a minute.

“Young man? Young man?”

He opened his eyes. An old lady at the next table was looking to him. “You fell asleep,” she said.

He nodded. Alright wake up. Look at her—satisfied—acting like she saved you from something. Find another place to rest. No that is not a real option; the store will close eventually, you'll be right back where you started. I could find a shelter, he thought. Except that is the first place they'll come looking for you. A vagrant felon. Anyone else would have skipped town. Except I don't have a coat and I don't know where I am, he thought. He looked out over the store. Fine. Fine, I'll do it.

There was music playing in the store, easy listening, as he pushed his shopping cart down the aisle. The other customers stared intently at their merchandise until he passed. Embarrassed to look at you. Who wouldn't be? Except the kid does not care. Possessed of a higher mission— self- improvement. Resource gathering. Like the original man— starts from scratch. A new society. Beginning in Men's Outerwear. All those coats. Never know how much you value a coat. Took months to make in the old days. Now you just go to a store. Don't be nervous, she's looking at you.

An employee in a smock passed by, giving him a long look. Isaac de-toured around to the other side of the store, the pharmacy aisles, found a razor and a travel- sized soap and shaving cream. Perhaps some deodorant. Plan for the future. In another section of the store he picked up a handful of energy bars. Same ones Lee eats. Kid gives his highest endorsement. Don't take more than you can carry, though. Now sporting goods—wall full of hunting knives. Put one in the cart. Four inches. The kid knows the truth: man without a knife is not a man.

Back in clothing he found a clean pair of pants, button- down shirt, socks, underwear, a pack of T-shirts. Fresh new smell. A few aisles away he took the thickest coat they sold, blanket- lined heavy canvas. Practically a sleeping bag, this coat. Get another fleece as well. The kid appreciates quality. Now a hat and maybe a second one. Sleep like a king in two hats. The kid, he is concerned with his future. A maker of preparations. Here comes a meddler.

A different employee, a short thin woman in her late sixties, came over and asked if he wanted to try anything on.

“No ma'am,” he said. “I know my sizes.” He smiled at her.

“Yes, sir,” she said. She stood there. Thinks she sees through the kid. Suspects him of plans. Meanwhile he could be her grandson, but she doesn't care—her loyalty is to the company. Company over humanity. Head to the checkout. Act like you're buying.

He waited at the cash register, listening to a man ahead of him talking on a cellphone. The store is busy, he thought, and the kid is small and unthreatening. He sends out vibrations—a hundred ten pounds of love. No reason for suspicion. Plenty else to look at.

The queue was moving slowly and finally the employee watching him went and did something else. Isaac broke out of line and pushed his cart toward the dressing rooms. Hope they're unlocked. Get in quick. There's one.

Piling all the loose items onto the coat, he carried everything into the small room, locked the door, then stripped off all his clothes. He began to put on the new pants. Hold on, change your underwear. Small dignities. He undressed fully and paused in front of the mirror—the sickly kid, his hair filthy, a week's scraggle on his face. Your standard refugee. Any skinnier and the wind will take him to Kansas.

He dressed himself in the new clothes, then put his old clothes back on overtop of them. Look about the same. Maybe lumpier. Knife in your belt, soap and razor in your pants pocket, energy bars in your jacket. Ready for combat. Handsome Charlie. Hang the coat on your shoulder like you own it. The kid can be slowed but not stopped. Those above would prefer he froze—their money, his life. But they have not walked in his shoes and he holds no hard feelings. Truly a generous kid.

He checked both ways as he left the dressing room, then walked quickly toward the exit, already beginning to sweat from the extra clothing. Beating them at their own game, he stares at the linoleum, not nervous. Long lines of people wasting money. Exit right. Thirty seconds. Uh- oh. Here's trouble. Time to put on the coat.

“Sir,” a woman's voice was calling. “Sir you need to pay for that.”

Don't turn around. Act like you don't hear. Get that coat on. He felt a surge of adrenaline as he approached the doors, keep walking, he thought, keep walking you are nearly there
Sir,
he heard,
sir we need to speak to you,
and then people were yelling and something came over the loudspeaker,
all employees report for a code seventy- six.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone running and then he started to run himself. The only thing between him and the door was the old man in his blue vest, the store greeter, they locked eyes, Isaac was running at him full speed and finally the man stepped out of his way.

He stumbled against the doors and lost ground but then he was out into the parking lot, it was wide open, what is the shortest distance go right. They're behind you. Pull that cart to slow them. No, don't. He was running all-out toward the wooded area at the edge of the lot. Past idling cars, past people with shopping carts, he heard footsteps just behind him. He felt his muscles burning and he saw every step he would take. Reach the woods and you're safe. Just get to the woods. Something brushed against his coat, a person's hand, but he heard them stumble and fall behind. Still there's someone else.

At the very edge of the parking lot he heard the footfalls slow and cease and he jumped the high curb without slowing, plunging into the grass and running downhill, you're going to fall, he thought, but he kept his footing. Then he was into the woods, safely into the darkness, still running.

6. Henry English

H
is daughter had gone to sleep and Henry was sitting in the wheelchair in his bedroom, trying to get the nerve to get into bed. It had been the den, a spare bedroom, maybe the nanny's or the maid's.

There was a handrail at the head of the bed but still. Usually the boy gave him a boost. Now it was a gap he had to make, grab the rail with one arm and try to heave himself over, legs dragging along behind him. He'd made it the last five nights but only barely. If he fell, he'd spend the night on the floor. Freeze to death, probably. He had not wanted Lee to help him. Better to manage on his own. It would cost.

He was worse off than he thought, the boy being gone forced him to admit that. Even if he made it onto the bed it would take him forty- five minutes to get undressed, planning his strategy and levering himself, move the first leg a few degrees, then the other leg, bend the knee so much, then the other knee, hope the first knee doesn't pop back while you're doing the second. He was weaker and stiffer, like having rigor mortis. I'll sleep in the chair, he thought. But that was not a real option. He wouldn't be able to keep it from her much longer, the truth of his condition. He needed a bath, he hadn't had one since the boy left, he knew she could tell. The way she looked at him when she said good night, like kissing a baby. That was bad enough. Put you in a home. Isaac wouldn't, it had never crossed Isaac's mind, but his daughter was practical. Her heart ran a couple degrees colder.

It is the boy distracting you. Gone six days. Bums must have got him. Then he thought: No, he's tougher than he looks. Not to mention your four thousand dollars in his pocket, slim motivation to come home. Christ, he thought. He felt the pressure come up inside him, he needed to hit something, he punched the arm of the chair, he punched the mattress, he squeezed his jaw as tight as he could make it, he would break his teeth. Then he caught a look at himself in the mirror, face twisted and red, a tantrum.

Calm down. Read some. He rolled his chair to the other side of the room, under the lamp where he couldn't see the mirror. He picked up the
TV Guide.
It was his own fault, the mattress was too soft and he couldn't get a purchase, the bed was older than both his children. Wedding bed. He could feel the springs in his back as he slept but he would never get rid of it. It was Mary's last bed, it would be his too, there were times she still came to him in the night.

Truth was he was close. He was stealing his days. An old pine, weak in the roots, its own weight pulls it over. Everything inside him was going on strike, kidneys, liver, and pancreas, they were yanking out parts of his guts, appendix, gall bladder, there was nothing he was allowed to eat. No alcohols or fats. No salts. Lee's lunch yesterday, all the cheese and dairy, he'd spent half the day on the throne. Shitting your guts out. She'd wanted to take him to the movies, but he'd had to pretend to be tired. Didn't tell her the real reason. Got her out of the house to make your movements in peace.

You could go on forever if they ate you in small enough bites—he used to think that was beautiful, triumph of human spirit, wanting to go on no matter what. It was Shackleton going up mountains, a normal person could not endure it. Reason to hold the head up. The problem being it was only an outlook, a way of thinking that did not change reality. Reality being he was meat in a slow rot. A head hooked up to old meat, barely get your own pants off. Any other animal they'd put you down, lying in your own slops.

You're just talking, he thought. Full of bullshit. There's a nine-millimeter in the drawer for any time you get too tired, you can always talk to Mr. Browning, he's got good advice when you're ready to listen. But he's been quiet thirteen years. Because you yourself are just talk.

He put down his
TV Guide,
there was no point. He rolled to his desk, he had caused the whole thing, it was the small slips of the mind that did you in. He'd gotten sloppy, left the money where the boy could find it. He should have locked the money up, hidden it somewhere else. There were bills all over, the hospital, he had another appointment, they wouldn't schedule anything together, it was a bunch of shithead tailchasers, they wanted to get their twenty- five a visit. It was the bush leagues, you didn't get good doctors at a little hospital like that, they were practically veterinarians. When they'd found that lump on his prostate, he could practically see their hands rubbing together, more tests and operations. He'd made another appointment with a specialist in the city, Indian guy, Ramesh, Ramid, barely understood what he was saying but he was good, a likable guy. Ramesh checked and checked but the lump was gone, probably never there to begin with. Told him: Doc, I never been so happy to have a man stick his finger up my ass. Took you the wrong way. Small careful man. Said
I didn't like it any more than you did, Mr. English.
After that he wouldn't look at you. Liked him except now you can't go back.

He rolled himself to the window, there was a quarter moon, he could see everything, the skeleton of the neighbor's house, Pappy Cross, gone twelve years. Moves to Nevada to be with his sons, within two weeks someone came and stole his gutters, security door, doublepane windows. Called him in Nevada to tell him, never got a call back. Whole house rotting to nothing.

There was a noise from upstairs but it was just Lee walking around. Soon she would have to go back, she would not wait around here forever as Isaac had. Admit it, he thought. A man would not have done that. What you did to that boy it is sacrifice yourself for your children, not the other way around. The boy was technically a genius, they'd had him tested but he had never told the boy 167, that was the number he'd scored, it was higher than his sister. But, he didn't know, there'd always been something about the boy he was smart and stupid at the same time. As if he was meant to do everything the wrong way. Junior league ball, the boy was twelve, they subbed him in for the pitcher, good arm but he chokes, eight runs straight, loses the game. Afterward acting like nothing happened. It made no sense. The feeling that gave you, watching your son lose the game, but he just shrugged it off, didn't care.

No, he thought, you never had any choice, Lee Anne left first and there was nothing more to it. And the boy could take it, he's stronger than she is. She talks one way but inside she's another. Would've killed her staying here.

Henry thought about it, he would have wheeled himself in front of a train for either of them. Went without saying. The boy was his son. It was normal to have a preference, his own father had preferred him to his brother, it was just the way life went. He did not have enough to give to both of them. No, he thought, that is a lie. You did not want to be alone and you made choices.

Either way it would have been time to let the boy go, make your final journey. Into the home with the old folks, men in diapers, cleaned by strangers. Last about two weeks. Life for a life. He watched the deer browsing around Pappy Cross's old house, wondered if Pappy was even still alive, the house had been on the market twelve years and one of the sons had come back, stayed in a hotel, contracted someone to cut all the trees down, even the young pines, forty- dollar trees, sold them to the mill and got the money out that way. He wondered if Pappy knew about it. Rotting house in a stump field, soon enough there'd be no trace, a million places just like this, right now and throughout time. Earth is made of bones. From wood and back to wood and you'll never know what came before you.