“What happened to your face?” Heike asked.
“Dee gave me a facial.”
“You look like you got stung by a jellyfish.” She pulled out her binoculars and surveyed the street.
“See anything?”
“False alarm,” she said, carefully printing notes in her notebook.
At the pool she insists they play Shark to give her an excuse to practice underwater surveillance wearing goggles. Before she submerges, he asks, “How are you going to recognize the suspect underwater?”
“Use your imagination, big brother.” She always says this when he questions her investigative techniques.
Playing Shark requires Irwin to get his hair wet. This makes his head and ears look even bigger. The scars on his scalp and torso frighten children. They run to their mothers and whisper in their ears. The mothers stare briefly at Irwin before looking away. They try to interest their children in juice boxes or Fruit Roll-Ups, but nothing is more interesting than Irwin soaking wet in swimming trunks. Heike calls him Exhibit A and says he shouldn’t pay any attention to the spares who stare. She calls many people spares, and he doesn’t really understand why. “What a spare,” she’ll remark about someone. He thinks it has to do with the person being just like everybody else, easily replaced, like a spare tire. Heike prefers people with sass. He feels her monkey grip on his ankle just before she pops to the surface. “Bro, you’re not even trying to get away.”
“Sorry. I forgot.”
“Swim for your life,” she commands, diving below again. Irwin goes under and swims as fast as he can but nowhere near as fast as Heike. Uma delivered her in a birthing pool and took her to swimming lessons when she was nine months old. Heike swims like a fish and can stay submerged longer than anyone. She grabs his ankle again and pops up. “You’re not even trying.”
“I’m tired.”
“It’s because you’re off meds.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are. I’ve been keeping notes. You’re tired all the time and hardly drinking anything and you’re not rubbing your eyes. On meds you’re always thirsty and your eyes are itchy and you’re not tired all the time.”
“I’m on different meds.”
“Likely story.”
“Why do you say that? Your mother says that. It’s rude.” He can’t read her expression behind the foggy goggles.
“Suspect at five o’clock,” she says. He wishes she’d just point. He closes his eyes, trying to picture a clock, then looks where the five should be, at a man with spiky hair slathering sunscreen onto his girlfriend’s back.
“He doesn’t have a big nose,” Irwin says.
“Are you kidding me? That’s a honker.” Heike swims underwater towards the couple and pops up poolside. This kind of behaviour makes Irwin nervous. He clings to the side of the pool, watching her operate. Within seconds she is chatting energetically with them. The woman giggles while adjusting the strings on her bikini top. The man puts on wraparound sunglasses. The woman starts rubbing sunscreen onto his back. The whole time Heike is gabbing away, but Irwin can’t hear a word because of the splashing and shrieking going on around him. He’s too tired to swim over there, besides, he might sink. It’s happened before. He just suddenly forgets how to swim. He used to enjoy going to the pool with Gennedy because Gennedy would rescue him if he sank. Irwin jumped off the board once when Conner and Taylor told him he was a chickenshit scaredy-ass. Mindy had slapped their heads and told them to leave Irwin alone but they wouldn’t. So Irwin jumped and sank down and down into the forgiving coolness, forgetting what to do with his arms and legs. It was wonderfully silent, and when he looked up the sun sparkled in the turquoise water. He wanted to stay at the bottom of the pool where no one could stare at him, but Gennedy wrapped an arm around him and hauled him to the surface. Irwin expected him to be mad but Gennedy said, “Way to go, champ. That took guts.” Gennedy badly wanted Irwin to have guts, and Irwin hated disappointing him. Gennedy volunteered as a baseball coach so Irwin could play. The speeding ball terrified Irwin. Gennedy put him in centre field, where the ball rarely went. The one time it looped down from the sky at him, Irwin held out his glove and miraculously the ball dropped into it. A second later it plopped onto the ground. Gennedy said, “What the fuck did you think you were doing out there?”
Irwin rubs his eyes, itchy from the chlorine. When he opens them, Heike and the man in wraparound sunglasses are nowhere in sight. The bikinied woman lies face down on a towel. Still clinging to the side of the pool, Irwin feels he can’t possibly pull himself out or swim. All the activity around him causes unpredictable currents that resist him. He uses his arms to drag himself along the edge to the ladder but two old ladies, discussing arthritis, are hanging off it. “Excuse me,” Irwin says. “I need to get by.”
“Where’s your manners?” the one wearing a flowery bathing cap demands.
The other old lady climbs on the ladder and holds out her lumpy knee. “See, it’s less swollen. Don’t you think it’s less swollen?”
Irwin tries to dog paddle across the pool to the other ladder but gets bumped by swimmers. A foot hits him in the face, a hand jabs him, a head butts him and he forgets how to swim. He sinks down and down until he sees Harriet hanging on to a purple noodle. She’s wearing her green bathing suit with the white stripe down the side. He tries to swim over to her and grab her ankle but she keeps flutter kicking, moving farther away from him. He desperately wants her to join him at the bottom of the pool where it’s quiet and safe from stares. He opens his mouth to call out to her.
Heike is practising handstands in the shallow end. “Did you almost drown so the lifeguard would kiss you?” She has ordered Irwin to sit at the edge of the pool and watch to see if her legs are straight. “Did you?”
“What?”
“Fake drowning so the lifeguard would kiss you? She’s booby-liscious.”
“Where did you get that word?”
“I made it up. Watch this. Are you watching?” She does another handstand. “How was that?”
“You’re supposed to keep your feet together.”
“They were.”
“They weren’t. Don’t ask me to watch if you don’t believe me.”
“I bet you faked being unconscious so she’d French you.”
“That’s not Frenching, that’s CPR.”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, big brother.”
It bugs him that Heike’s figured out he let the resuscitation go on longer than necessary. He’d been in awe of the caramel-tanned lifeguard for weeks. She had smooth legs that hung down from her perch. Pink flip-flops dangled from her delicate feet. She painted her toenails pink and wore a silver ankle bracelet with a pink heart on it. When she leaned over to save his life, her breasts nudged his chest and her mouth tasted of Juicy Fruit gum. She looked surprised when he opened his eyes, and he suspected he was her first official rescue. He wished he’d been conscious when she pulled him out of the water. He imagined the feel of her breasts against his back. “You shouldn’t swim across the pool when it’s busy,” she scolded. “Length ways only.”
“I’m really sorry. Have you seen my little sister?”
“Here.” Heike landed like a frog beside him.
“Can you sit up?” the lifeguard asked him. She put a hand behind his neck to help him sit up. “Do you think you’ll be all right now?”
“For sure.” He knew she found him repulsive and would never get this close to him under normal circumstances.
“It’s your call,” she said. “But stay out of the water.”
Heike hands Irwin her waterproof camera. “Take a picture of my legs if they’re straight.” She does another handstand and pops up. “How was that?”
“Too fast. You’ve got to keep your feet up longer. And point your toes.”
“Got it, I’m going to nail it t
his time, bro. Get ready.”
He holds up the camera. She dives under and he takes the shot even though her legs aren’t perfectly straight.
“Were they straight?”
“Close enough.”
She takes the camera and looks at the photo. “They’re not straight at all.”
“Where did you go with that guy?”
“What guy?”
“The suspect.”
“He’s not a suspect anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I questioned him. He’s got an alibi.”
“You can’t just go off with strangers.”
“I didn’t just go off.”
“I couldn’t see you.”
“That’s because you were fake drowning. He was really nice. He gave me some gum.”
“You took candy from a stranger?”
“He’s no stranger. His name’s Bertie. He can make fart noises with his armpits.”
“You can’t just start talking to anybody. I’ll tell your mother.”
“You just try that, big brother. Quit being so drippy. I’m going to play Marco Polo.” She joins in with other kids splashing around. A boy with a buzz cut closes his eyes and shouts, “Marco!” and the other kids shout, “Polo!” The boy has to catch the other kids with his eyes closed. To tag them he must follow their voices. Unlike Harriet, Heike has no problem making friends and easily participates in what Harriet would consider dumbass games. Irwin knows that Heike thinks many of her peers are spares, but she makes them like her anyway. This is why she is going to be prime minister.
Irwin can’t stop looking for surgical scars on people’s bodies. If someone has a scar on their chest, Harriet’s heart might be pounding inside them. If it’s on their lower back, it could be her liver or one of her kidneys. He’s not sure where they cut to transplant lungs. All the people around the pool have become just organs to him. Without skin, everybody looks the same. Even Heike, who’s shouting “Marco!,” would look like everybody else without her skin. Only Irwin, with his enlarged skull, would stand out. This doesn’t comfort him.
In the lobby, playing euchre with Mr. Chubak and Mr. Quigley, Mr. Shotlander’s talking about his dead wife’s diamond ring, how it got nicked when she was bone thin from cancer. “We were just standing there in some dang piazza and a greaseball speeds by on a scooter and whips off her ring. How do you like that? There’s Italy for you.”
Mr. Chubak peels an orange. “You got to hide your valuables when you travel. I keep my cash in my socks.”
Mr. Quigley gulps Gatorade. “Don’t talk to me about travel.” He just returned from his son’s place in Minnesota. His titanium knee set off the metal detector again. “Those bastards had me down to my underwear and up against the wall.”
“This never happened in the days before 9/11,” Mr. Shotlander said. He notices Heike. “Hey, Harry, where’ve you been? I’m way down on chips.”
“I’m not Harry.” The only time Heike seems uneasy is when Mr. Shotlander mistakes her for Harriet.
“That’s Irwin’s little sister,” Mr. Chubak says loudly into Mr. Shotlander’s good ear. “Heike. You remember her.”
“That’s right,” Mr. Shotlander says, looking like he doesn’t. “What kind of name is that anyway? Kraut?” He has been more confused lately and won’t stop adjusting the thermostat in his apartment even though Irwin has explained that it’s summer and the heat is turned off.
In the elevator, Heike plays with the zipper on her backpack. “What’s Kraut mean?”
“German.” Irwin checks her swimming bag to make sure she packed her goggles and camera.
“Kraut doesn’t sound very nice.”
“He didn’t mean anything by it. He’s old and a little mixed up.”
Heike sighs heavily. “I wish I was born before 9/11.”
“Me too. Things were way nicer back then.”
“There weren’t any terrorists.”
“Oh I think there were, just not as many. I mean, there were wars and stuff, war’s like terrorism.”
“I guess.” Heike splits her granola bar and gives Irwin half. “Mummy says before 9/11 you used to be allowed to keep your clothes and shoes on when you went through security, and it took, like, three seconds. Mummy says everybody’s a suspect these days.”
Irwin takes Heike’s hand when they get to Forbes’ floor. “Mr. Shotlander says nobody trusts anybody anymore. He says trust went out the window with the twentieth century.”
They find Forbes hunched over his laptop as usual. He offers them the cranberry juice he drinks frequently to prevent bladder infections.
“Forbesy,” Heike asks, “what would you do if you knew the world was going to end tomorrow?” She often asks people this question and they never look comfortable answering.
“I’d stop worrying about being regular,” Forbes says.
“Why do you worry about being regular? Who wants to be regular? I’d spend all my birthday money. Doing fun stuff Mummy won’t let me do. We’d go to Canada’s Wonderland, wouldn’t we, Irwin. Irwin’s not allowed to go because of his condition.”
Heike convinces Forbes to practise baseball in the parking lot.
“Pitch it for real this time,” she commands, swinging the bat. Forbes pitches underhand again. “That’s a girly pitch, mister.”
“That’s because you’re a girl.”
“Overhand is dangerous, Heike,” Irwin cautions.
“Life is dangerous. Don’t mess, Forbes, I’m serious. Show me your fastball. I’ll totally kick your ass.”
“You’re too little for a fastball.”
“Try me.”
Forbes wheels his chair farther back and pitches for real but slowly. Heike hits the ball across the parking lot. “I killed it!” She scampers after it.
Taj, the janitor, pushes open the back door. “No ball playing here. You hit a car or window, you pay.”
“He’s got a point,” Forbes says.
“Boo hiss.” Heike tosses the ball straight up in the air and catches it with one hand. Irwin could never do this.
They sit out front where Mrs. Rumph’s new ferret is climbing all over her. Every time one dies she buys another one. Dee thinks she gets off on ferret contact “because human contact ain’t going to happen.”
Forbes offers them beef jerky. Irwin takes one but Heike says, “Meat is murder.”
Irwin stares up at bruised clouds. He started a not-to-do list this morning, and one of the things listed was not to tell Heike about Harriet being chopped up. But because he can’t stop thinking about it, it’s hard not to mention it. Harry’s blood drips in his mind. Last week Heike made him watch a documentary about a real crime scene with real blood in it. He had to keep reminding himself the police footage was real. The real blood on the floor looked exactly like the fake blood in movies.
“I’m going to play with Toodles,” Heike says. She is the only one who talks to Mrs. Rumph, and the only one who wants to play with her ferrets. For this reason Mrs. Rumph is always delighted to see her. She has a squeaky voice and often says, “Oh my,” to Heike.
Forbes nudges Irwin. “What’s your damage, son?”
“What do you mean?”
“Something’s eating you.”
“Not really.”
“If you say so.”
Heike lets Toodles crawl all over her. Mrs. Rumph squeaks, “Oh my.”
“Do you believe in organ donation?” Irwin asks.
Forbes bites his beef jerky. “If I needed an organ I would.”
“My mother donated my sister’s organs.”
“Okay.” Forbes often says okay when bombs are dropped. Heike pointed this out to Irwin. “It’s like he’s stalling to think about it,” she explained.
Forbes scratches an eyebrow with his thumb. “So, you j
ust found this out?”
Irwin nods, looking down at ants on the concrete. He crumbles beef jerky for them. They clamp their jaws around tiny pieces and march off in different directions.
“Who told you? Your mom?”
“She didn’t tell me. She told Sydney.”
“Which means your mom doesn’t want you to know.”
“I don’t care what she wants. She cut up my sister.” His drug-free despair bulks up in his gut and he’s afraid he’s going to vomit again.
“Okay,” Forbes says. “Let’s think this through. She didn’t cut her up. She was already dead.”
“No she wasn’t. She was on a vent.”
“Irwin, they don’t take them off vents unless they’re brain-dead. She wasn’t Harry anymore.”
“She was too. I saw her. She was asleep. She might have woken up.”
“That doesn’t happen, son. Only in the movies. And they’re very careful when they harvest the organs. They stitch the body back together again so it looks normal and the family can see it.”
“I didn’t see it.”
“I guess your mom thought it might upset you.”
“I was upset anyway. One day she was there and then she wasn’t. I never saw her. Just the urn, and she’s not even in the urn. Just her skin and bones. She could be anybody.”
Heike skips back and digs in her backpack for sidewalk chalk. “Time for hopscotch, boys. Whoever loses buys freezies.”
“Don’t step on the ants,” Irwin says, pointing at them.
Heike looks down at the ants transporting the beef jerky. “Sick! Ants rock. They are, like, so organized. Way more than humans. Do you want to hear my ant joke?”
“Do we have a choice?” Forbes asks.
“It’s really funny. There’s these two guys on a plane and one of them’s really scared of flying so he closes his eyes for, like, ten minutes or something. And when he opens them, he looks out the window and says, ‘Gee, that was a really smooth takeoff. Look at the people. They look like ants.’ The other guy says, ‘That’s because they are ants. We haven’t taken off yet.’ Isn’t that hilarious?”
On the Shores of Darkness, There is Light Page 30
