Dirt

by David Vann

  Galen escaped out the front door and tried to breathe. He was staggering around trying to suck for air, and his throat felt crushed. He collapsed against the railing and just held on, and then he got a breath. The air rushed in, painful. He wasn’t going to die.

  He needed to find his grandmother. She could be wandering around anywhere, and if she went too far, she’d forget which way she’d come. And it was cold.

  Around the deck and past the shed, up through trees into the meadow. Moonlight a bright opaque white on every surface, the world turned into marble, become a solid. The cold air slipping. Grandma, he called, but his voice was weak, his throat damaged.

  He humped across the meadow, bogged down in granite sand. Shadows everywhere, and the world could be seen two ways, the light or the shadows. Shapes born and landed, or the dark spaces around them, hollows that fell back infinitely. His grandmother could be either, and he didn’t know how to look for her.

  The hillside was tilting as he ran, his arms out for balance. He was exploding through solidity, his feet breaking apart the marble and scattering it. Somewhere in this maze she was doing the same, and he needed to sense her, catch a glimpse of the spray she kicked up in the light. Wave patterns, and somewhere she was carving the pattern, setting up a counterwave, and that was what he needed to feel. He needed to extend himself into the pattern and feel the dimpling at an edge. Grandma!

  Mired in place, pinned down by gravity. Too slow, too limited by breath, too limited by this clunky body, by chicken fat and dumplings. Galen stopped and bent over, purged, tried to free himself, tried to lose this mortal shell. The air cold enough she’d never survive the night.

  Too difficult to run uphill, so he turned to the side, traversed. Light and shadow, the world veering in and out of focus. He stopped and tried to squint into the high contrast and turn slowly in a circle and just look for movement. But the forest was motionless, as if the planet itself had stopped rotating. A slow drift through space, so quiet, the only sounds his own blood and breath, the tilting coming from inside him. The forest had swallowed her in stillness.

  Grandma, he called again, and he began to feel angry. He shouldn’t have to find her. He ran as fast as he could, running blindly now, no longer trying to see, crashing through branches and snags. She was out here somewhere, but with each moment, she became less likely.

  He tried to listen, bent over and panting, and then he ran back the way he had come.

  Farther than he had thought. Time wasted, and nothing looked familiar. He would spend all night searching, he knew, and he would never find her. She would be lost and gone.

  But then he saw the big rock, staggered through the meadow, and realized where she must have gone. A path at the top of the meadow that led to other cabins and a trailhead. There was no other option, really. He’d been wasting his time, stupidly, and she’d be getting frightened by now. If she became frightened enough, she might leave the trail.

  He followed this trail uphill, moving as fast as he could, passed cabins empty, boarded up, storm shutters all around, no glass to reflect the moon, only dull wood glowing white. He could smell this place, smell the dirt and weeds and pines, the familiar air and familiar path, and ahead, nearing the trail that went higher to the summit, he saw a figure passing from light to shadow to light.

  Grandma, he called, and the figure paused, half in the light, herself become a half-moon. Grandma, he called again, wait for me.

  She began moving again, and he ran after, tried not to lose sight of her. She could fade away so easily, a trick of the light. Wait for me, he called. And she disappeared, stopped in a shadow perhaps.

  His lungs and throat ragged, no breath left at all, but he went as fast as he could toward where he had last seen her. The forest stretching, the space becoming farther. He thought he saw movement again, a dappling, but couldn’t know for sure because of his own movement.

  Grandma! he called. Wait for me! But he’d lost her, vanished into the shadows. He was coming close to where he’d seen her, and there was nothing. Whatever he’d seen, he’d only imagined it.

  The trailhead began here, a narrower path up through forest and then exposed ridgelines of granite. The trail went for miles, and she could be anywhere along it. Or she might have gone the other direction, down to the creek, and followed that, or could be walking along the highway, even.

  Galen didn’t feel powerful at all, didn’t feel he could extend into this forest. He was limited to one tiny point. But he was committed now to this path, and he hoped she would be on it.

  A path of memory, a trail he’d followed hundreds of times from when he first began. The tree at the first bend, the open section with low growth on either side, the boggy ford across a small creek, the cabbagey plants growing out of thick mud, wide curls and folds to their leaves. The short section of meadow, the trail turning uphill again and now the granite steps, loose rocks but these low shelves, wound with roots. The scraping of his shoes, grinding the same steps from his earliest memories, but never before in moonlight. A familiar place become foreign.

  Galen climbed the granite, the twists and turns in a narrow chute with growth in close on both sides, and nearly stepped on his grandmother.

  Aah! he yelled. Holy shit. You scared me.

  Galen, she said. With her light sweater and slacks, sitting on the trail, she looked like a piece of granite, a small boulder.

  Wow, he said.

  I don’t know if I want to walk much farther, she said. I’m getting tired, and I’m cold. Why are we hiking at night?

  We can go back.

  But your mother is up ahead. We can’t just leave her. She won’t know to turn around.

  She’s not up there.

  Yes she is. She’s the one who wanted to go on this hike.

  Grandma. It’s only me and you.

  No. Your mother is just ahead of me.

  Mom is back at the cabin.

  But I was just following her. If she’s not up there, then what am I doing? Where am I going?

  We’re just taking a hike, just me and you.

  Galen’s grandmother stood up and looked away to the side, past all the small growth in close and out to mountain ranges that seemed to float on their own against the sky. It’s not a hike, is it, she said.

  No.

  I was lost.

  Yes.

  And I would have just kept going, thinking your mother was ahead of me.

  Maybe.

  And why did I come out here? Why did I leave in the middle of the night?

  Because Mom and Helen were fighting. You wanted to get away, which was a good choice. I think you did the right thing.

  Do you know what it’s like to not remember?

  No.

  It’s like being no one, but still having to live anyway.

  Grandma.

  It really is that bad. It’s like being no one. You think you’re someone now, but it’s only because you can put your memories together. You put them together and you think that makes something. But take away the memories, or even scramble them out of order, and there’s nothing left.

  You remembered this trail. And you remembered the cabin when we first arrived. You remembered how to turn on the water.

  Did I? Galen could see her smile for a moment. I can remember places, I think. I do remember this trail. And I can recognize people. I haven’t forgotten who you are. I just can’t remember anything that’s happened.

  Well you’ve been a wonderful grandmother. I have a thousand great memories of time with you.

  Galen’s grandmother put her hand up to her mouth and closed her eyes. Galen looked away and waited. The mountains floating independently. The air colder now.

  A deep exhale from his grandmother, and another. Okay, she said. Let’s go home.

  Chapter 17

  In the morning, Galen’s mother announced they were packing up and leaving.

  But we’re having so much fun, Helen said. I’m really enjoying the cabin. Couldn�
�t we stay another day or two?

  Why are we leaving? Galen’s grandmother asked.

  I’ll pack the kitchen, Galen’s mother said. Mom, you can help me.

  I’d like more bacon, Jennifer said.

  Breakfast is over.

  No it’s not. My daughter wants more bacon, so fix her more bacon, little Suzie-Q.

  Breakfast is over.

  Mom can do it then. Mom, fix your granddaughter more bacon.

  Don’t speak to me that way.

  Let me tell you a little story, Mom. There was a cat. Do you remember the cat?

  What are you talking about?

  Mom, ignore her. Let’s pack the cupboards. I’ll go get the boxes from the trunk.

  This cat was blind and deaf. Outrageous shit happened in cat-world all the time, but the cat didn’t hear or see anything.

  We’re going home, Helen, and if you want a ride in my car, you’ll stop right now.

  Golly, sis, I’m only trying to talk about my feelings.

  I’ve heard enough. I can’t do this anymore. I’m leaving in ten minutes. Ten minutes. All this kitchen crap can stay. You each have ten minutes to get in the car with your stuff. Grab your purse, Mom, and Galen will help you with your bag.

  Then she was gone up the stairs.

  Well, Helen said. I guess we’re leaving. It is her car, after all, and she has the keys. It’s hard to change that.

  I don’t know what’s happening.

  Your daughter is trying to rescue you from me. But I’m your daughter, too. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? And a tad unjust, given the past.

  I don’t understand.

  Yeah, well, that’s nice for you. I think you’ve intentionally forgotten everything. Because how can you be responsible if you can’t remember?

  Let’s go, Grandma, Galen said. I’ll help you pack your bag in your room.

  It’s the new Suzie-Q, to the rescue.

  We have to go now, Grandma.

  What I want, Helen said, since that’s what everyone’s interested in, what I want is for everything to be undone. That’s the level of responsibility I’m looking for.

  Galen took his grandmother’s arm and she rose, finally. I’m sorry, Helen, she said. Whatever it is, I’m sorry, okay?

  Don’t give me that snotty attitude, Mom. I’ll be satisfied when you can go back and make everything not have happened. That’s when you’ll have apologized to me.

  Galen pulled his grandmother away into the front room and then the bedroom. He helped her pack her small bag with a few bits of clothing.

  I don’t feel well, she said.

  What’s wrong? he asked. Are you sick?

  No. Not sick, I guess. But I don’t feel right. I feel awful.

  I’m sorry, Grandma. He zipped up the bag and handed her the tan purse. That’s everything, he said. We’ll go out to the car now. Follow me.

  He was ready to fight Helen if he had to, but she hadn’t come into the front room yet. He and his grandmother scooted along the space between hide-a-bed and wall and made it outside. He put her bag in the trunk and opened the front passenger door.

  We’re leaving now? she asked.

  Yeah. Just a few minutes. I’ll be right back.

  Okay, she said, and sat down, and he closed the door and she waited there with her purse on her lap.

  They were in the front room now, busy gathering their stuff, not paying him any attention. He made it up to his bedroom and his mother was at the top of the stairs, her suitcase in hand.

  Sorry, he said, but she didn’t respond. Just waited for him to step past, then went down the stairs. So he gathered his things into the duffel and then lay back on his bed for a moment. Kind of dizzying, all that had happened on a short trip. But the part he’d never forget was sex with Jennifer. The high point of his life. Her legs spread right here on this bed.

  Galen had a boner now, and the timing didn’t seem appropriate, but he went ahead and jacked off anyway, moving quickly, remembering how Jennifer had felt and looked. Preserving his memories, keeping the recording fresh. He wanted to remember this right into his old age. He wanted to be jacking off on his deathbed remembering Jennifer at seventeen.

  He cleaned up with the toilet paper but then wasn’t sure where to put it. The garbage had already been emptied, and no more fires in the stove. It would smell if he left it, and they’d be able to smell it in the car if he brought it with him.

  He went down the staircase with his duffel in front in one hand and the wad of toilet paper held behind his back. At the base of the stairs, he looked both ways and no one was around. So he slipped through the kitchen and hopped out near the toolshed, where he threw the wad on the ground for the chipmunks. It might help insulate a chipmunk’s den or nest or whatever they had. Then he turned off the water up at the pipe and walked down to the deck, where he ran into his mother.

  I already turned off the water, he said.

  She didn’t say anything. She looked like she wasn’t even his mother. No recognition, no one home. Just turned around, walked past the car to the spigot to let all the water run out, then got in the car and Galen pushed into the back with Helen and Jennifer and they were off.

  Good-bye, cabin, Galen said, as they always did, but it didn’t have the usual jolly feel.

  They rumbled down the dirt road and across the bridge, Galen trying to catch glimpses of trout in the creek. My lance, he said. I forgot my lance.

  No response from his mother.

  We have to go back, he said, but she continued on, over the bridge, pulled onto the highway and the air rushed in. I still haven’t caught a trout, he yelled over all the sound. Damn it.

  They came around the bend with the view of Lover’s Leap, where a squaw had tumbled down granite in grief at losing her lover, but Galen was on the wrong side of the car and couldn’t see much past the mafia. He stuck his head out the window like a dog, let his cheeks blow open in the warm air, and could see Horsetail Falls, just a quick glimpse. He had meant to hike up there this trip.

  He pulled his head back in. I wanted to hike Horsetail, he yelled. Why are we leaving so early?

  His family had turned into stone, though, no one capable of speech. Fine, he said.

  They fell down through mountains into the lower foothills, gray pines a pale green, daubed into the forest as if they’d been watercolored. Nearing Sam’s restaurant, which had every video game imaginable, including ones you couldn’t find anywhere else. An antiaircraft one that used actual movies of planes. If you lined up correctly when you fired, the film would cut to footage of a fireball, the plane exploding. Can we stop at Sam’s? he asked.

  No response. No one had said anything the entire drive. All in their own thoughts, or not having any thoughts. Apparitions on pause. Jennifer’s thigh against his, and he felt like he had already lost her, felt this restless despair that made him want to just start howling. But he tried to hold it together. He didn’t know what was going to happen today, didn’t know what his mother was going to do.

  As they crested the final hill, they could look out over the Central Valley, endless flat expanse of dry yellow grass with irrigated patches. It was a desert. The furnace air blasting in the windows. A version of hell, and why had anyone settled here? Just because it was easier to plant on flat ground instead of a hill? He didn’t understand. The entire valley a self-selected internment camp for the stupid and the poor. But his grandparents had money and education and ended up here. Perhaps because they were both immigrants and didn’t know better. What Galen didn’t understand was why he had manifested this place and this history. What could possibly be learned from it? Why put himself here? Why make himself suffer?

  Home sweet home, he yelled over the wind.

  No response, of course.

  Home on the prairie, he yelled. Home on Mars. Hell-home.

  Apparently nothing he said could provoke any response.

  I’m a midget, he yelled. I’m a bunny. I’m a coelacanth.

 
You’re a small turd, his aunt yelled.

  Finally, he yelled back. A bit of conversation. Thank you.

  An entitled turd, his aunt continued. A small, entitled turd. A dried, entitled turd. Hey, it rhymes. We’re all poets.

  Galen wondered what it would be like to strangle someone, to have a throat in his hands and just keep pressing in with his thumbs. It was difficult, probably. More rigid than you’d expect, not easy to crush the windpipe. But he’d be willing to give it his all.

  He looked over at his aunt, but she was looking out her side window. Jennifer was smiling, laughing at him probably. Real nice that that would be their last moment together.

  So he stared out his own window at uninspired suburbs until they were passing Bel-Air.

  They have the best pumpkin pies, he said.

  Yes, his grandmother said, yes they do. They have the most wonderful pies. And I think we’re out of pie. We should stop.

  Galen’s mother kept driving.

  Suzie-Q, we need to stop at Bel-Air.

  We just drove all the way from the cabin, Mom. We need to get you settled in and get home and unpack.

  It’s been so long since I’ve tasted pumpkin pie, Galen said.

  Yes, his grandmother said. It’s been too long. Turn around right now, Suzie-Q.

  Galen’s mother looked at him in the rearview, a bereaved look, not what he was expecting. Your chicken and dumplings were wonderful, Mom, she finally said.

  What?

  We had such a nice visit at the cabin, and I just loved your chicken and dumplings. The dumplings were perfect.

  Well, his grandmother said. Well, that’s nice.

  Bel-Air was long gone, and soon enough they were at the rest home, concrete block of despair, a place to give up and be forgotten. Galen had in fact forgotten they were returning here. He was getting used to having his grandmother around.

  Why are we bringing her here? he asked.

  What is this place? his grandmother asked. I know this place. Is this a hospital?

  Galen’s mother didn’t answer, just pulled up in front and got out. She grabbed her mother’s bag from the trunk, then opened her mother’s door.