It was the coiled iron of the weapons cabinet that gave him the idea of twisting the strips of sheets, making a weave that wouldn’t give out. An answer to one problem could be fitted to fix something else, Jack Clemens had been frugal with solutions that way. Roofing solved plumbing solved electric solved gambling debts solved a marriage gone dry. Will had always felt more versatile than that, but as he braided the strips of grayed sheets together, he thought of his father and understood him.
Will was at this for quite some time, had a tight unyielding weave three feet long when he realized Pasteur was standing in the closed doorway to his cell. Come with me, he said, and released the barred grill. Pasteur left, already walking down the catwalk to the guard’s station. Just once Pasteur looked back, and Will saw such a profound weariness in those eyes that he decided to follow him, even though Pasteur had given him a second option. Just a year ago, another exec had gone right over the tier rail. The center courtyard and its checkerboard marble squares made a picturesque last moment. Sammy said this caused a lot of trouble with the mental defectives. They were sighting falling bodies for the next month.
Pasteur was reading a slip of pink paper at his desk. We’re going to the warden’s office, he said. Not looking up. Will let Pasteur lead the way down one staircase, through a long gray corridor, back up another flight of stairs, then across a glass and steel pedestrian walkway laced with razor wire in festoons, almost pretty. Over the turrets, across the fields and the orchards, from this high up, the railway bridge glinted red above a gray velvet river. Pasteur leaned hard on the metal door, as thick as a vault’s, that led to the administrative offices.
The twenty-nine stitches Arthur Schlenker had configured in a scythe shape above Will’s left temple itched like mad. He hadn’t seen his head except in fragments reflected in the small glass panes in the infirmary, but now the grimace on Nancy Campanella, the warden’s secretary, made him want to see what he looked like. She frowned at him, then glanced quickly away. Something that almost never happened to Will. Nancy Campanella had flame-red nail polish on short square nails. She scratched at her powdered chin as she asked Pasteur to wait a spell. You take a seat right there, he’ll get to you soon as he can.
Nancy Campanella collected miniature semiporcelain waterfalls. A tiny, certainly rare, series of cascades lined up in frozen effusion behind her head on the bookshelves that stored telephone directories and boxes of stationery. Will had seen animals and people but never water commemorated in this way. Nancy wore a dress with anchors and nautical flags embroidered on blue cotton. He wanted to ask her about her artifacts, to catch her attention, but he was invisible to her.
Twenty minutes passed before the carved oak door whined open and the warden gave Pasteur a meaty wave in. Come on, Pasteur said to Will. Pasteur’s cap hung so low on his bald head that his small sad mouth was framed and accentuated. Will felt he had hurt Pasteur’s feelings in some way, which seemed ridiculous except when he thought about Emily. Pasteur’s daughter wasn’t much younger than Loretta Lynn, maybe the whole episode afflicted his sense of his daughter’s safety. It wasn’t Will’s fault that the orchard was a cathouse with high school girls, but Pasteur was acting like it was.
Warden Flagmeyer offered Pasteur a seat by the huge mahogany desk, Will was left to stand. The warden took his own thronelike chair, looked down at his blotter, then up at Will. I hear you’ve been biting cherries over in the orchard. The warden glanced at Pasteur’s serious face and suppressed a giggle. That’s not nice.
Warden Flagmeyer spread his fingers along the edge of his wide desk. There is a place right here in Woeburne for perverts. Everyone all together. You won’t need to chase children. You can all take care of each other. Isn’t that right, Officer Pasteur.
Pasteur’s huge hands capped his knees. He didn’t answer. The warden looked at Will. I think an explanation would be nice.
There isn’t one.
Beg pardon?
I was working in the orchard. I went to piss. I never saw what hit me.
I heard a different story. A little girl might have got hurt by you, and Hank Williams intervened just in time. He did the right thing. Warden Flagmeyer nodded, then picked up a piece of paper on his desk. One that had been folded and pressed flat a number of times. He rubbed the raised seal at the bottom. You know, Mr. Clemens, your smart friends can only help you so far. And that’s not far at all. Isn’t that right, Officer Pasteur.
Pasteur’s full lips folded in.
But this is a court order, and out of respect for that office, I will comply. A judge was convinced that you should have a special privilege. But don’t be encouraged. I can charge and punish you for what you did. Sooner or later, doesn’t matter which. Later is fine with me. Warden Flagmeyer’s smile crumpled into a swift hard cough. Okay. Okay. Take him upstairs, Pasteur. The doctor is already here.
He coughed again. Then banged on his chest with his fist. Summer’s the worst, he said, opened his pen drawer and dropped the court order inside. Pasteur stood up. Thanks, Warden. He nodded Will toward the door.
What’s going on? Will said.
Oh boy. I’m ready to start this day over. Go ahead. Take him up, Pasteur. The warden blew his nose into a madras handkerchief.
In the outer office, Nancy Campanella had the black phone tucked into her shoulder. Yup, he’s here. I’m sending him right up.
Officer Pasteur, she said, they’re waiting for you.
Thank you.
You know the shortcut?
I can go the usual way.
I’ll take you. Give me two secs. Nancy Campanella picked up her blue straw clutch purse and a key attached to a large plastic reindeer. Little girls’ room, she said, and went out a side door.
What’s going on? Will said.
Back to the infirmary for you, mister. A doctor’s come from New York to take some blood or something. Seems your son needs it. It’ll go back with him packed in dry ice. Quite a production.
I haven’t heard about this.
Been pending since around Tuesday, I guess, court order came by special courier. Takes a little time for the warden to fix up his ace.
Will looked at Pasteur.
Warden’s not going to do anything for you without protection. He doesn’t want to seem like a pushover. That’s why you got the transfer to the orchard.
I don’t understand.
Your child needs something from you. But the warden is not happy to have you here. He won’t give you the time of day. He doesn’t like your background, especially your Jewish friend. Nothing will go right for you unless the warden has the lever to make it go wrong. He installed that lever. That’s what those stitches are in your head. That’s Loretta’s job.
Pasteur stared at his pressed-together thumbs. The room was quiet except for an oscillating fan blowing back and forth over the ceramic waterfalls. Funny little things, Pasteur said. He touched a small pink crest of foam. I never did get this kind of stuff.
Nancy Campanella returned with the shine on her nose canceled out and fresh dark lipstick the color of her nails. She dropped her blue straw purse in a file drawer and stood, chest high, very straight. I’ll see you two gentlemen up right now.
July 13
His mother hadn’t told him much. Hollis wasn’t saying a lot either, which was unusual. The television set was off, to keep him from getting too excited, and the lights were low. He hadn’t had a roommate in a week and a half, and a plastic curtain hung over the door that Hollis cursed at every time she came through with more juice, more fluid. She wanted him drinking all the time, to keep his mouth wet. Soothed, she said. And he peed into a plastic bottle with a long snout, so he didn’t tangle the tubes on his IV trying to get to the bathroom. Every time he peed, Hollis gave the plastic snout bottle a shake and looked carefully before she dumped it in the toilet.
Hollis elbowed back the plastic curtain to get into the room. Idiots, she said. She had a nice apricot nectar in a blue cup with a straw. Now his mo
ther was tired and quiet all the time. Hollis said today his mother had a cold. She put the nectar down on the bedside table and checked the line. Any burning feeling? Always that question. It was all she talked about. Any burn, how’s his mouth, did he feel any pinch in his stomach. His mother had a cough so she couldn’t come. But his grandmother would, in the afternoon, she would come to see Bo.
Yesterday someone brought Bo mashed carrots by mistake and he threw up all over his blanket. Hollis had an argument with the orderly and then with the doctor. She brought him something warm and chocolate, like melted brown chalk. Very sweet. This and the sugar IV kept him from getting the black-over in his eyes. He missed his mother. Every day his nose bled.
Hollis said what would happen would be very easy. It was just an IV, like all the rest. People were acting like idiots. Hollis told him that his father’s blood stems would grow like flowers in Bo’s bones and replace the cells that weren’t working so well. He missed his father. It will be like your father’s strength going into you. You’ll feel better. Not so tired. When would that happen? Three more days, said Hollis.
This was the last day of chemotherapy, more in volume these last four days than Bo had seen in half a year. It made Hollis angry. It was frightening and dangerous, she thought. She was angry all the time now. She had to be careful what she said in front of Bo. I need to watch my stupid mouth, she said. Bo said that Hollis was smart. Tomorrow head-to-toe radiation. And the day after. Then his body would rest. Then his father’s bone stems could be planted.
And then?
Then we watch you, my angel. That’s the nice part. We just watch you get stronger and better. And then Hollis looked angry again. I need a vacation. I know, said Bo. Because Bo was tired too, tired of the whole day, and wished for a moment he was in his room with his boats. All the models were lined up on the blue painted shelf. And he fell asleep telling Lou-Lou not to touch anything because the decals and the glue were still drying. She would wreck everything. Hollis said, All right, I won’t. And she kissed his foot through the new blanket, though it was strictly not allowed. Even Bo knew that. Lou-Lou’s hand was almost touching the best boat, wrecking it, but then she heard him say Stop, and she said Okay, and she drew it away.
July 16
Esther wore a teal tweed suit—very hot this late in July—and a black silk shell, and low black sling-backs, because Frank had told her the news might not be good, to be prepared for trouble. She carried her gigantic black handbag. The mule, Roy called it, and she wedged it beside her in the courtroom so that no sweat-smelling gossip spy could cuddle down next to her and get the drift of her emotions. She wanted a little privacy. The bag helped, and the thick tweed helped, but the room was packed with those who were not well-wishers. Frank had warned her about that too.
Roy’s new haircut was very good. From the back he looked like a sleek prince. His neck poked out of his collar, spanking-clean, tan from the sun’s reflection off the Hudson River. Roy said when this was all over they’d go to the Bahamas. Maybe, said Frank. Don’t pack just yet. And he laughed as if he’d said something very funny. Her nails were a wreck.
So much drama. How could people live like this day and night. The prosecutor’s table looked like a funeral. Six pale men, sweating in their suits. Esther looked at them as little as possible. They made her feel sorry that men could curdle up that way inside. Like there was no real life in them. Imagination, your fatal flaw, Roy said. She was always imagining the sorrows of others. Strangers. In fact, she seldom thought up a happy scenario for a person she didn’t know. The vulture, Roy called her. But that was inaccurate. Esther never benefited from the harm she saw happening all around.
Roy stuck his neck out like a baby bird, like something was jamming in his throat. Esther dug in her bag for a peppermint. She remembered this from the last trial, all the neck craning, the dry throat, the closed-off feeling. She could tell from where she was sitting, this day was a rerun. Except for the part with that poor girl. What a terrible story.
Roy had not wanted the girl on the jury from the beginning. Esther remembered that very clearly because there’d been a fight about it. During the lunch break over at Gasner’s, a standing-room crowd, and Roy and Frank and Esther were at the center table, in the middle of everything, trying to create good relations. Anyone with eyes could see them. All morning the jury selection had been a frustrating exercise. And now Roy was angry because all the peremptory challenges were used up.
Empty pockets, he said. Just when we actually need it, we’re spent. Not smart. Not smart at all. I thought you were a lot better than that.
Frank’s head dropped down, and Roy’s eyes popped out in an unattractive way. Frank suggested that just because the woman was a Negro she wouldn’t, by definition, be against Roy.
Yes, like Hitler would see my good side. Given the right argument, he’d say, Sure, I see it your way now. What was I thinking?
Hardly the same thing.
Excuse me? said Roy.
Frank was quiet.
Excuse me? Roy said again. And people began to turn.
Esther touched Roy’s wrist. You can’t read people’s minds, she said, you think you can, but you’re wrong. Esther understood that Roy was terrible in that way. He never knew what went on behind anyone’s face. It was a disability.
Roy stared at her for a moment as if trying to place her. You’re right, he said, still staring, you’re right. And he waved his steak knife in a spiral of forgiveness. All right. It’s done. What’s done is done.
And they could finish their meal in peace. Except now Roy didn’t want his. He called the waiter and decided on something else, a baked seafood dish, which was a risky choice, but it calmed him down. Frank said they’d be late back to court. What does it matter, Roy said, we’re already screwed. It’s over, Roy said, and he nibbled on Esther’s salty french-fried potatoes, nibbled them down to the plate.
But he was wrong. It wasn’t over. Because when the case closed, when the jurors, including that poor girl, who had never once looked Roy in the eye, a bad sign, were in deliberation, there was a terrible automobile accident and the girl’s father was killed. The judge brought all the lawyers into his chambers and Frank said, She must be told.
But the prosecutors were adamant because they thought they were winning, and it was probably a matter of minutes until the end. Just get the verdict, they said. She’ll know, what—by this afternoon? He’s dead, not sick. There’s nothing she can do.
But Frank gave the compassionate side: A girl has a right to know, immediately, as soon as possible, that her father is gone from this world.
The judge agreed.
The same judge who was not inclining in Frank’s direction in any way, something that Roy could not let up on, this failure of Frank’s to charm the judge. He agreed. So the bailiff interrupted the sequestered jurors and had the girl delivered to the judge’s chambers, and in front of Frank, the anticharmer, and the prosecutors, who were sour on this, the girl was told that a milk truck had jackknifed on the Long Island Expressway and her father in his Buick was killed instantly. The medical team had been able to determine that he had not felt any discomfort. The jury was dismissed. The trial was declared a mistrial. The girl was free to join her family. There were some horrible stories in the newspapers about the girl and her father. How he rarely drove, and if his daughter hadn’t been detained by civic duty, he’d still be alive. Esther knew all that was nonsense.
Certainly things had gone better in the second trial. All prior mistakes were lessons learned, all tempers remained checked, at least on the defense team, at least in the presence of the judge. Roy even had moments of romance here and there. A surprise. Esther sniffed the hot courtroom air. How could so much perspiration just hang suspended. It wasn’t a gym. Presumably these people were bathing. Roy’s tan neck, an oasis of good clean skin, Esther focused there to take her mind off the stink getting worse all around her.
Roy was experimenting with gratitude lat
ely. He was thanking everyone he could get to stand still. It was scaring her a little, all this embracing of his fellow man. It made her think he was dying or something. That he was hiding some troubling intuition. But then, but then, she reminded herself, Roy had no intuition, so it meant, whatever, a mood swing. A pendulum slowly dipping into thanks. It would come back again when this was all over. Life would be normal, and they could stop listening to the creaks in the telephone line for clues of surveillance, and stop clocking the postman to make sure he brought what was expected. To make sure the monthly ransom note from Saks Fifth Avenue arrived on time.
And all those love letters she’d written. How many? It was a daily thing, at Roy’s request. Write them, mail them, see if they get delivered. Her favorite: My schnauzer, You bring me the bone, over and over. Let’s never cease the snarling. Your poodle. Roy loved dog references. So easy to please. And frogs too: My pond king, There are treats sweeter than flies. Sing low. Affection and warmth from one happy lily pad. Roy said she had not only the eye but the ear as well. He was delighted with these notes, and one or two arrived with Scotch tape that Esther had not applied.
Keep going, he said. Just a sentence or two gets the message across. They’re like haiku, he said, Japanese poems.
And Esther said it was against her sense of patriotism to write a Japanese anything.
An approximation, Roy said, I’m just comparing. No need to worry. All sorts of ways these will not be mistaken.
And he was sure, so she didn’t fight about it. But it made her nervous. The government reading her notes and possibly choosing to misconstrue her loyalties. She didn’t need to remind him about treason.
I don’t think that will be a problem, Roy said.
And one night, just two nights ago, come to think about it, he was expressing his gratitude on the aft deck of the Wavemaker II. A quiet cruise to Bay Ridge and back, she liked these evening roundabouts. And Roy offered her a Tab and sent the new first mate, Dirk, a weird gangly kid with a wide long throat, back to the galley. Listen, he said. Listen. Esther looked up and cocked her head just like Charlie Brown did when Roy called. Ha-ha, said Roy. Happy? he asked. He was standing up. Behind his head the bridge lights twinkled yellow-green as fireflies. Happy? said Roy. Think so, she said. Know so?
Wavemaker II Page 16
