Sherwood Nation: a novel

by Benjamin Parzybok

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “What? Come on. The hell are we going to do with it?”

  “You could try William Temple. It’s another secondhand store down Twenty-third, on Glisan, about six, seven blocks from here.”

  “Seven blocks from here.” Erik’s voice climbed an octave. “We’ve brought the damn thing far enough.”

  “Sorry, can’t help you,” the man said and walked away.

  Erik hauled back and kicked the base of the couch.

  “Come on,” said Thom. “It’s our last Portland task. It’s the last trial.”

  “What’s he going to do if we just leave it,” Erik mouthed and jerked his thumb at the old man.

  “Come on,” said Thom.

  “I’ve got it.” Tree stood at Erik’s end, placed his hands under the couch, and squatted, waiting for Thom.

  Thom picked up his end, and they backed out of the loading bay. Erik followed.

  “What if they don’t take it at this Willard place?” Erik said. “There are buses leaving right now!”

  “William,” Thom said. “I suspect they’ll take it. That guy was nutty. There’s nothing wrong with this couch.” With Thom walking backward holding the front end of the couch, they returned to Burnside and Twenty-third.

  Twenty-third was the most fashionable and ritziest of Portland’s streets. Full of posh, expensive shops and fancy restaurants. Only Erik had felt at home on the street, but now he continually looked over his shoulder, making sure none of his past marks were about. It was the kind of street that made Thom feel larger, more stooped, fleshier, more clumsy. Beautiful women were everywhere.

  At the first block, a woman in her forties pulled up in a Mercedes.

  “Looking good, boys. After this, I’ve got a couple at my house you can move around.”

  “You’ll have to wait in line, ma’am. We’re wanted from coast to coast for this work,” Erik said, finding his voice.

  “I can imagine, I can imagine. What’s your job then?” She winked at Erik.

  “I’m in charge of precision.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Oh my.” She winked again and drove off.

  “This isn’t so bad,” Erik mused. He rolled his shoulders, cased the street.

  Halfway to Davis Street, a group of four young women parted to let them through, smiling and waving them on. A small, lithe brunette with a frightening number of freckles smiled directly at Thom. Thom couldn’t remember the last time a woman had smiled at him. He chuckled to himself, a pleasant tickle along his spine. I’m fine. How are you? His brain carried on conversations with her for the next block. We don’t look like workmen, he thought. We just look like some guys carrying a couch. We’re just a couple of guys carrying a couch on the poshest street in Portland. The couch felt light and comfortable in his hands.

  “How about letting me ride on the couch?” Erik said. “We might as well give these people a nice show.”

  Thom rolled his neck. “We’ve got a trip. I don’t think your riding on the couch is going to help our progress much. Let’s just get it there.”

  At Everett they set the couch down on the corner and waited for the light to change. Tree instinctively sat on it to rest, and the two roommates followed, which brought a drove of honking, waving, and laughter from cars driving by.

  “This is really the oddest experience,” said Erik. “If I’d known about this phenomenon earlier, I’d have been out here every day with this couch.”

  Thom nodded. It suddenly felt like he was part of something. They were somehow making headway in the world. They’d received a social upgrade, just for carrying a couch.

  A car pulled up to the curb, and a man leaned out the window. “Performance art?”

  Thom chuckled. “No—”

  “Yes, sir,” said Erik. “What do you think?”

  “I love it, I love it.” He reached his arm out the window toward Erik. “Where’s your hat? Here’s a fiver.”

  Erik’s jaw could be heard snapping open. He leapt up, shook the man’s hand, and took the fiver. “Well, I’ll be dipped in shit,” he said when the man had driven off.

  “So will I,” said Thom.

  Erik did a jig and sunk the fiver deep in a pocket. “Let’s stay here. We’re artists!”

  Thom shook his head. “Ah geez. We’re going on a trip. Let’s keep moving.”

  The light turned green, and Erik took up Tree’s end of the couch. A group of people from the opposite corner called out and waved, and they smiled. Thom tried to gauge if these reactions were condescending or the type of reaction a crowd had to a freak-circus act and reassured himself they weren’t. They turned right at Glisan, following the directions, and Thom thought he felt something shift within the couch.

  “I’ve got to rest for a second.” Erik dropped his end of the couch about twenty steps down the street, and Thom lurched to a stop and swore.

  “I don’t think this is the right turn,” Tree said.

  Erik sat on the couch. They were down the street slightly and shaded by trees, out of sight of traffic and pedestrians.

  Thom stepped out in the street and looked for the William Temple sign. “It’s right there,” said Thom. Tree nodded, but to Thom he looked bafflingly unconvinced. “It’s right there,” he said again. “Half a block away. Let’s do this.”

  They picked up the couch again, this time with a great effort.

  “What in the hell?” Erik’s face was turning red.

  “We’ve come a pretty good distance.” Thom backed down the street. He felt tired, and his arms ached. They made it to the loading door of William Temple and rang the bell.

  “Finally,” Thom said.

  “I agree, gets damn heavy after a while. But that was fun.” Erik shook his arms out. “Going to have to remember that.” He pulled the five dollar bill from his pocket and waved it at them, and then wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. It began to rain lightly.

  The door of the loading bay slowly rolled up, revealing a small dingy area crammed with what appeared to be rejected donations stacked in great disarray. A man in tan overalls with a prominent nose stepped into the doorway, and they all gawked.

  “You work at the Goodwill!” Thom said.

  “Vhat?” said the man with a faint Eastern European accent. He raised his eyebrows.

  Erik glanced uncomfortably at his roommates. “Listen, we know you work at the Goodwill. Don’t jerk us around.”

  “I do no such think.” The man backed up a step.

  “We just saw you, buddy,” Erik said. Thom nodded his head, and Tree stared at the ground.

  “I do not tolerate rudeness,” the man said calmly. “Thees is not part of my job.” He shrugged his shoulders and pressed a button, and the loading-bay door started to roll down.

  “Wait!” Thom threw his arms up. “Our mistake, our mistake!” He leaned down to appeal to the man and caught him with an amused smile. “Listen, we’re sorry, we’ve just got this couch, great couch.”

  Erik jumped forward and reached his arms under the door to stop it. The man delivered two quick whacks with a cane, and Erik jumped back again. When the door was at the man’s ankles, Erik gave it a swift kick and then held his toe.

  “I never, ever thought it would be so hard to get rid of a couch,” Thom said.

  “What an asshole!”

  “Maybe the couch doesn’t want us to get rid of it,” Tree said.

  Erik lunged for Tree, got him by his collar, and shook. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

  Thom grabbed Erik and pulled him off of Tree. “You alright, Tree?” Tree nodded and smiled.

  Erik pranced around energetically on the curb. “Maybe the couch doesn’t want us to get rid of it,” he mimicked
in falsetto.

  “Erik, stop it!” Thom said.

  “Sorry, dude, I’m really sorry, but ARRRGH!” He balled his fists. “How hard can this fucking be?! Let’s leave it here. That old bastard.”

  “Leave it here, I wilt call cops.” The old man’s voice came from a speaker next to the loading bay.

  Erik jabbed the Talk button on the speaker. “You bastard!”

  “Ha ha ha,” said the speaker.

  Erik grabbed the speaker and tried to yank it off the wall.

  “Erik! That’s enough.” Thom grabbed Erik’s arm and pulled him back.

  Erik was frothing mad and wheeled around in several directions until he came back to the couch, which he flailed at until he had exhausted himself. “Alright,” he whispered angrily. “We’ll take it to the corner and leave it. They’ll never be able to find us.”

  Thom looked skeptical.

  Erik gestured at Tree with his chin. “Your turn.”

  Tree nodded and handily picked up his end of the couch.

  “That is the same guy though, right?” Erik pulled on his upper lip.

  Thom wasn’t good with faces, but the two did seem similar, even identical. Then he realized it made absolutely no sense. “No,” he said at last. “They have to be different people.”

  Thom took his end and noticed that the rest had relieved the ache. They walked about thirty steps toward Twenty-third when the man leaned out of another door. “Don’t leave it at zee corner,” he shouted after them.

  Erik turned and ran back, but the door quickly shut.

  “Thom?” Tree said, the quality of squint on his face that of a child before he asks why whales don’t have fingers.

  “Yes?”

  “I want to try an experiment.”

  “Okay,” Thom looked back to make sure Erik was coming. He felt mildly alarmed at being alone with Tree.

  “Walk the other way.”

  “Back toward William Temple?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I just want to see what happens.”

  “Okay . . . ,” Thom repressed a sigh. The boy was odd, but it was a harmless request. He looked over his shoulder and backed toward William Temple, keeping his eye on where the old man might come out.

  “What are you doing!?” Erik’s voice had notched to a higher pitch.

  Thom’s muscles burned with tiredness. What in the hell were they doing?

  “See?” said Tree.

  Thom turned back to Tree, who wore a smile of wonderment.

  “See what?”

  “It’s heavier.”

  “What?”

  “It’s heavier this way. Watch. Walk back toward Twenty-third.”

  They changed directions, and Thom noticed he didn’t feel as tired, like someone had taken over a share of his burden.

  “See?”

  “I don’t know, Tree.”

  “Walk back the other way again.”

  “Stop it! Stop it! Are you idiots!?”

  But Thom was curious now, and indeed the couch took on a whole new weight.

  Thom looked up at Tree, his eyes wide with surprise. “It’s not possible.”

  Tree nodded. “Heavier.” He pushed toward William Temple and then pulled Thom back the other way. “Lighter!”

  “You guys!” Erik hopped twice in frustration.

  “You try.” Thom offered Erik his side.

  “I don’t want to carry it. I want to get on a bus.”

  “I’ll carry it, I’ll carry it. Just pick it up for a second.”

  “I don’t want to, Thom.”

  “Do it,” Thom growled.

  Erik gave Thom a hurt look and reluctantly took his end of the couch.

  Tree backed Erik toward William Temple and after six feet stopped and changed direction. They took two steps, and Erik shrieked and dropped his end of the couch. Tree fell heavily on the armrest.

  “I felt something get off!” Erik yelled.

  Thom chuckled. Erik’s face was pale, and his eyes showed more white than seemed possible. “There’s got to be some kind of explanation,” he said.

  Tree shrugged.

  The old man appeared again. “I call zee cops!”

  “We’re going, we’re going,” Thom yelled.

  “Run!” Erik hissed.

  “Oh, come on, Erik.” Thom said. He and Tree picked up the couch and headed toward Twenty-third. “I can’t think of what might do that to a couch. Do you have any ideas?” Thom asked, fearing what Tree might say.

  “I don’t think the couch wants us to get rid of it,” Tree said. “At least not here.”

  Thom shook his head. “That’s not the kind of explanation I was looking for.” He punctuated five footsteps in a row with a rear-facing, gaseous exhale.

  At the corner, Thom felt eyes on them everywhere. There was no way they could leave the couch here.

  Thom saw a burrito joint down half a block. “Let’s go get a burrito, talk this over.” A good deal of the morning had passed, wasted by the couch. Buses were escaping to promised lands. The rain had stopped, and the clouds were beginning to thin out. They put the couch down just to the left of the burrito shack, ordered, and sat eating quietly.

  “It’s not wet,” Tree said.

  “Hmm.” Erik said.

  “It’s been raining.”

  “I know it’s been raining,” Erik snapped.

  “This has been a very unusual twenty-four hours,” Thom said.

  A kid of about eighteen with a burrito sat down next to Erik, bringing the couch to capacity. “I love that they put a couch out here for us,” he said, taking an enormous bite of his burrito. “How do they keep it dry?”

  Erik nodded enthusiastically. “Amazing, isn’t it? What a smart thing for a restaurant to do.” Erik eyed the burrito shack to make sure no one could see them.

  Thom smiled. Erik and he seemed to have come to a decision. It was obviously the burrito shack’s couch, not theirs. The teenager finished his burrito in about three more bites, waved good-bye and headed on. “Okay,” said Thom, and they stood up.

  A cop car came to a slow halt in front of them. The cop in the passenger seat rolled down his window and stared at them.

  “Officer.” Erik gave a quick half-salute.

  “We got some kind of call about disturbing the peace, apparently”—he drew the word out and sucked in, looked back at his partner to register the joke—“some kind of issue involving a couch.”

  Erik raised his eyebrows.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?” The policeman let his gaze come to rest on the couch.

  “Well, sir.” Erik rolled out a hand in explanation, straightened his posture, deepened his voice. “We were trying to donate this couch, seeing as how it’s a nice couch, and we’re moving just now and not needing it. We were down there at William Temple”—Erik pointed—“and this crazy old codger gets irate, I suspect because my friend Dave here”—Erik gestured to Tree—“didn’t think the doorbell was working, and he might have pushed it a time or two too many for that old man’s patience.” Erik gave a know-what-I-mean look and licked his lips. “We were there just to donate this couch, and before we knew it that man had pulled a gun on us. I’m not one to know when a gun is legal or not, but certainly we knew we weren’t wanted there, and so we decided to just go ahead and carry our couch to our new apartment”—Erik gestured down the street—“to see if we couldn’t just go ahead and use it after all.”

  The officer nodded. He looked at his partner and then back at Erik. “Well, see to it that that couch makes it to your apartment without any more doorbell ringing or yelling.”

  “I sure will, sir.” Erik n
odded a series of quick, courteous nods.

  The police car slowly pulled up the street and turned toward William Temple.

  Erik gave his mustache a couple of quick rubs and turned to his roommates. “We’ve got to see that this gets to our new apartment.”

  “Good job, Erik.” Thom shook his head. “I never thought this would be so complicated.”

  “They’ll be back around, they always are.”

  “Let’s bring it down to the industrial area at the end of Twenty-third and lose it down there. Or we could hit one of these side streets, but they seem sort of crammed with people,” Thom said.

  “This is ridiculous.”

  Tree smiled. “Maybe this is it,” he said cheerfully. “Our trip. Maybe we were meant to carry this couch.”

  Thom and Erik ignored Tree, picked up the couch, and headed down Twenty-third. They had tired of the hassle, and the occasional cheers of pedestrians didn’t lift them as much. What does he mean meant, Thom thought crossly. Meant to be stumbles into faith and belief and destiny. These are not terms to describe furniture-moving.

  “Hey,” said Erik, “what about Forest Park? We could haul it up there.”

  “That’s kind of littering.” Thom looked in the general direction of Forest Park and measured his annoyance at carrying the couch. “But I’m willing to try it.”

  “Let’s take our next left then.”

  At Irving they turned left, and only twenty feet up the street the couch became unliftable. Erik dropped his end first.

  “Couch doesn’t want to go that way,” Tree said.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass which way the fucking couch wants to go! I’ve never had a couch order me around before, and I’m not about to start now.”

  Thom gave the couch a kick to emphasize Erik’s point, which he found he had no problem agreeing with. “This,” he said, “is a very strange experience.”

  “Should we just keep carrying it to the end of Twenty-third then, like you said?”

  “Sure, sure.” Thom picked up his end of the couch again, and Tree picked up Erik’s end. Erik was in the bushes taking a leak. Thom wondered if perhaps the couch was their trip after all. Just like with programming, puzzles were irresistible to him. Counter weights, brain volunteered, magnets, gyroscopes. The whole feel of the couch was different for him now. This was something special, something unpredictable in his hands, something with a will, or at least an impressive mystery; and it was a bit creepy.