“You’re awake,” she said as she approached. “Thank god.”
Robert could barely speak, he whispered, “where am I?”
“ICU.” Her soft voice was calming. “You were in the burn unit until last week.”
“Burn?” He whispered more breath than voice.
“The car caught fire after your crash. Fire department arrived just in time. They said you were trapped and unconscious, not far from home. Good thing you called nine-one-one when you did.” A tear streamed down her cheek as she struggled to hold her composure and smile.
“Mmm…mirror.” He struggled.
“Doctor said that was not a good idea, dear, until you a see a specialist.” She frowned. “You’re covered in bandages anyway.”
“Need…to sssseeee….” He hissed and closed his eyes. He faded. He could hear Kayla whisper I love you as he pictured BJ Stanton’s disfigured face for his own. He passed out.
G Is For Gaap
Gentleman Gaap
Kate Jonez
By the late spring, the heat reached full blaze in Midway the most southern town in Pickens County. Every living green thing shriveled up and died except for maybe a few mimosa trees rattling their seed-pods in the hot wind or a dusty creosote bush here and there.
Patch, Hank Jr.’s dilapidated old coon hound, lay in a spot of shade and kept one eye trained on the neighbor’s yard. He wasn’t moving much since he’d run away and got brought back by the new neighbor. All night and all day, all he ever did was lay around and watch.
The sun beat down on Marla Ann’s head as she leaned on the chain-link fence. Hotter than hell most folks have said at one time or another. Marla Ann didn’t blaspheme, but she understood the sentiment. By about August when the heat hadn’t let up in almost half a year nobody had anything that looked like a lawn anymore. Most folks gave up on it altogether and decorated their front yards with gravel and wagon wheels and longhorn skulls and such.
When Mr. Gaap moved in over to Miz. Granger’s old place first thing he did was to dig a big hole in the back yard. Seems like he’d have fixed up the sagging roof or the tore-up driveway buckled up from mesquite wood creeping too close to the house. Guess he had his reasons. Leaky roof doesn’t seem so important until the rain falls. Some folks do whatever it is that they want and don’t feel no shame.
Hank Jr. said Mr. Gaap aimed to make himself a swimming pool. He even hired Hank Jr. to do his digging. That lazy kid was over to his house from morning until night. If he learned to apply himself to going to church like he did to digging that swimming hole, he could have got himself into heaven. If someone did know better they might think that newcomer had put some kind of spell on Hank Jr. But there’s no such thing as a spells, especially not ones that would make a kid work all day and all night like that. Mr. Gaap had some kind of power over him, though.
Ever since they finished cementing the hole for the pool, Mr. Gaap had been running hoses into it non-stop. All day and all night, water running. And he wasn’t too careful about it, neither. Spray from the hoses splattered all over the place. Mr. Gaap’s lawn was as lush and green as velvet, which was a mighty peculiar thing how a lawn could spring up like that. His water bill must be sky high. Most folks in Midway are as broke as the Ten Commandments. Must be nice to have enough to throw money away. Must be real nice.
“Hey, Mr. Gaap. Your lawn’s looking real pretty.” Behind him the spray from the hoses spouted up and out over the entire yard like a pair of watery angel wings. He sure didn’t have the face of an angel, not by a long shot. It was bony and angular with a high knobby forehead and a big nose that hooked at the end. He sure wasn’t much to look at.
Mr. Gaap turned his head in a slow, methodical way. The movement would have been natural if a rattlesnake had done it. Mighty odd way of moving for a man, though. The sun must have caught in one of those water drops, because it looked just like his eyes glowed red for a second. “Good afternoon, Marla Ann.”
Now, a gentleman would have said Miz Marla Ann because that’d be the polite thing to do, even if around these parts the name came out sounding like MAR-LAN. But Mr. Gaap he wasn’t brought up in Midway and I guess he never learned manners. Maybe they don’t teach things like that wherever it was he came from. And that was strange because he’s a professor of, philosophy or something or other, which is like bible studies without the bible and you think somebody smart enough to teach that would be smart enough to know you ought to address a lady in a polite way.
“Hot enough for you, Mr. Gaap?”
“It is rather warm, isn’t it?” Gaap said in that funny stiff voice like he had an extra-long stick up his butt.
A native of these parts would know that the answer to that question was a fine opportunity to lighten the mood and share a chuckle. A good answer would be something like yes ma’am, its hotter’n two goats in a pepper patch or some such thing. But if he’d rather forgo being witty, then so be it.
“I’ve got a little air conditioner that fits in my kitchen window. It’s real nice in the afternoon to sit by it and sip on something cool.” Marla Ann held her eyes open extra wide and looked up through her lashes because Hank Sr., her ex, said her eyes looked pretty when she did that. “I was wondering, Mr. Gaap, would you like to come sit in my kitchen and have some sweet tea?”
No shame in asking a neighbor to come in from the heat and sit awhile. That’s just a neighborly thing to ask. And wouldn’t it be something if he opened up and started talking. That would sure be something to mention at the next potluck at church. He’s been living in Miz Grangers old house near three weeks and not a soul in all of Midway had learned squat about him except he was a professor. Funny job for a man in Midway seeing that the nearest school that calls for a professor is in Midlothian more than three hours by car. Maybe Mr. Gaap could be persuaded to come to the potluck. Now that would turn the heads of the old vultures at the church who thought being divorced is about equal to having leprosy.
“Why, thank you. I think I will join you.”
Before Mr. Gaap even got all his words out, Hank Jr. came running out of Mr. Gaap’s garage. He had all kinds of hose wrapped around his shoulders and was holding a shovel like he was a soldier with a bayonet. “Ma! Don’t make an invitation like that!”
Hank Jr. who was growing up to look a little too much like his daddy, had a truly fearful look on his face. Teenagers, who could ever understand what was going on in their heads? Soon as they got to that age they were like aliens from another planet. Not that there is any such thing as aliens.
Hank Jr. better not try to screw this up because he’s afraid of getting a new daddy or some such nonsense. Of all the things lacking in Midway, eligible bachelors were number one on the list. Mr. Gaap might not be much to look at, but he was unmarried and that was in his favor.
“Shut your tater trap boy. That’s no way to talk to your elders.”
Mr. Gaap chortled.
The sound bubbled up from him like sulfur bubbles from the bed of the Wakahatchee River. Well, at least he wasn’t offended by teenage foolishness.
Mr. Gaap let himself through the fence and extended his arm for Marla Ann to take.
He was a gentleman after all. The old-fashioned kind.
Something strange got into old Patch at just that moment and for the first time in weeks he jumped to his feet and commenced barking like the end of the world was nigh.
“Ma no!” Hank Jr. threw off the hoses looped around his neck like St. Patrick casting the snakes out of Ireland. Not that there’s such a thing as a saint, but it’s impossible to get through life without hearing stories about them.
Hank Jr. clutched the charm he’d taken to wearing around his neck these past few weeks and hollered. “In the name of King Solomon I command thee to hold thy ground.”
Old Patch jumped up and took to yapping.
Wasn’t that just like a teenager? How many times had that boy been dragged into church and made to listen? And the only words that ever spill
ed from his lips was from the Jew section. Marla Ann felt the blush rise up from her neck to her forehead. “I apologize for that, Mr. Gaap. Seems Hank Jr. hasn’t heard the good news.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” Mr. Gaap chuckled as he grabbed on tighter to Marla Ann’s arm.
“Get away from my mother!” Hank Jr. yelled as he charged toward the fence.
Mr. Gaap kicked it shut without turning around.
The fence caught Hank Jr. right in the gut and winded him. Serves the boy right for meddling where he didn’t belong.
Patch charged at that fence and threw himself into it. He bounced back and charged again all the while howling and barking like a hound from hell.
“The guardian of the waters must not leave his post.” Mr. Gaap’s voice was wavery and loud like the sound of a car engine revving up.
The look on Hank Jr.’s face was something to behold. He looked about as scared as a cat in a dog pound. About time somebody raised his voice to that boy and made him mind. His own father was good for nothing in that department.
Hank Jr. trudged on over back to the pool and sat himself down on the edge.
Mr. Gaap held tight to Marla Ann’s arm. He even opened the back door and held it for her to go in.
***
When Marla Ann opened the door she wasn’t one bit surprised to see Brother Del in his white shirt that was more yellow than white at the collar and pits. She should have known better than to talk to Shelby, that no good cow, but it didn’t seem like there’d be any harm in bragging a little about what a gentleman Mr. Gaap turned out to be and what a nice chat they’d had over tea and cake. That ought to be the kind of thing you could share with a girlfriend.
Mr. Gaap’s elegant ways and hypnotic voice caused Marla Ann’s heart to beat a little bit faster in spite of the fact that he wasn’t much to look at. Was that a sin? Probably, it was, but they hadn’t done anything improper.
Mr. Gaap had talked, the way men do, about his work. His philosophy job was all about talking and writing and thinking rather than building or fixing or making things which was peculiar for someone living in Midway. But Mr. Gaap was rich enough to fill a swimming pool, so maybe he was doing things the right way.
For a little while, while she was sitting at the table face to face with him, Marla Ann could see how all his ideas fit together like a puzzle and she felt really smart for being able to follow along.
Shelby was just about the most devious kind of nosy neighbor that ever there was, and she tricked Marla Ann into spilling her guts and got her confused into saying things wrong. When Marla Ann explained about Mr. Gaap’s ideas and how Hank Jr. helped him it came out sounding as bad, or maybe even worse than if she’d said people came from monkeys. And everybody knows that isn’t true in spite of how many people say it is. So Marla Ann wasn’t surprised at all to see Brother Del at her door.
All of Marla Ann’s muscles clenched and a migraine bit at the base of her neck. Brother Del was going to have questions. Lots of them. And the funny thing was, no matter how hard she thought on it, Marla Ann couldn’t remember the what-ifs and the where-fors of the conversation she’d had with Mr. Gaap, even though it had all fit together like a puzzle the day before. But she sure did remember Shelby’s reaction when she told her what Hank Jr.’s part in it was. It did sound kind of bad. That boy needed some direction. Maybe Brother Del was the one to give it to him.
“Come right in, Brother.” Marla Ann pushed the door wide open.
No use hiding. Whatever Shelby had said to Brother Del wasn’t going to get unsaid.
“Is he here now?” Brother Del’s face was as serious as she’d ever seen it. More serious than even when he preached the Good Friday sermon.
“Yep, he’s out back.”
Brother Del scowled and his jowls jiggled as he shook his head. The cloud of righteous indignation rose up from him like a smoke from a campfire. “What Sister Shelby said, you heard it with your own ears?”
This was quite a dilemma. It was a sin to lie to a man of the cloth. Lying wasn’t going to help anything anyway, not this late in the game. Thanks to Shelby, that cow. “I don’t know for sure that I heard right.”
Brother Del scowled and jiggled his jowls some more. “You let me be the judge.”
Marla Ann led Brother Del through the kitchen. The cake from yesterday still sat on the counter wrapped up in plastic wrap as pretty as you please. She cracked the back door that led out to the carport and pushed it open without making a sound.
Brother Del put his head so close to Marla Ann’s she could smell the tang of his aftershave.
Marla Ann put her fingers to her lips. She poked her head through the door.
Brother Dell pushed up against her so he could see too. The long horn horns on his belt buckle pressed up against her hip and felt way too close for comfort.
Paul Ray, Hank Jr.’s best friend and Shelby’s boy smelled about as much like a goat as anything could without actually being a goat. “It was you who lost the fucking necklace, yo. You’ve got to do this part.” His eyes looked unnaturally big through the lenses of his black framed glasses. He sat cross-legged on the black futon cushion Hank rescued from the attic where Hank Sr. had stashed all the stuff he didn’t take with him when he moved out. They’d drug it out to the edge of the carport. Behind them the spray of water rose up into the air and splashed into the pool.
Hank Jr.’s eyes looked like they were fixing to pop out of his head. He paced back and forth like he was fit to be tied. “This isn’t working out at all like I thought.” Hank Jr. stopped his pacing so fast that his sneakers squeaked on the black-top. “He keeps on saying that I’m the guardian of the water. I didn’t sign on for none of that. All I wanted was my dog back.”
“You got your dog back, yo. That part worked fine.” Paul Ray held out a tattered bunch of paper with yarn tied through a hole in the corner.
“Now he’s even mesmerized my ma.” The papers rattled as Hank Jr. tried to hold onto them with his shaky hands. “We’ve got to do something.”
Mesmerized! Where’d the boy ever get a damned fool idea like that? Everybody knows that mesmerizing doesn’t work.
“Go on out,” Brother Del whispered. He gave her a little shove.
Marla Ann held her ground. Seems like a servant of the Lord shouldn’t ought to be putting his hands on a lady like that.
“Everything was going fine until you lost the sigil. How could you even do some stupid ass shit like that?”
“It was stolen.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that? Who stole it?”
Hank Jr. twitched his head around and stared in the direction of Mr. Gaap’s pool.
“Fuck, man.” Paul Ray scrambled to his feet. “What even happens if one of them gets a hold of their own sigil?”
“Your book doesn’t say anything about that, huh?” Hank Jr. glared at his friend and balled up his fist. “Maybe you should have bought the real book instead of making that crappy print-out.”
Hank Jr.’s face looked like his daddy’s did when he came home after a three day bender only even more guilty. That boy knew he was doing wrong.
Paul Ray looked like a little kid who was about to cry. He snatched the papers tied up with yarn out of Hank Jr.’s hand and leafed through them like a badger on a garter snake.
Marla Ann pushed the back door open a little wider. She cast her eyes over the whole of her back yard and let them wander over to Mr. Gaap’s. Be nice to have a gentleman around to take control of this situation.
The smell of the oil that had worked its way into the concrete of the car port was nearly covered up by the sweet, vomitous stink of smoke rising from the bubbling block of something Hank Jr. was burning in a little black dish.
Probably drugs in there.
Marla Ann had been on the lookout and now her worst suspicions were confirmed. Hank Jr. was going to turn out like his daddy, probably worse. Anybody could have seen that was in the cards. Not that cards could tell the future, but anyo
ne could have seen it coming cards or no.
“I don’t want to mess with this anymore,” Hank Jr. said.
“What are you retarded? You conjured him, and now you’re going to just let him run free?” Paul Ray tugged the hem of his black T-shirt with the silver pentagram to pull it out of the crease between his belly and his boobs.
“I don’t know what to do.” Hank Jr.’s eyes were wild like he had a fever. Probably from the drugs.
“Hurry up and say the spell.”
“That’s it right there. I got all the proof I need.” Brother Del tensed like a coiled spring right behind Marla Ann. “They done summoned a devil.”
Marla Ann’s heart felt like it was fixing to seize up.
Brother Del shoved the door open and pushed Marla Ann out of the way. She stumbled out into the back yard and nearly fell.
That’s no way for a man of the church to act.
“Ma, get in the circle,” Hank Jr. yelled as he motioned for her to come over. “Before it’s too late.”
Marla Ann looked around but she couldn’t see one single thing that could be the circle he was referring to. Damn fool teenager and his damn fool nonsense. Probably the drugs were making him see circles.
The spray of water that had been running non-stop all day night cut off. The sound, or the lack of sound rather, was shocking like diving into deep water.
Real slow as though he was one of them automatons at Disneyland, Mr. Gaap rose up from the pool. Like the savior himself, he walked on the water all the way to the edge of the pool. As calm as could be, he stepped onto his velvet green lawn.
Mr. Gaap would know what to do about this. He was a gentleman of the first order and he knew about talking, and writing and books.
Old Patch growled and snarled and charged at the fence like he wanted to tear Mr. Gaap limb from limb.
The Demonologia Biblica Page 9
