by Matthew Crow
It felt odd to say the least to be arranging, for all intents and purposes, the death of someone I had come to know over the past few months. Perhaps know is too strong a word. But even the fact that he had registered on my consciousness seemed to make my work somehow more sacred, as though I was offering my services as a gift to a friend. It was only as I began to wind up for the day - peeling off my overalls, now damp with perspiration, wiping a hand across my basalt brow, pebble-dashed with the grainy residue of chopped wood - did the significance of my knowledge truly dawn.
Of course Aimee would be devastated. However she interpreted life through that Escher staircase of a mind, one thing I did not doubt was the sincerity, and authority, of her feelings. But all I could really seem to focus on was that thought that I would be the one who got to deliver the news to Harlow. Undoubtedly he would feign sorrow at the circumstances. I could hear him in my head: ‘Didn’t like the man, son, but can’t say I’d have wished this on him... ’ yet he knew as well as I did that Levi’s health, or lack thereof, was a blessing in disguise. And that soon, however traumatic initially, his relationship with Aimee would reach its most natural conclusion.
The thought of being Harlow’s bearer of mixed news carried me home in relatively good spirits as the evening light began to muddle and fade. Outside of the cafe, cellophane sentiments had already begun to sprout in bouquets and wreaths at the borders of the police-tape. One or two officers still hovered uncertainly, more engrossed with one another’s’ conversation than anything else. A female officer ducked beneath the yellow tape that surrounded the entrance and placed a box of doughnuts, which I knew belonged to the cafe, on the hood of the car. Her colleagues dove in with an undisguised zeal, chewing down on the round pastries as red and purple globs smeared their chins. The mourners, of which there were few, had lit candles around the building where cards and lilies had been strategically placed, and seemed oblivious to the crassness of the officials’ behaviour.
I paused for a moment and, forgetting the tragedy that had taken place, found myself wondering where I was now to get my quick fix of caffeine and fried goods. I shook the thought from my head and carried on my way.
Out on the porch Mrs Pemberton rocked gently on her chair. I had every intention of ignoring her tonight though she had other plans.
“The po-lis been asking about you this afternoon. Asked if I knew when you might be back. Told them you come and go as you please, seldom so much as a good day.”
I pushed my key into the lock and opened the door. “I know. There was an accident, at the diner.”
“Mmhm, someone cut that lady up good and proper. It’s a tragedy is what it is. Miss Violet called me on the telephone, said the poor woman’d been stabbed six times in the heart.”
I didn’t correct her. “Well, goodnight.”
“You weren’t involved, were you boy? Folk from this town aren’t known for such behaviour.”
“No ma’am. I found her. Called the police, she was dead by the time I got there though.”
“Fine shame you aren’t an early riser. Chance she might be telling the tale herself otherwise.”
“I suppose we’ll never know.”
“I spoke to the po-lis myself. Said that man’s been sniffing around your house for weeks now. And mine. I went to run some errands the other day, when I came back my kitchen window’s wide open for all to see.”
“Which man?”
“Don’t play me no fool,” she said, grinding to a halt on the seat. “I know you’re up to no good. Can’t pull no wool over my eyes. I had sixteen dollars in the jar when I left. Got back there were only six. Police weren’t so quick to answer my call, no siree. Guess you have to have a knife in the heart before anybody thinks to stop by these days.”
“You think you’ve been robbed?”
“No think about it. Unless them raccoons started chewing on dollars it’s the only explanation for it. Someone been in my house and taken my money. And I intend to find out who.”
“Well, good luck with that. Goodnight.”
“You make sure to tell those po-lis you’re back home. They still want to talk with you. Can’t pull the wool over their eyes either. None of us blind in this town boy, none of us blind.”
Work the next day was unsurprisingly solemn. As I laboured beneath the relentless sun I felt my skin prickle with untoward sweat and, to my embarrassment, caught frequent drafts of evaporating whisky as it rose from my pores. That sun felt like a vice being tightened as the day went on, and the whole world seemed somehow crueller through my tight, bloodshot eyes.
“Someone had a good night,” said Emmett with a tap on my shoulder as he made a rare venture into the dirt-pit. Mercifully he did not hover long enough to warrant a response.
Though the hangover played the starring role in my day, its gloom was further accentuated by the constant mutterings surrounding the murder. It seemed that the only thing any of those boys could talk about was the crime and its aftermath. Some of the younger boys claimed they knew the culprits though, unsurprisingly, could not name names through fear of retaliation.
“Y’all don’t know who we know,” said Steven as we carried debris to the farthest edge of the site.
Most of the men dismissed his ramblings. In fact I think I was the only one really listening, and that in itself was a triumph of proximity. In my tender state I was less agile than usual, and had been forced to operate at the same slovenly level as the clod-kicking youths who frequented the site only when they had little else to do.
Lunchtime offered little respite. The rumours grew bigger and faster.
“I heard it was a gang,” said Chris, picking the tomato from his sandwich. “Whole group of bikers swarmed the place and bashed the lady’s skull in.”
“No way – she was shot.”
“... heard it was a knife that done it in the end.”
“... panties were found jammed in her mouth.”
“... head cut clean off... ”
“... Daddy said he saw two foreign looking sorts... ”
“Worst part is they only got away with thirty dollars in coin... ”
It didn’t seem to occur to the tragedy’s chorus that given the police’s complete lack of footwork on the crime their proclamations held little to no value. I suppose in such instances the truth is surplus to requirements. Eventually when the talk went from casually disrespectful to the outright grisly I stood up to leave.
“Mind if I sit, or were you hoping for silence?” said Harlow, casting his shadow across the ground on which I sat.
“Feel free. Your company’s always welcome. It’s the banshees I’m better off without, today at least.”
“I know that feeling.” He sat down beside me and opened his tin lunchbox. Carefully placing the wrap back in the box, he broke a sandwich clean in half and handed me the larger of the two pieces. “That wet bread you were poking at didn’t look so fun.”
“You noticed.”
“Couldn’t not. That’s the problem with the bachelor way of life. The food. It’d be the death of me.”
“I get by okay on the whole, it’s just... ” I took a bite from the sandwich and continued with my mouth full. “Been a funny weekend is all.”
“What you need is a nice little wife. Someone to take care of you.”
“If only it were that easy.”
“Heck you can borrow mine if you like.”
“It’d be an honour. She’s a good woman.”
“Pain in the ass more like,” Harlow chuckled. “Nah I’m jus’ kidding. Wouldn’t have her any other way. Damn it boy you make it with a brewery last night?” he said, sniffing the cloth of my work clothes. I shrugged and felt the food hit my stomach like a penny in a well.
“Sometimes it’s all I can do to get to where I want to be.”
“And where did you want to be?”
“Somewhere outside my own head.”
Harlow sat silently chewing, digesting the situation, before co
ntinuing. “So, you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”
I thought for a moment and almost began when I felt the sandwich make itself known inside of me. My eyes watered and I felt myself drain.
“Whoa boy you got it bad!” said Harlow “Here,” he pulled a hip flask from his pocket. “Now I’m not encouraging it, but this’ll sort you out.”
He unscrewed the cap and handed me the filthy silver goblet. I’d sooner have bent down and sucked up the mud beneath my feet than amended my rift with alcohol of any variety. But I was touched by the gesture (though dubious of his methods all the same) and took it with an unsteady hand.
“You sure?”
“Only thing that’ll get you back to human.”
I gripped the flask and tipped it to the sun. The whisky poured down my throat without so much as greeting my tongue, and for a moment all was well. Then it kicked inside me. I gripped my hands into the ground as my stomach writhed and bucked. My eyes stung and my throat tightened around itself.
“That’s it boy,” said Harlow, taking another bite of his sandwich.
I stood up and ran to the furthest oil drum, my hand pressed against my mouth. The moment I stopped I felt my body turn inside out. Specks of food cascaded with an embarrassing echo into the bottom of the tin. Yesterday’s sin stung my lips and my head felt like it was ready to follow suit into the bottom of the barrel as every spare ounce left my body and pooled into a foul smelling moat.
“There you go boy, get it all up. Sooner it’s out sooner it stops hurting.”
Eventually I drew to a halt, my stomach aching as though I’d been punched a thousand times. As I sat back down I felt shaken, though within seconds my newfound lightness seemed to catapult me back into a form I almost recognised as myself.
“Better?”
“Surprisingly.”
“Here,” Harlow handed me an apple. “To take the taste away.”
“Thank you.”
“So,” he said eventually. “Now that one weight’s off your mind - or your belly, depending on how you look at it - you want to tell me why you walking around like the living dead?”
“I had a bad day yesterday is all.”
“We’ve established that much kid. I don’t want to push the subject if you don’t want to talk about it, but the way I see it a problem shared is a problem halved.”
“Or doubled, depending on how you look at it.”
“I like to think of my glass as half full.”
“I don’t think I’ll be troubling the glass for some time yet.”
“Well there you go, you learn a lesson. I bet it almost seems worth it now.”
Harlow patted me on the back and for a while we watched the sun trace the endless amber glow of the dust. “I found the lady, Mary,” I said. “At the coffee shop. Had to break a window to get in. It was too late though. I was too late.”
“Well I’m sorry to hear that, I guess that sort of thing stays with a man.”
I bent down and pulled back the foot of my jeans to allow it some air.
“Ouch, you do that on the window?”
“Yeah, hurts like a bastard.”
The cuts around my leg had spread and darkened. Dirt had mixed with blood and formed a grim tattoo around the entire length of my ankle as though I’d been shackled.
“Promise me you’ll have a doctor look at that, don’t look too pretty.”
“Will do. Just got to make it through the day first.”
“You’ll be fine. Worst part’s over. You know, you ever want to talk, I’m here. Am I right in thinking you don’t have much family around these parts?”
“Don’t have family full stop.”
“None?”
“My mother died when I was younger. Dad’s been on death row for most of his life.”
“I take it the two are related. Sorry to hear that.”
“It happens.”
Harlow took a sip of coffee from his thermos. “I always wanted boys. Seem to know what you’re getting with boys.”
“Ignorance is bliss.”
“Oh now you can’t have been all that bad.”
“Believe me when I say you don’t want to know.”
“Thing is, with girls, and I love them, God I love them, but there’s no in between. Either they move away and come back Christmas and birthdays like strangers, or they stay so close you wonder why they ever bothered cutting the cord in the first place. Boys, they hang around, in touching distance, maybe stay in town, maybe move to the better side, but they’re there... just as much as you need them. Boys get it just right.”
“Say,” I said eventually, keen to dispel Harlow’s suddenly sombre tone. “Yesterday wasn’t all bad. Got some news that might cheer you up.”
Harlow nodded as he processed the information. He screwed the lid on his thermos and placed it with a click inside the top section of his lunchbox. “Well,” he said eventually. “I can’t say I’m sorry. Way I see it nature’s just taking its course. He’s lived his life, and now it’s his time. And whatever it makes me I’m just pleased he won’t be worrying my girl anymore.” Harlow shook his head and wiped his face of the emotion, which was beginning to spread like damp. “God damn it I know how I sound Jonah. I know how I sound and I don’t like it. But there’s not one thing I care about more in this world than those girls, and if them being safe means some old man’s got to plan his own funeral then I won’t be sorry. I won’t ever be sorry for that,” he stared out into the sun and then, as though a switch had been flicked, snapped back into his usual persona. “Well, that’ll be time by my watch.”
He offered me his hand and I dragged myself up against his steady weight. “I don’t think less of you - ” I eventually managed, “ - for thinking like you do. In fact I think it’s something special that you love those girls enough to talk that way, to care that much about them. I think had someone thought that way about me my life might not have taken such a dull course.”
Harlow slowed his pace so that he was side by side with me as I walked. “I appreciate that kiddo, I really do. You know, you can’t choose the hand you’re dealt in life. All you can do is play it best you can. And I know you got a trick or two up your sleeve. I can’t claim to know you well but I know I’d like nothing more than to see you make something of yourself. And I know you got the goods to do it.”
With love, (and please take care)
Jonah
Dear Jonah,
Eve’s confession was what I believe they call a two-bottle job.
“I’m so sorry V, I should have told you. I could have made our lives better from the word go... ” Was her preferred mantra throughout the lengthy explanation as to how my bathtub came to be swimming with dollars.
“Just start from the beginning and end with you trying to knock the shit out of me Eve,” I said, taking another swig of wine to steady my nerves. I was listening. It was hard not to, given Eve’s aptitude for volume. But throughout it all I could feel myself slipping in and out of fantasy. I pictured us bashing champagne glasses down, howling at our good fortune. Then we were dressed in furs, pirouetting down a freshly swept avenue tossing bounds of notes at salesgirls in exchange for silks and patterns that we’d never wear. We dined on lobster and sent rounds to the tables of men who caught our eye, all wowed by our beauty and abandon. I buy a one-way ticket, once Eve has absconded with yet another lover, and you and I are together forever...
“V!” Eve mewled. “This is serious. In fact it’s just about the worst thing that I’ve ever done. Quit daydreaming and listen.”
“Sorry. It’s just a lot to take in, is all.”
“You’re telling me. I don’t even know where to start.”
“The beginning usually helps.”
“That’s too far back. God knows what went wrong to make me the way I am. Oh Verity I’m sorry... ”
She began weeping again. The routine was beginning to grate and already our first bottle was nearing empty, so I grabbed her by the arms a
nd sat her bolt upright. “Eve, you just got to pull yourself together now darling and start talking. You understand?”
She wiped her face and nodded. “Well, I suppose it started when I turned up at a town not too far from here after one or two incidents that I’d sooner forget. I was a rich woman again after that kind Mr Hounslow left me his estate and then I met... I mean... ” her throat tightened but she forced herself to go on, “... oh it could have happened to anyone, Verity. I mean of course you share everything once you’re married. What was mine was his. We were going to share the rest of our lives.”
“You got married?”
“No. I thought I did. The priest turned out to be his cousin and four million dollars turned out to be a big fat zero before I’d even had the chance to change my name at city hall. He didn’t even stay long enough for Bermuda. I’d packed rose petals, handcuffs. We’d been waiting, see, to make it all the more special. And he left me sitting on top of that suitcase for six hours before I realised something was up.”
“Oh Eve, some cruel man played you?”
“He wasn’t playing Verity. He broke my heart and left me penniless all over again. Only positive I could draw was that I never became Mrs Eve Gooberman nee Lubbock. I mean on paper, in person I’d been introducing myself that way since the first time I set eyes on those beautiful lips.”
I rubbed her shoulder for support and poured the rest of the bottle of wine down her throat.
“So, anyway I was broke and homeless and cradling my heart like a bird with a broken wing. I didn’t think I was ever getting back to life again. So I skipped town. All I had was debt, bad memories, and a pair of tits that could get me a ride wherever I wanted to go, so I hitched with this old man in a big red truck. He had a picture of the Virgin Mary in his cabin and a copy of Playboy in his glove compartment. He told me his destiny was to win Jeopardy and you know what? I think it’ll come true. He was smart, and kind.”
