Savior
Page 13
Yeah, he said slowly, studying it. This is some wild. Here lies the end of the world. This here the Rain King coming to get his children and shit.
It's for his mother. But she's dead. We need to find his father. He's a prisoner in Canada.
Aren't you looking for your mother? asked Arden. That's their deal. They're looking for their mother and father.
Yes. She's on the radio sometimes. You might have heard her. Barbi Belleview. She's a country singer. Do you have a radio?
Vargas layed the tablet in Ricky’s lap and got a radio down from above the wood stove for Lianne to play with. It was an old black boom box. The batteries were still good. Lianne twirled the knob for the stations, stopping when she heard a woman's voice singing some gospel music on an evangelical station, 104.9 broadcasting out of Nashville. She listened intently.
You an orphan, too? Vargas was talking to him.
Ricky shook his head. I'm going to find him.
Well, first, we going to take you over now to the big house.
She's out there, but I can't hear it right now. Her voice is always unmistakable, said Lianne, snapping off the radio. Lianne sounded unnecessarily bright and cheery, but Ricky appreciated that was how she made herself feel better about things, the sound of her own voice in conversation with other people. The only consolation he had was knowing that he was supposed to find his father, no matter how impossible it felt. Maybe that was the right way to look at it. Al would approve. For the first time in his life he had a certainty about what he was supposed to do.
Aunt Peggy and Scissorhands walked ahead of them to the house. Arden took them all around the back in the dark. Inside, Vargas served himself some food from the pots on the range. Ricky and Lianne followed his lead. There were many more people in the house now and spilling out onto the porch. Arden took Ricky and sat him down somewhere quiet where he could eat. Vargas was mingling with the people and introducing Lianne around. The old man, Ned, came in from the porch followed by a big group of community members. Everyone sat around him as he began to talk. The people were involved in a project to build farm-to-school links in New Orleans and New York City, and Ned talked about Mahayana, the vehicle for world change and how they were all preparing for the same thing, which was for a transformation into a new world order and a new consciousness. This new consciousness, he said, which was arising as a result of the seeds of peace they were sowing, was about collaboration and not competition and how they had to get all their heads together and pray no matter what you believed in. Vargas continued to circulate around the back of the room while Ned droned on and on. Ricky followed Vargas’ movements as he went around the room. Lianne was with him. Grill and Fuzz Tone were nowhere to be seen.
At some point the house emptied out. It was just Aunt Peggy and Scissorhands and some old guy and Ricky. Then Scissorhands and the old guy left together, and Aunt Peggy was talking to herself, sitting in a rocking chair made out of bent willow branches. Ricky wandered around the room, looking at the photographs and books on the shelves, picking up the steel guitar and plucking the strings. It was actually nice with all the people gone. Aunt Peggy noticed he was there.
Are you a musician?
No, not really.
The way life changes people. It's cruel. I started out as a musician. Berklee College of Music. Ever hear of it?
No.
Now I wouldn't pick up a tin whistle. Never. Once your heart's been broken. Have you had your heart broken?
I don't know.
Don't recommend it. Stick around here long enough. De rigueur, my young friend. How old are you?
Fifteen.
Absolutely splendid. What's the distance between your ears? Infinite, they say. But don't believe it. There are limits. Once your heart's been broken, nothing else fits in there. There's no room. The heart is a black hole, sucking down and bending the light. Where's your friend? Out listening to the music. She's a musician. Come sit here with me. At my feet. I'll tell your future.
He stood next to her and studied her face. She was halfway between old and young, he could see now close up. Her smile still seemed warm with the good humor of youth despite her strange words, and he thought that probably she had once been pretty. Her blonde, graying hair was pulled back on her head.
Where'd they go? asked Ricky.
The way of all flesh, young man. All flesh. She took his hand and pulled on it, and he complied uneasily. Leaning forward, she pretended to study his palm in the dim light of the lamp stand next to her.
Your future. Do you know what it is?
No.
You don't want to know. Nobody really wants to know. What do you want?
I don't know.
No, you don't. Of course not. Have you thought about the military?
Yes.
Well, that might be a good option for you.
What about the possibility of dying?
Well, everyone has to die. The odds are anyway.
Not many adults would ever have suggested the military as an option for him. This woman was sort of all right, he decided. He liked her honest and blunt manner, but he couldn't tell if she was serious or joking.
I'm not sure I'm up for that. And anyway, there's already a war on. Haven't you heard?
No, I haven't heard anything about that. A war? Where?
Everywhere. The Santos Muertos. You've probably heard about them.
I don't pay attention to the news, young man.
Is everyone in this place like you?
Not everyone. One thing I like about you, young man?
What's that?
You're very calm, even when you're deeply confused. That's a great strength. Things always work out for the best. Do you believe that?
Most of the time.
Good. Let's go and join the dance.
She led him out of the house, through the front door, and around the front steps. There were people all over the yard, sitting inside their cars and out by the large bonfire. Around the fire, the people were dancing to a drumming circle. Ricky wandered away from Aunt Peggy. She seemed to want to let him go ahead, so he did. He weaved through the crowd, averting his gaze when anyone looked his way for longer than a second. He didn't see Grill or Fuzz Tone. Then he caught sight of Lianne dancing.
The people she was dancing with were older hippies and younger acolytes, with some hardier types in work boots and tee shirts also among them doing a crazed break. Ricky turned to watch the drummers. Some of them knew what they were doing. Vargas took a turn on one of the hand drums, spelling a young man with a beard that stuck straight out from his chin like a horn. Someone tapped on Ricky’s shoulder. It was Lianne. They danced. Ricky lost himself in the music, closed his eyes. Lianne was still there, dancing alongside him and the drummer who had let Vargas take his place. There were some guitars playing and some woman singing without words, just wailing, almost crying. Lianne was glowing in full metal attraction from the firelight. When they stopped, he realized with a sense of guilt that he wanted to keep dancing, forget about Canada and the Santos Muertos. He realized he'd put the backpack down on the grass and the tablet was unattended. What was he thinking? He found the pack and Lianne followed him out to the edge of the yard. He took the tablet out and looked at it in the light of the bonfire.
That damned thing. It looks horrible, Ricky. I don't care if your Mom would have liked it.
This is the only thing that matters any more, Lianne. He stuffed it back in the pack.
Lianne looked at him and a worried expression crossed over her face.
I'm losing you, Ricky.
The drummer with the chin hair invited them down to the river where some people were swimming. He said his name was Don. He talked about himself and his life. He was from Mississippi and had traveled down from Alaska where he'd spent the last year living outside of Ketchikan and working on a fishing boat in the summer. He asked Lianne if she'd heard the music of some band; it sounded like Grayshit. Lianne said she had.
/> That's my band. We started that in Alaska.
Wow, I like that band. I swear I've heard that on the radio.
I'll give you the website. You can download as many songs as you like for free.
Thank you.
Yeah.
The riverbank was full of people who had stripped down to almost no clothes. Others were naked in the water, standing up on some rocks in the distance and diving off, their legs and arms just barely visible, glowing in the starlight. Ricky stood a way off. Lianne stopped and turned, and Don waited.
What's wrong? asked Lianne.
Nothing, said Ricky.
Hey, have some of this, said Don, calling them over. He was standing by a cooler. There were some extra cups that people had already used.
What is it? asked Lianne.
Mushroom brew. Farm specialty.
Lianne shared some of it from Don's cup.
No thanks, said Ricky. I don't need that.
Hey, you and Neil Young, man. That's cool. I can appreciate where your head's at. No juice in the bucket. That's okay, man.
Don was stripping down to his underwear. Lianne watched him and laughed. Ricky smiled. A competitive urge flashed in him. He took off his shirt and shoes and pants and folded it all beside the pack.
Lianne looked at him.
Feeling okay, Ricky?
Don was already in the water. His high-legged run and headlong splash had turned everyone's head.
You never heard of Grayshit, Lianne.
What?
The band. You never heard of it in your life.
Oh, Ricky. How would you even know?
You bullshitter.
Ricky. Lianne sounded disappointed.
Ricky gave her a disparaging look and took off on a run himself towards the water. He gave a mighty dive and belly flopped, smacking the water with his hands for acoustic effect. The cold of the water that ran through his body, however, shook out any lingering doubts about what he had to do. He stroked and kicked to the middle of the river, feeling the current pick up and begin to take him downstream. The rocks that people were standing on were just ahead. He swam hard and tried to stand. His toes barely scraped the gravel bottom. He got his hand around one of the rocks and pulled against it, making it to a ledge of sorts that he could stand up on. The other people on the rocks were laughing and falling in. One fat boy fell over and pushed against him as he was getting up. He stood up and balanced on the edge of the rock. The others were clambering upstream and using the rocks as a bridge to get back to the bank. The fat boy asked him for a hand up. Ricky helped pull him up on the ledge.
Where'd they go?
I don't know, said Ricky. He couldn't decide which was more pathetic, the boy for being so lost or himself for feeling sorry for him. He dove back into the water and swam for the shore the way he'd come. Lianne was standing by the pack and the clothes and Don was walking back along the bank. There were more people coming down the path from the fields.
How was the water? asked Lianne.
Cold. Let's go back to the fire.
He pulled on his pants and shirt and took his underwear and socks and washed them out in the water. Don was talking about the way they harvested the mushrooms in the woods after the rains in the fall. The farm owned some protected land. They had some waterfalls and some other areas. Apparently he knew the woods pretty well. There was also cannabis in there, a big patch of it, almost ready for harvest. Ricky stuffed the wet clothes in the pack and pushed his feet into his sneakers.
Oh, you went in, said Don.
Yeah, I did.
Anyway, if you come by the big house tomorrow I'll get you on my work crew. We go into the woods to work on the different forest crops. That's top-secret stuff. But my word is good with the crew chiefs and I trust you.
That's cool, said Lianne.
Yeah, me too, right? said Ricky.
Yeah, you too.
Ricky started up the path back to the bonfire.
You coming, Lianne?
Lianne started towards him. Don pulled on his cargo pants and walked beside them shirtless. When they got to the bonfire, Ricky sat on the ground while Lianne and Don kept talking. Then he saw Grill and Fuzz Tone standing with Ned just outside the range of the dancers and the light of the fire. They were watching the dancers, but Grill and Fuzz Tone looked around as if they were bored or anxious to get moving. Lianne tapped on his shoulder again.
You want to dance? she asked, smiling.
Ricky stood up to dance. He felt in a way like he was losing sight of who he was, like a private space in his head was shrinking to the point where he felt it perhaps did not exist any more. Dancing, spinning to the drumming and whirling along with the other dancers, Ricky felt his mind relax. It stopped being an issue. He wasn't at war. There was no war, just dancing, contentment, not minding where he was. He opened his eyes and watched Lianne feeling the same way herself. Even Don smiled at him. Then Ricky was piling more wood on the fire. A bunch of guys were gathering chain-sawed chunks of downed trees that must have fallen in a storm and were throwing them on the fire, so that it was growing and casting its light and heat in an ever-larger radius. At some point in the night it was like a dam had burst. Either that or he was very tired and was just getting off on some contact high. He panicked, and walked around and around in a circle holding the tablet to his ear, trying to hear his mother's voice guiding him through the minefields of his mind, thinking of his father the last time he'd seen him on the mountaintop in the Guatemalan highlands. If he ever forgot either of them, he'd be genuinely lost.
I'm about to pass out, Ricky, said Lianne
Yeah, me too.
Have some of this. Lianne held out a bottle of something.
What is it?
Just some tea. Arden got it for me. She said there's a place for us to crash on the bus.
Yeah, okay.
Do you want to go?
Sure.
You still have the pack.
Of course.
They were given a place on the floor of the bus on two camping pads that Arden had rolled out next to her bed. They brushed their teeth using their fingers and some toothpaste and a basin of water out back and a flashlight Arden leant them. Vargas was already asleep. Scissorhands was not asleep, and Ricky noticed Arden seemed to be kissing him goodnight with more attention than if she was just his sister. Turned out that Arden was actually his mother, and Lianne had already found that out from Don. Arden slipped out and left them alone on the bus with Vargas and Scissorhands. They whispered late into the night. Lianne had also learned that Grill and Fuzz Tone were putting together a deal with Vargas for the sale of some meth, but they had to keep it a secret from Ned because Ned was opposed to all kinds of drugs that would apparently mess with the spirit of cooperation and balance they'd worked out as an intentional community. That must have been the intentional part of the community: they aimed to only get high in some ways that had been pre-approved.
It was amazing how fast news spread in this place, thought Ricky, like there was some telepathic energy of some kind, and Lianne and he had hooked right into it. He thought of the panic attack that had hit him, and how the tablet seemed to be the key to his moods. He needed to keep it by his side at all times. It was like a compass pointing to the secret pathways of the heart, the kind that you needed to bushwhack for yourself because everyone was different.
In the morning, Vargas was stomping around, and he woke Ricky up. Lianne was still asleep and curled up with the blanket pulled around her head. Ricky’s head felt like it weighed a ton. He had a difficult time staying upright and flopped back down on the floor of the bus and waited for the noises of Vargas and Arden to subside. They seemed to be having an argument. Then, as the sun streamed through the windows and a pot of hot water began to simmer on the wood stove, Ricky stood up and dressed. Lianne got up and she too dressed. They were the only ones on the bus. Did Scissorhands attend school? Ricky sat down on the cushion that served as a b
ed, and Lianne sat next to him.
You kind of like that guy?
Who?
You know, Grayshit guy.
Don? He's nice.
Wants to help us get on a good work crew.
Exactly.
She took his face in her two hands and turned it towards hers.
Earth to Ricky. Come in, Ricky.
What are you talking about?
You and me getting some breakfast. I'm starving.
Up at the house, the women from the other bus were coming out and getting into their cars and shouting back and forth good-naturedly. They had fresh clothes on and their hair wet from washing; they looked like women anywhere in the country, setting off for a day of work in offices and places of responsible citizenship, not like they'd been up most of the night dancing stoned around a huge blaze of a bonfire. People in the house were drinking coffee, and Julia, the teenage girl from the next bus, offered Lianne and Ricky coffee, pouring it from a glass pot into their ceramic mugs. There was also a plastic bear of honey, but Ricky was fine without it. Ned was holding court, grumpily discussing plans for the day. There were several crews forming to go out to various spots around the farm. Don raised his hands and offered an overview of the work that was going on in the woods. He seemed like an eager beaverish sort of guy, thought Ricky. Vargas had already assembled his gang, two or three older guys who were building or repairing a barn that would house a couple of cows they were planning to bring in soon from somewhere in Kentucky.
About mid-morning Don and Aunt Peggy gathered with their crew—Lianne, Ricky, and Julia—to go into the woods. They drove to the edge of the fields in an old tractor, passing over the rows of corn and potato and cabbage, now just stubble, that needed to be turned over, across the old necks of cabbages sticking out of the rough earth, and past a long row of a metal building that housed pigs. Behind the trees to their right was the county road heading up towards Jackson and the highway to the larger worlds of Memphis and Nashville.