I Can Hear the Mourning Dove

by James Bennett

  I can feel tears forming in my eyes, but this is not the time for me to be crying. “Impulse is good for me. It may be the best thing possible. Besides, there isn’t a day or two for thinking. It may be that Luke is hurt, and my pass is over tomorrow night.”

  “You say impulse is good for you. How am I supposed to know it really is? And I’m not saying that to hurt your feelings.”

  “I know. It grieves me to cause you this dilemma. The sickness brings so much data it paralyzes me. I can’t act and I can’t even think. The data comes all at once and I get scrambled. I wish I could explain it, but I can never find the words.”

  DeeDee doesn’t say anything, but she is listening.

  “When the voice comes it is worse, because it changes all the data. I know it’s good for me to act, when I know what to do. I know Luke is there, and I believe I can help him.”

  “And what if he’s not there? You don’t think it’s possible, but I do. Then what?”

  “I would just stay overnight with Mr. and Mrs. Walters.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They’re the Allerton caretakers; they live right on the grounds, and they know me. I’m sure they would even bring me back home, if it turns out I need a ride.”

  “It isn’t that I don’t want to help you,” she says, “but I don’t know what to do.”

  My heart is in my mouth; maybe she’s going to do it. Maybe she will drive me. To think it is exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. “I feel bad putting you in this position,” I tell her, “but I really need to do this. I need to know the thing to do, and then do it.” I know my eyes are bright with tears, but I’m not going to cry.

  For the longest time DeeDee looks at me without speaking. She finally says, “If I do this, am I being a real friend to you, or am I betraying you?”

  “You are being my friend because you are helping me do the thing that needs to be done.”

  The shiny Camaro whispers on the interstate like white noise. It’s like riding on a cloud. DeeDee grips the steering wheel with both hands and gives the highway her undivided attention. I have given her a dilemma which is causing her much stress. I tell her I’m sorry.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” she says, without looking away from the road.

  “I know how you feel. Luke asked me to help him escape from lockup but I couldn’t do it.”

  “The more you talk about him the more stressed out I get. Don’t take it personally, but he sounds like a total hood. I don’t like this feeling; I’m not used to it.”

  “I understand, DeeDee. I feel guilty for asking you and you feel guilty for taking me. We both feel guilty.”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s not that I think you’re crazy.”

  “I know.”

  She is still looking exclusively at the road. She asks me if there will be people at Allerton.

  “Not now. Not this time of year. They only have guests on holidays, once you get into October. But Luke will be there.”

  “You think. You hope.”

  I know she is not being quarrelsome, she is just expressing her conflict. “There are greenhouses at Allerton,” I tell her. “They are run by the university. They grow all kinds of flowers there, even tropical ones. In the summers, my father worked in the greenhouses. He had hands that could mold a sculpture or nurture an orchid.”

  “You were really fond of him, weren’t you?”

  “Fond is one thing, but it’s not good to be pathological. Dr. Rowe has helped me open my eyes. My father wasn’t perfect. He could be impatient and he could be arrogant. It’s important to know someone’s imperfections and still love the person. When my dad died, he was cremated. The funeral home gave us the ashes in a brass urn, but I transferred the ashes to a clay pot my dad fired a long time ago. It’s amazing that all of a person can fit into a pot no bigger than a Kool-Aid pitcher. I kept the pot next to my night-stand. Every morning I said my prayers beside it; I prayed for my father’s soul, and Uncle Larry’s, and anybody else I knew of who was suffering.”

  “But it must be disappointing that he was cremated; you don’t have a grave to visit.”

  “I’m going to visit his grave now. That’s where we’re going.”

  “What do you mean, Grace?”

  “I mean that his ashes are scattered at Allerton. He is part of the earth. In July, after we knew we were moving away, Mother and I went to the park one night. All the visitors have to leave at sundown. We had the urn with us.”

  “You scattered his ashes there,” says DeeDee. “Why didn’t you bring them with you to your new apartment?”

  “Because Allerton was his place. My father and I explored every inch of the park together, at one time or another, in every season. That’s where he needs to be at rest. He is one with the earth; he is part of the soil that grows the wildflowers.”

  A tear is sliding down my cheek with no warning. I wipe it away quickly and glance at DeeDee to see if she noticed, but she is looking straight ahead. She seems rigid; I have given her information, but it hasn’t eased her dilemma. All of a sudden I feel cold and numb. I look straight ahead at the pavement which slides underneath. Neither of us is speaking. It’s as though the car is on automatic pilot, and DeeDee and I are a pair of robots.

  When the huge cedar trees begin to line both sides of the narrow country road, I know we are near the entrance to Allerton.

  “It’s less than half a mile, DeeDee. The entrance is on the right.” I can feel my pulse increase.

  “Is that where I drop you off?”

  “Yes, it’ll be fine. I’ll have to walk about half a mile on the service road, but I’ll enjoy it. It will give me a chance to collect my thoughts.”

  “It’s almost dark. I’ll be dropping you off to walk in the dark.”

  “It won’t be dark for a little while yet. Anyway, I know the park like the back of my hand, remember?”

  “I remember everything; I still don’t know why I’m doing this.”

  When we get to the service road entrance, the chain is pulled across and padlocked. I will have to walk around the pillars.

  I get out of the car. “DeeDee, you remember your way back to the highway?”

  “I remember.”

  “You’re sure you remember every turn.”

  “I’m sure.” She has both hands on the steering wheel. She speaks to me while the motor idles: “I’m going to call your mother as soon as I get back. I’m sorry, but I have to do it.”

  “We left notes, DeeDee. Don’t forget we left notes. But if you call her, it will make me happy. I don’t want her to worry, and I don’t want her to suffer.”

  “And promise you’ll call me in the morning. It doesn’t matter what time, you have to call.”

  “I promise.”

  “And I mean a solemn promise, not just an ordinary promise, and you have to call your mother too.” DeeDee’s eyes are bright with tears but she knows I don’t mean to make her suffer.

  When she leaves, I watch until the car is completely out of sight. I feel myself starting to shiver, so I button up the fatigue jacket.

  I walk along the service road briskly until I come to the bridge which crosses the Sangamon River. The bridge forms a long and gentle arch. For a while, I lean against it and pick at the moist moss which grows from the cracks in its side. The quiet river wanders crooked into the timber; the sun sets and the moon rises. I feel strong inner peace. This is my place and my father’s place; I have roots here.

  About a quarter of a mile farther along, I find the path which cuts through the woods in the direction of the garden of the Fu dogs. The woods are dark and quiet. When I come abruptly out of the woods and stop in front of the first Fu dogs, I am losing breath but my legs are still firm. The Fu dogs sit on their tall pedestals. I know that they form two lines clear to the far end of the garden, clear to the pagoda of the Gold Buddha, although I can’t see that far in the dark.

  The way to the pagoda is a long black
tunnel, formed by the arching dark trees. I walk as fast as I can, but the blue porcelain dogs form a gauntlet. The moonlight gleams on them where it slices through the trees; their fangs are bared like those of forest monsters. They are resentful because I am an intruder in the dark.

  I try to walk faster but my legs are going wobbly. I can’t do this if I’m scrambled. The gleaming eyes are boring into me on both sides but I can see the silhouette of the pagoda. The Fu dogs are only porcelain; they can’t have real eyes or real thoughts. They can’t affect me because they have no affect.

  I sit on the pagoda steps and begin some deep breathing. I have the shakes, but I will not be afraid of the gleaming blue dogs. My father is here; he permeates the soil like a nutrient.

  When my breathing is restored and my legs are firm again, I follow the gravel path which leads through the formal gardens to the sunken garden. The uniform hedges are at right angles and diagonals. It isn’t hard to see, there are pole lights and moonlight, but the shadows are deep. My feet are crunching the gravel and breaking the silence; I feel like a trespasser. But I tell myself not to be afraid, I have walked this path many times with my dad.

  At the entrance to the sunken garden I sit on the steps; I breathe slowly, deeply, while my eyes adjust. The sunken garden is holy, dark, and deep; it is a fortress surrounded by concrete walls, a perfect oval hollowed in the earth, with a carpet of even grass. It has sanctuary purity.

  But in a way, none of this seems real. What am I doing here? I’m waiting for Luke on this point in space and time. DeeDee was probably right. It does seem absurd.

  I should probably be afraid. If Luke is here, and if he is truly a psychopath or one of the Surly People, then I am in real danger. There is no protection here. But I am not afraid. It is as if I have somehow moved to a zone deep inside myself where panic and fear are in orbit around me, but I am the calm eye of the storm. The source of this poise I know not.

  It is a warm night for October but I am starting to feel chilled. The breeze rustles the leaves and branches scrape in the dark. I listen for the cattle. It would be a waste of time to listen for the mourning dove; she is not nocturnal. I wonder if her head is tucked beneath her wing.

  Time goes by, maybe hours, I can’t tell. Maybe I have slept. The moon is much higher and there are many stars. Then I hear the voice, quiet but clear.

  “Hey Red. Over here.”

  For several moments, I hold my breath. It’s Luke’s voice.

  “I said over here. Come on over.”

  I was right. He is here. My heart begins its pounding. My eyes are accustomed now and I can see him sitting on the grass, leaning back against the concrete wall.

  I crouch onto my knees next to him. I can’t speak yet.

  “This is really far out, Red. What can I say?”

  “I knew you would be here.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I’m not sure. I just knew. Sometimes you just know things.” There is a large duffel bag next to him. He is wearing the headband but his hair is wild. Probably from highway wind, he did ride here on a motorcycle.

  “You must have found the motorcycle,” I say. “But where is it?”

  “I stashed it in the woods. It was easier than I thought, gettin’ it. They left a window unlocked in that garage. This duffel bag here belonged to Johnny; it was still strapped to the bike.”

  “I didn’t mean to create the distraction,” I say quickly. “I need to be honest. I was just coming to tell you I couldn’t go through with it, and then I passed out.”

  He is grinning. “I figured it was somethin’ like that. It worked anyway, though. The problem was, Old Four Eyes tackled me down by the exit door. I had to punch him out. I didn’t want to, I’ve got nothin’ against him personally, but he didn’t give me no choice.”

  Is Luke apologizing to me? I have seen his violence yet I have chosen to be here with him. Alone. He could do anything he wants with me. He could break me like a stick or rip me with his huge organ. I’m sure I wouldn’t think like this if I had my medicine. But I’m not even sure of that.

  He asks me what time it is.

  “I don’t know. It’s past midnight for sure, but it’s not yet sunrise.” I can feel my teeth chattering.

  “I been sleepin’ a lot since I got here,” he says. “You’re cold, Red, where’s your stuff?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You came all the way down here and you didn’t bring any stuff? You’ll freeze your ass.”

  “I didn’t think of it. This is Uncle Larry’s fatigue jacket.” I hug myself to stop the shivering but my teeth are still chattering.

  Luke is unzipping the duffel bag. He takes out a leather jacket and hands it to me. “Put this on.”

  I put it on quickly. “I forgot my medicine too. I left it at home because I left in such a hurry.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “It might be or it might not be. I don’t know for sure. This is a very disorienting situation, but when it comes to the medicine I’m never sure. It’s scary to be without it. Whose coat is this?”

  “It was Johnny’s. That’s what I’m sayin’, his duffel bag was still strapped to the bike and a lot of his stuff was still in it.”

  My teeth are chattering and I’m wearing the too-big coat of a dead man. “My father is here. This is a special place.”

  “It’s a real nice place, Red, and it’s real good for hidin’ out. But you told me your old man was dead.”

  “His ashes are scattered here. He was cremated. When you’re part of the soil that nurtures living things, you’re never really dead.”

  Luke shifts his weight. He has perspiration on his face, I wonder why. “Red, you didn’t go to all the trouble of findin’ me just so you and me could shoot the shit.”

  “I came to talk you into coming back.” There, I said it.

  “You want me to go back and let them lock me up again?”

  “Please don’t put it that way, there’s more to it than that. Dr. Rowe will help you, I know she will.”

  “You want me to turn my life back over to the bullshitters?”

  “Please don’t twist it, Luke. Dr. Rowe is not a bullshitter. She’s real understanding and I know you can trust her. She will help you, really.”

  “It isn’t just her, Red. We’re talkin’ about the whole system. How did you get here?”

  I tell him how DeeDee brought me. “She’s my friend. I gave her the dilemma but she brought me anyway.”

  “Does anybody else know you’re here?”

  “Just DeeDee and my mother. I didn’t tell the hospital or anybody in authority. I want you to come back, but it has to be for the right reasons. You have to choose to come back.”

  Suddenly his hand is on mine. “It took guts for you to come, Red. I want you to know I appreciate that.”

  “It was an impulse. There must be constructive impulses and destructive ones; it only stands to reason.”

  “But I’ve got to be free and clear. Life doesn’t work for me like it does for other people, not with the bullshitters in charge. I tried to explain all that to you.”

  “But Luke, Dr. Rowe says your life won’t work until you learn to make appropriate decisions.”

  “You know how many times I’ve heard that, from one bullshitter or another?”

  “Please, I don’t mean to be quarrelsome. I just want you to trust me.”

  “I do trust you. You’re real different, but I respect the way your mind works.”

  “I can’t think of anything more ironic; the way my mind works is pathological most of the time. But this time I know what’s right. It will be best for you to come back of your own free will.”

  “The thing is, I know your heart’s in the right place. I know in your own mind, you’re tryin’ to look out for me. I don’t want to put you down. You understand what I’m sayin?”

  “Yes. You’re saying that even if you don’t take my advice, I’m not to take it personally;
you know that I care about you as a human being.”

  “You got it.”

  “Luke, please. The point is, if you don’t come back, they will find you. Eventually they will find you. When they do, the consequences will be much worse.” I’m wearing two jackets, why are my teeth still chattering?

  “It’s easy for you to say. You haven’t spent your life with the bullshitters on your back.”

  I am shaking my head back and forth rapidly. “It’s never easy for me to say, not if I have to convince someone of something. I just know that things will work out better for you if you come back voluntarily. Somebody will show leniency. Even Mrs. Grant says so. I’m sure you know Mrs. Grant.”

  “In a way, I’d like to believe you.” The sweat is still beaded on his forehead; it’s so chilly, why is he sweating? “When I’m eighteen, I’ll be free and clear for sure. The system can’t touch me then.”

  “But Luke, you can’t just be on the run until your eighteenth birthday. Things like that have a way of adding up. Please, I’m no good at this, you have to help me. It’s wise for you to come back; aren’t you going to listen to me at all?”

  “I already am listenin’ to you. I told you that once.”

  I am chilled clear down to the bone. “Luke, I have to go to the bathroom real bad.”

  “That’s cool, life goes on.”

  I hug myself to stop the shivering but my teeth are still chattering. “If I could go, I wouldn’t be so cold. I have to go real bad.”

  “Go in the woods. You only have to take a leak, right? It’s dark and there’s nobody around. I won’t look at you, I promise.”

  It won’t be easy, but I’m shivering so hard I either have to do as he says or wet my pants. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. It’s no sweat.”

  I walk up the steps and into the woods, crunching sticks and leaves, until I find a spot that seems private enough. The moonlight is bright and many trees are bare. I squat down and the weeds are scraping my haunches. It’s a few moments before I can actually go; then I wish Luke would make some noise, the stream seems so loud it’s embarrassing. In the pockets of the jacket, I find old Kleenex which I use for wiping.