Architects Are Here

by Michael Winter

  I’m going to start taking care of my nose. Allegra mentioned it to me. I was defensive but I can see what she meant.

  Did Allegra mention it as a parting shot?

  It doesnt matter, she said it.

  Me: Men’s noses are different from women’s.

  Yes but there’s quite a variety in men too.

  Youre not going to start plucking hair from your nipples are you?

  Do you think I should?

  We drove to the border like this. The closer we got to the States, the more maple leaf flags we saw. Then federal buildings with the Canada logo. Such a weak typeface for a national identity.

  David finally gave in to a desire, he turned the mirror and squeezed his nose. Nozzles of white cream lifted up their heads. He sat back, satisfied.

  Now you have a red nose, I said.

  What will the border guard think of that.

  What he thought was, here are two eligible candidates for smuggling (apparently an unlicensed dog, a newly acquired car, one man with a raw nose, that’s what gets the console lit up).

  The border guard was wearing a short-sleeved black shirt with stripes on the pocket and a blue crest for homeland security. There were gold pins on the flaps, and the rim of a tattoo from a previous life poked out of one sleeve. He asked if he could take a sample of the dust in David’s suitcase.

  You mean I can say no?

  You can say whatever the hell you want.

  And then what.

  Do you have identification.

  We flipped out our driver’s licences. He saw my firearms possession and acquisition licence.

  You got a gun with you.

  No sir.

  We have a Taser, David said.

  A Taser, he said. You got it in the safe position and under lock and key.

  We do, sir.

  I need a citizenship card.

  We looked at each other.

  I lost mine, I said, when I was seventeen.

  I dont think I ever became a Canadian, David said.

  What are you.

  American.

  But you reside in Toronto.

  I was born on a US army base.

  Huzzah to the air force. And you?

  I was three, I said, when we moved.

  I dont care how old you were.

  I was born in England, I said.

  You sound like youre lying.

  I dont remember England. I feel like I’m saying I’m from a country I have not experienced.

  Well what’s to stop you, he said, from coming in here and living illegally.

  It wasnt a question he wanted answered. He asked me to put my left finger on a glass keypad. It lit up red.

  Right, he said.

  I reached for my driver’s licence and was about to tramp the gas when he held on to the side of the window.

  Your right finger is what I mean.

  Then he hovered a webcam at us and took our pictures to be disseminated to every law enforcement jurisdiction in these here United States, including Hawaii, Alaska and Puerto Rico.

  I’ll just take a look at that Taser now.

  And David got out and showed him what I did not know had been in the car. He unlocked it and the guard weighed the black gun in his hands and was not at all nervous about David possessing it. David had the papers and the cleared security. Technically he still worked for IKW and that type of work allows a lot of freedom.

  You and your dog, he said, are free to rock ’n’ roll. He did a little fishtail with the side of his hand.

  Well then we’re out of here.

  He raised one finger. He had all the time in the world to tell it, this one. He was lording it over us.

  Folks if you do happen to go—he picked his teeth with the corner of my driver’s licence—I might have to arrest you.

  Arrest.

  And then I’d have to fill out the paperwork and apply for a search warrant. That could take one and a half business days.

  He checked his watch and rubbed the face of my driver’s licence. The entire manipulation of my licence was aggravating me. Wednesday morning, he said, then stared at the long line of hot summer traffic humming behind us. It really didnt bother him, this lineup. He waited for us to ask. So I asked. How do we get around that, officer.

  That took a lot out of me, saying officer.

  If you oblige us this sample.

  He pointed to a raised windowless bungalow set off from the end of the bridge. It looked like the kind of building that houses hydroelectric circuits.

  The lab is down the road yonder.

  You want us to urinate?

  With your permission these powders in your luggage will be examined.

  Or we can go but youre saying you will arrest us.

  My guess is I’m going to arrest you.

  And that means.

  A night in this complex whereas of your own volition we’re talking forty minutes.

  Dave clapped my hands. Let’s do the forty, he said.

  Me: Are we allowed to fish in that river?

  It’s a legal river, but as of now youre in the custody of US homeland security.

  What if we promised to stay in eye contact.

  I’m afraid I had to shoot the last man who lost eye contact.

  But I’m saying we’ll stay in eye contact.

  You can only control your own eye, Mr English. Youre not thinking of me. What if I lose you. Then I come after you through that brush and shoot you cold and drag you back here and have an autopsy then I have to live with that, my wife has to live with that, my three daughters, well two—one doesnt give a damn what I do.

  What’s the matter with her?

  Her parents are assholes.

  You ever bring her out here, see what Dad does for a living?

  You men dont look like you have daughters.

  I just left my son in Montreal, David said.

  You got a daughter?

  A son, he’s a seven-year-old.

  He leaned in the window and licked the inside of his lip. It was as if sons didnt equate to daughters.

  One day, he said, I’m gonna see the bad one in a car like this heading Canada way. Dont ever have three kids. Two is good, three you can never get enough seats in a restaurant.

  Dave:That’s what made her go bad.

  Me: It’s more likely she’ll head Mexico way.

  This here’s a Matador, isnt it.

  You might have driven one yourself.

  He stood back to admire the flank of our old ghost car.

  Before my time. Heard good things though.

  Those were the days.

  Yes sir those were the days.

  Those were the days when you could have shot us on the spot.

  Those days are back, he said.

  WE WATCHED all the traffic that we had industriously passed smooth out along the border and zip off into New York like shorn sheep. We sat in two flexible plastic chairs, the maker of which Dave noted so as never to invest in, and I counted the triangles in a puzzle on the back of a kids’ magazine. I was counting to give my mind something to do, but then the triangles turned into a firing range with men hurdling the triangles carrying Tasers. That he snuck that into the car and put me in that position. But the entire room was monitored and so I sat there and watched, through the window, our dog. The border guard was letting her sit with him in his booth, like a police dog. And then back to the kids’ magazine. I was glad not to have kids. To have them stranded here at the border knowing dust was being inspected from Dad’s bags. That sort of suspicion shouldnt be allowed to be born in children. It’s like exotic foods. I wouldnt feed a child extravagant things. Let them get old first and really enjoy the astonishment of their first mango. Let them think they were deprived. Being deprived is an excellent kick in the pants, to make a body want to search.

  Then Bucephalus came back and David was rubbing her down. He used to have a dog. But it was like an arranged marriage, he said. They didnt hit it off.
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  That was Wolf, I said.

  I had that dog for his entire life. I saw it being born. We respected each other, Gabe, but no deep love. I think for me to love something it has to be either half-broken or full of enthusiasm. This dog here. I could easily fall in love with this girl. Though she looks a little too full of the world now to be reined in. She’s experienced and loves too many things to be loyal.

  So a dog has to be a bit broken, or full of enthusiasm, but in either case he must not have too much experience in the world.

  He can’t be a slut before I get to him. But together he can do what he likes as long as he comes back to me.

  THE DUST WAS NEGATIVE and away we peeled into New York. We drove on down Highway 87 to Plattsburgh. David wanted snacks so we pulled into Plattsburgh and found a grocery store. Trail mix is what he wanted. Nuts raisins and licorice. I said I was more in line for a sandwich.

  I’ll get you a sandwich, he said, you get me the trail mix.

  I had to ask the guy at the deli counter, Where are the peanuts?

  David: In the baking aisle.

  Where are the chocolate bars.

  In the aisle full of potato chips.

  The deli guy looked at us. My friend here is looking for a job, I said.

  Have you noticed, Dave said, the Americans stock the eggs right beside the bacon.

  WE DROVE THROUGH PLATTSBURGH. We were in a new country and that seemed to call for a different attitude. It was like leaving a lover and realizing you could try to be less of an asshole. Youre too stubborn to admit youre one while youre in the old relationship. I was going to begin again with David. I was going to be honest and not persuaded.

  David was rubbing his temples. I’ve lost half my brain, he said. Can’t concentrate like I used to.

  Then he blinked a number of times and searched the ground we were covering.

  I look at the world, he said, pretending my eye is someone else’s eye. Someone with integrity.

  We switched the driving again and he was quiet while he drove. But once we got to the slow roads he wanted to talk. He said, I want you to know I’m in love with my son. I love him. I love nothing else. I’m not going to go on about it. I might not talk about him. I’m not that kind of boring dad. I take care of them financially. Sok Hoon doesnt have to worry. She pretty much takes care of herself as it is, sometimes in fact she sends money my way. But if there’s a gap she knows how to fill it in. She doesnt need to ask me, there’s an account. Anyway, Sok Hoon is possessive and she could have lived in Toronto. I can’t live in Montreal, there’s no work in Montreal. I could live in Montreal but I’d be broke. So she went to Montreal. Good. I love the Oven and that’s the end of it.

  We came to a river and David wanted to look at it. He parked the hot car up on the grassy bank and I unfolded the tent to air in the sun and Bucephalus took a bead on the river. We went down to the river with the fishing rod. Did we need a permit? There were no posted signs. All the rapids glinted in the bright afternoon. I strung up our rod and the dog watched me cast, up to her tail in water. The trout were hot and lazy. David stripped down and folded his new glasses and put them in their case. Then he waded into the pool I was fishing in.

  Just to cool off, he said.

  Well thanks.

  You werent going to catch anything.

  Then he tested the bank and got out and lay on the grass with the dog and both of them watched my fly, their bellies breathing in tandem.

  David: Do you smell a burning.

  Maybe theyre doing a controlled burn.

  It’s like a grass fire.

  It smells close by.

  We looked behind and the air around the car had that wobbly look to it.

  The Matador was on fire.

  We ran up with the blankets and threw them over the car. It was weird, superficial burning. A man came out of the house and judged the car and asked what our plans were. David said we’d like to camp. You can do that, he said, but not where you were fishing. He said it as though we might catch the river on fire. He pointed to a flat spot amongst a copse of willows. That’s a fair spot, he said. Then he looked under the car.

  It was your catalytic converter, he said. That’s what caught the grass on fire. You shouldnt park a hot vehicle on dead grass.

  We slept on the banks of the Au Sable River and the moon turned the inside of the tent green and the green reminded me of Allegra Campinghorst and her iridescent costume. I thought about being inside the green dress, a tent of beetles, which felt like crawling into a radio. I became Allegra. I was trying to think of how she could speak so disparagingly of Sok Hoon, but I guess she liked David. I think it’s good to know that you have a reserve. Out of David’s ashes Sok Hoon had made a bigger life. It’s both foolish and a relief, but we all rely on backup plans to our current predicament. Women especially. Most often, in the end, when it’s over, the women win. They live for hundreds of years. But the world looks upon them as the support behind men’s work. Even these days.

  ELEVEN

  BUCEPHALUS CLIMBED ABOARD us and wedged herself in and slept between us. In the morning I let her out. I watched her tail hover in the air. Then she was off towards the cows.

  There’s this theory about the butterfly wings, David said, waking up. Flap of a wing in Brazil causes a hurricane in Srebrenica. It’s wrong. We thought it was right for maybe fifteen years. Do little things and the big changes will come. We powered a lot of technology on that wrong thought.

  That’s the power of a strong image, I said. It can overpower reason.

  We had camped in the lee of a dairy farm. We had watched the owners feed the cows and sit under an awning with cheese sandwiches and a bottle of cold wine. Then slept. Now this morning.

  David: Our computers at IKW told us you can flap all you want, no hurricane. So the truth is a little more refined. You have to get all the butterflies flapping. If you can encourage all this flapping, then you might rev up a hurricane.

  David Twombly confessed he was working on a book but had been staring too much at the computer. Then he gets an email and bam.

  Me:You have email on the computer that you work on?

  He looked at me.

  You have to get rid of that. You have to work on a machine that isnt alive.

  More looking.

  If you walked into a room and there was a dead dog in there. And say there’s this happy dog wagging his tail as well.

  And with that Bucephalus returned to the zipper of the tent.

  Youre going to pat the happy dog.

  We patted our happy dog. The pink valley of her tongue.

  Youre going to roll around and play. There’s nothing more distracting than an alive dog.

  David:You have to work in a room with a dead dog.

  Who can resist?

  I THOUGHT of how close I was to Nell, but then, how much can you know of someone. How much of a relationship is dead-dog and how much alive-dog. The little assassins arrive and snip the connections or store information in little pockets and you end up looking at each other guessing and saying okay to the mystery but deciding that if there is an afterlife it must involve these secret compartments, which are more like sacs of fat stored around the body. And perhaps all David and Nell were doing was working to make an afterlife appear in this life. The next world, they were bringing the secrets of the afterlife into ordinary reality, and I wasnt ballsy enough to accept it. Nell and David were having an affair.

  I felt like I’d chewed over the power of the feeling I’d been having and it was okay to leave this place. We bid adieu to a dairy farm, where an American artist I had written about had once lived. He had died here. We turned our backs on him and then we booted it towards the east, and although we were done with the man he sort of kept us company, as I knew he had taken this route ninety years before on his way to Newfoundland, and perhaps not that much slower as we were only doing sixty kilometres an hour towards Bethlehem, New Hampshire. Just coasting easy, a canter. David Twombly
was checking his stocks on his pebble. The pebble, he said, runs on the heat of his hand. There was a grip on it, and it matched his hand. It was like a mouth guard that you boil in water then set in your jaw to imprint your teeth. David is the sole operator for the pebble, his signature handgrip and his method of thought. He was invested now in ethical funds.

  More was sure to come.

  This thing called Sunleaf, Dave said. They tap into photosynthesis. It’s a light leech and theyre buying thousands of acres of meadow. They will use trees as a solar panel.

  When we stopped for gas he checked his whole portfolio using his eyes to scroll the screen.

  A meadow, I said, implies treelessness.

  Theyre growing the trees. In the meadow.

  So what they havent even grown the raw material?

  All our hydro, he said, is coal fired. The heart of the economy is still run by the nineteenth century.

  I DOZED AGAIN while David drove. We were on our way to his sister’s. Driving makes me sleepy. I set up a scenario where Nell is leaning on an elbow, reading. She’s calm and well spoken, wearing smart wool pants and a blue top that gives her a thin waist, because she’s tall. Then Richard arrives. They’ve been eating.

  Nell: I ate so little with you. Once a day it averaged.

  Richard:You can go a long way on beer and cigarettes.

  I embraced her in the car. I moved Richard out of the way and held her. And I was holding David’s shoulder. His eyes were on the road, blinking softly for he was tired too, and he’d grown very sad and loving. I wanted to kiss him on the cheek but the seatbelt wouldnt allow it. He has a boy’s face, until you kiss him. It’s his unshaved chin. It’s hard and sharp and old. And then the skin of chemicals and no-heat and inside-inthe-dark skin, awake with inside light.

  That’s enough now, he said. Which woke me up. It was still afternoon and I had that feeling you get when youve been in a bar in the daytime and you get drunk playing pool and leave and it’s still not dark. A sodden feeling of unworthiness.

  David: The thing I miss with this travelling is often I pull down the blinds at the office and take a nap. It’s three in the afternoon, I’ve got the sports page, a glass of ginger ale, three fig newtons and the Argos on my portable radio.