The Savior of Seattle

by Nat Kozinn

  Then it was Alexis’s turn, and two people stopped having fun: her and David. She eyed the Savior with steely resolve.

  “I’ll take fifty,” she said to the boy handing out the balls, and she handed him a fifty-dollar bill.

  The crowd gasped. It was the kind of neighborhood where only drug dealers had fifty dollars. The teenager started gathering up as many balls as his arms could carry, but Alexis just pulled one from the pile. She spread her arms to back the crowd up and get some room for her wind-up and let fly with a beautiful underhanded pitch that smashed into the bull’s-eye with a satisfying crunch.

  The platform dropped, and then so did David a few feet into the chest-deep water. He landed on his feet and stared at Alexis for just an instant before falling the rest of the way over and shaking his arms, causing huge waves that splashed the crowd, much to its delight.

  “We have a winner, and the Savior finally got wet!” somebody running the contest announced. “It’ll be a few minutes before we get set up again. Please give the Savior some room.”

  That last comment was clearly directed at the children. Alexis was free to walk up to the tank.

  “Need a hand?” Alexis asked.

  “Step back,” David said.

  He bent his knees and jumped out of the tank. His foot hit the edge, and he stumbled as he landed.

  “You alright?” Alexis asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said, avoiding eye contact. He sighed and looked at the reporter. “That was a good throw.”

  “Oregon State softball champs, 1976. Mostly played the outfield but came in as a reliever sometimes.”

  He picked up a hanging towel and started drying off his massive frame. “So why’d you buy fifty throws?”

  “It’s for charity, right?” she said with a shrug.

  A young boy, about ten years old, broke the rules and approached the Savior of Seattle.

  “Hi, Savior. I have a question. How far could you throw one of these balls?” the boy asked.

  David’s eyes went wide with panic. He stuttered out a few unintelligible sounds. Alexis saw the panic and stepped in.

  “Young man, didn’t you see that we were talking?” she said. “Please step back like you were told.”

  The boy’s shoulders dropped, and he slinked away like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  “You didn’t have to be so rude,” David said.

  “Is that your thank-you? Did you forget we had another interview scheduled?”

  “Sorry. Like you said, it’s for charity. The church is putting on this whole thing, and I really help draw the crowd.”

  “And you forgot about it when we made the appointment? And forgot to call me and tell me so that I wouldn’t have to haul all the way out here?”

  “I can’t use think.Net,” he said with his chin down.

  “And I’m sure you don’t know anyone with an account,” Alexis said and rolled her eyes. “How long are you supposed to be here? I don’t really have anything else planned for the day. I can wait.”

  “It can go pretty late. I don’t really think I’ll have it in me afterward. I’ll just head straight to bed.”

  “Okay, I guess. When can you reschedule? Tomorrow? I’m meeting with a source in the afternoon, but I could still do the evening.”

  “I don’t know. It’s tough to say. Things are starting to get busy with the church. Holidays coming up and all. Maybe I’ll come see you in a couple weeks,” David said, his voice cracking just a bit.

  “The holidays? It’s October,” she said, bobbing and weaving to force some eye contact.

  “Always a good idea to get ahead.” His head was still down.

  “Okay, tell me what’s going on,” she said, but David stayed stoic. “Come on. Spill the beans. I’m a professional truth-seeker, not that that matters considering you are a hilariously amateur liar.”

  “I’m not sure I want to do any more interviews. I know I told you I would, but I don’t need the money anymore, not desperately anyway. And it’s causing too much trouble; I’ve had other reporters knocking on my door trying to get me to do interviews. And regular people, too. They’ve been hauling all the way out here just to ask me questions or shake my hand. It’s too much.”

  “Oh, because you’re lying low here at the carnival?”

  “That’s different. The Heights know me. They’ve gotten used to seeing me and they are over it. Even if the people out here are reading the interviews, they know me well enough not to bother me. These other people, for some of them it’s like it was thirty years ago. I can’t go back to living like that. There isn’t an army convoy to whisk me away anymore.”

  “I can’t believe they’d want to thank you for saving their lives. My God, what a horror. What’s wrong with those people?” Alexis said with a mocking pout.

  “It’s not just thank-you. They want demonstrations. They want me to perform; they have all sorts of questions about what I’m doing now. I’ve gotten used to having some peace. I’m not ready to go back to how it used to be.”

  “You mean you’ve dug yourself into a happy little rut here and you’d rather be left alone in it,” Alexis said. Her eyes went wide with shock at her own tone.

  David turned his back. “I’ve got to get back. Every minute I’m not up on that platform means less money for the church.”

  Alexis placed her hand on David’s shoulder. “Listen, I get it. I’ve been getting bothered myself. Calls from colleagues I haven’t heard from in years that suddenly remembered I existed because they want the rights to republish my work. And honestly, it hurts. I’ve been trying to do serious journalism for years, shining some light in the darkest corners, and those people couldn’t have cared less. Hell, they wouldn’t even get coffee with me. But if I can manage to get over my hurt feelings, there’s an opportunity here. If we agree to let some other sources republish your interviews, it could mean big money for the Seattle Times. It could fund some real journalism. I had been looking into this alderman who I think is corrupt as hell and taking bribes to accept a bad bid on sanitation services, but I haven’t had time to look at it because I’m too busy doing fluff pieces. But if you can keep talking, we’ll have enough money to hire help and I can do some real work, just like I’ve wanted to do. And you… You want to help people in any way you can, isn’t that right? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “It is,” David said, picking his chin up.

  “Now how much money are you going to raise today sitting up on that platform? Besides my generous donation that is.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a couple hundred bucks.”

  “And that’s from all day, isn’t it? I’m going to give you five hundred dollars for an hour. Just think of all the good the church can do with that. Isn’t that opportunity worth putting up with some uncomfortable small talk?”

  “I suppose so,” he said.

  “Good. Then I’ll be waiting when you’re done getting wet.”

  6

  David stood on the roof of a crumbling concrete building, a long wooden post in his hand. Various construction materials littered the rooftop around him. He carefully balanced the fifteen-foot post, holding it against the roof with one hand. With his other hand, he placed a Pho-Plastic hinge against the wood. Then he placed a nail and slapped it down into place, swinging his index finger like a hammer. He put two more nails in place and then moved onto another hinge, then another.

  He finally let go of the post and held his breath to see if it remained upright. It did, and he gave it a tiny shove just to ensure structural integrity.

  The roof door opened at David’s back. He did not turn around.

  “You’re late,” he said while bending over and pretending to inspect his nail job.

  “Yeah, well, this place is far away. It took me forever to walk out here,” Mario said.

  “You’re going to have to work twice as hard to make up for the time you missed. Otherwise, I’ll tell your mother, and this day won�
��t count on your ledger. I don’t have all day to sit up here baking in the sun.”

  The boy did not look good. He had a split lip and a badly swollen eye. One of his fists was covered in barely scabbed-over scrapes.

  David could not see any of this because he still had not looked at Mario.

  “Come give me a hand with the next post. I already measured out where we’ve got to put it. It took a while. Would have been a lot easier with another set of hands,” David said as he walked over to the post.

  David knelt down to lift the post but paused when Mario did not join him.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Oh yeah, like you need me,” Mario said, but he still went over to take the other end of the post.

  David looked at Mario’s hands and saw the scabs, which led him to finally look at the boy’s face. He saw the bruises there, obvious battle marks.

  “Who the hell did that to you? Was that another gift from your pals, the Clown Heads or whatever?”

  “Hood Clowns,” Mario said and puffed out his chest. He was quickly deflated by the power of a death stare from David. “It wasn’t them. It was another crew. The Eighty8s. Those weak punks jumped me from behind a couple days ago. I still knocked two of ’em out, but there was four. Only so much I can do,” he said with a shrug.

  “And what brought on this little beating?”

  “They want the Hood Clowns to join up with them. That’s what happened. Everybody knows it’s time for us to join up with a bigger crew. The Eighty8s want us to run with them, but they weak. We’re gonna start repping with the 49ers. The Eighty8s don’t like that. They wanted to send a message. They heard I been hanging around with the Clowns and they are too scared to go after a real member. That’s why I got picked.”

  “So you get rocks thrown at you while hanging out with those Clowns. Then, as an added bonus, other people beat the hell out of you because you chose to hang out with the guys throwing rocks at you. I can see why you find joining up so appealing. Maybe you can really get lucky and both of ’em will team up and take turns kicking you in the nuts.”

  “You grew up before the Plagues. What do you know about it? It was easy for you when you were coming up. I heard about it. You watched TV all day, then came home and ate a whole bunch of food I never even heard of, and as much of it as you wanted. That ain’t how it is anymore. Now you got to fight to get anything you want. And you gotta fight to stop anybody who wants what you got. That’s just how it is.”

  “So how is it now?” David said with a smile.

  “Act like you don’t know. You’re just doing the same thing right now. Trying to show how big you are by making me come down here and work on this… whatever it is. I punked you by tossing out all those papers. So you had to show me who you are. You don’t care about me. You just want everybody to know you got to be respected.”

  “Mario,” David stopped and looked right at the boy. “I’m sorry I was so dismissive. I know things are rough for you and laughing at you doesn’t help, so I’m sorry. But I don’t think you’re being fair to me. You think I care about those papers? I care about you. It was just a couple of years ago that you were a sweet little kid. I remember seeing you helping Mrs. Gabbert with her packages, back when she could still walk. The whole neighborhood loved you. But now something’s changed. You’ve turned angry and nasty. What happened?”

  “I ain’t a kid anymore. That’s what happened,” Mario said and stuck out his jaw.

  “You’re fifteen. That’s not exactly a man.”

  “Yeah, well, I gotta be. Luis needs one. Pops walked out and I don’t see anybody else walking through our door. I gotta look out for him. You think I was sweet? That kid is a freaking angel. He’s about to start standing on his own, and these streets are going to chew him up unless I’m out there repping for him. Either that or he’ll have to start running with somebody himself, and that ain’t going to end well for him.”

  “You’re doing this to keep Luis from joining a gang? News flash, kiddo. People have been trying ‘do as I say, not as a do’ since the dawn of time, and it hasn’t worked yet. You might be telling your brother to keep his nose down and stay out of trouble, but that’s not what he sees. He sees you going out acting tough, acting like a man. You don’t think he wants to be a man, too? The best way to make sure he ends up running with a crew is to keep doing what you’re doing. Because you’re showing him that’s what men do, that it’s the only way to make it.”

  “Yo, whatever. Don’t you ever stop worrying about other people’s business? That’s all you do. That’s why we all the way up here building this rain catcher or whatever.”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with catching the rain.”

  “So what’s it do?” Mario asked.

  “It brings water up to the apartments.”

  “What do you mean? Don’t the pipes from underground do that?”

  “Yeah, they do, but the Metro Area pipes can only send the water up a couple stories, so they need a water tower to get it the rest of the way up.”

  “How’s it work?”

  “Uh, something something something water pressure, something something. The point is we’ve got to build it or like twenty families won’t get running water in their apartments again. I say we hurry because this whole building is going to get awful stinky if we don’t. I’ll hold. You hammer,” David said and then lifted up the wooden post.

  David walked over to a marked spot across from the already standing post and held the new one in place with a single finger.

  “Just like the one I already did. Four nails in the roof, four in the post. Nails and hammer are over there,” David said and pointed, casually taking his eye off the one-hundred-pound post he was holding upright.

  Mario picked up the hammer and the bucket of nails and hinges and walked over to David, stopping for a moment to examine the already completed work. Then he walked over to David, kneeled down to the post, placed the hinge, placed the nail, and swung the hammer. He yelped in pain.

  “Damn it!” Mario yelled as he tried to shake the pain out of his hand.

  “You ever swing a hammer before?” David asked, and Mario shook his head no. “That’s how you learn; you bash yourself in the finger a bunch of times until you get the hang of it. Proceed.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Mario said. He shook his head but did what he was told. He hammered in all the nails, occasionally stopping to curse and shake his finger. The cursing fits became more spread out, and the pace quickened as Mario got the hang of it. It took an hour and a half for Mario to attach the four posts, and then he attached another set of two-by-fours to buttress the load. David provided extremely little aid, relative to his abilities at least. He lazily balanced the beams while Mario swung the hammer and sweat.

  When Mario finished hammering down the last nail, David gave him a pat on the back.

  “Good job. That’s enough for the day,” David said.

  “For real? We ain’t even done yet. All we did was put up some sticks. What about the rest of the thing? Don’t we got to put it up?” Mario said and pointed to the wooden water tank lying on its side on the roof.

  “It needs a new ring around the bottom, and I’m in the middle of moving some funds around. I should be able to get what we need next week, and then I’ll come back and finish up. You can’t really help with the next part anyway. Lots of heavy lifting.”

  Mario gathered up some loose nails and put the bucket and the hammer in the corner.

  “I told your mom it’d take another hour,” David said as he opened the door on the roof. “So what do you say we go get you some fried Manna. I’m buying.”

  “You sure you can afford that without moving any funds?” Mario said and ducked into the building.

  The pair kept talking as they walked down the stairs. David struggled to keep his head from hitting the ceiling.

  “Har har, smart guy. Like you know anything about how much it costs to get custom Pho-Plastic work.�
��

  “Why you gotta pay for that anyway? Cheap-ass landlords never want to pay for nothing. I bet he only shows up when rent is due. They should call the cops on his ass. No water has got to be illegal. Not that they’d do anything about it.”

  “You can’t do that, Mario. You can’t assume you know every landlord because you don’t like the one you know. Mr. Grice isn’t like Billy at all. He’s kind and patient. At least half the people this building are behind on their rent, and he isn’t here banging on any doors. The other half of the apartments have way too many people crammed into them because the families have no place to go. If we called the cops, and they actually showed up, they’d kick those families out and water would be the least of their problems. Mr. Grice will do his best to raise the money, but it’ll take him a few months. That’s a few months without running water for those people. I can help him get it done faster.”

  “Yeah, but you just said you won’t be able to fix it for a couple of days. What are those families going to do till then?” Mario asked.

  “They’ll carry water up, use their neighbors’ kitchens, make a bucket toilet. Beggars can’t be choosers, and a few days without water beats a few weeks,” David said.

  “Still sucks for them, though.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” David said.

  The pair walked out the front door of the apartment building and turned to walk toward the fried Manna stand when David stopped and spoke to Mario.

  “Mario, wait,” David said, and the boy seemed to be listening. “I know things aren’t easy for you, and when things aren’t easy, it can become all you think about. You think about the jerk landlord, and the guys who are messing with you, and your mom who does nothing but work. But there are good things, even all the way out here. There are landlords that really do just want to give people a place to live. There are the nuns out here, burning their hands to make sure people don’t go hungry. What I’m trying to say is that it’s easy to think this place is pure hell and the only way to survive is to turn yourself to steel. You think you’ve got to join with a crew or you’ll be eaten alive. But that’s not what everyone in the Heights is doing. If you look close, some people are rising up. Some people are refusing to be dragged down. If they can do it, maybe you can, too. Maybe Luis can if he sees you do it.”