The Savior of Seattle

by Nat Kozinn

  “Well, I didn’t say we’d pay you any interest,” Sister Berta said with a smile. “We won’t have to shove you through the eye of any needles.”

  “Excuse me?”

  There was a loud crack from where the workers were attaching the wooden framing.

  “Look out!” Mario yelled.

  The top corner of the decorative frame broke off and started slipping down toward the floor. The massive chunk of Pho-Plastic must have weighed at least three hundred pounds, and it was heading straight toward Scales’s unmoving head. David moved like the wind. He launched himself forward, tackling Scales to the ground. David ended up lying on top of the other man. The chunk crashed into David’s body and splintered into dozens of pieces. David was flattened by the blow.

  Sister Berta and Linden rushed over to help clear the debris and stand Scales up. Mario attempted to help David.

  “Yo, Savior, you okay?” Mario asked while trying to lift David to his feet, a task he had no chance of accomplishing.

  David was unconscious for a second, but then his eyes opened. It didn’t seem like anyone besides Mario noticed that David left the land of a living for a brief moment. But everyone did see the massive splinter of Pho-Plastic protruding from David’s shoulder. It looked like a woolly mammoth had been speared by an ancient hunter.

  “You saved me, Savior. Hey, you okay?” Scales asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. You guys should have been more careful. This is going to cost a lot to fix. I’m not even sure if they can fix it,” David said, not skipping a beat.

  “Yeah, sorry, Savior. You sure you okay?” Mario said and pointed to the splinter sticking out of David.

  David finally noticed the spear and his eyes grew large. He grabbed hold of the fake wood and pulled. It came out easily enough, but it left a five-inch hole in David’s shoulder. There was no blood, just a hole that no one knew what to make of—David included.

  ◆◆◆

  David opened his front door and had a surprise: a letter from Springdale Retirement Community. He picked it up with a smile. It was going to tell him that he had a zero balance. It would be the first time that had ever been the case. They let him put just a half of a month down when he moved his mother in, and he had been playing catch-up ever since.

  Dear Mr. Gilbreth,

  I am writing you to express our deepest apologies regarding your treatment by the billing department at this facility. It has recently come to my attention that one of our patients, Vivien Leigh, is in fact Mrs. Laura Gilbreth, your mother. While some of our workers were aware, this fact was not made known to our upper-management team until recently. As soon as I learned of this fact, I upgraded your mother to our premium accommodation and zeroed out the balance on your account. There is simply no way to properly express the gratitude I feel toward you for the many acts of service you provided to this country. This Metro Area and the entire nation owe you a debt that cannot possibly be repaid by monetary means. While it is so much less than you deserve, we here at Springdale would like to make the only gesture we can. That is why you will never receive another bill for service from this facility, and I will personally make sure your mother receives the highest level of service we offer. I feel grateful to you for this opportunity to make this small gesture to show my appreciation. Thank you for everything you have done.

  With my deepest gratitude,

  Arthur Blatt

  Owner and President Springdale Retirement Community

  David crumpled up the letter and threw it inside his apartment before he slammed the door. He expected this letter to tell him the Seattle Times was paying his mother’s bills, not that the bills were being taken care of as an act of charity. How did Alexis work this out? Did she threaten to write a scathing article about Springdale? Whatever it was, this was not the deal.

  David pondered possible explanations while he walked out of his apartment. As soon as he was in the hallway, Luis appeared like the door to the Marquez home somehow opened whenever David closed his apartment door.

  “Hi, Savior!” Luis said.

  “Hi, Luis,” David said with a frown.

  The boy wilted even before he could ask his usual question about hanging out with David. Luis closed his door without another word.

  As David was stepping out of the building, Ms. Hubbard was coming in, carrying a sack of groceries.

  “Hi, Ms. Hubbard. How’s Mrs. Gabbert doing?” he asked.

  “She’s doing well, really well, Mr. Savior. Thank you for asking,” Ms. Hubbard said. She kept her head down, trying not to engage.

  “Her doctor’s appointment is next week, right? I have the money. Make sure you come see me before you go.”

  “Really, Mr. Savior, it’s not necessary. She’s feeling better. They probably won’t even want to do the surgery anymore.”

  “Really? I thought she was done for without it? Is she going to be okay without the treatment?”

  “Well, maybe. We’ll see,” Ms. Hubbard said and hurried to the stairs.

  “I was going to stop at the corner store. You guys need anything?” David called up to her.

  “No, we’ve got everything we need. Thanks, Savior,” Ms. Hubbard said. She didn’t slow down to answer.

  David shrugged and continued out of the apartment. He stopped at Lieutenant’s nook, knocking lightly on his box-house wall.

  “Hey, Lieutenant. You up?”

  “Savior, my man. How’s it going?” Lieutenant said with a bit of an odd smile.

  “Uh, okay I guess. I was going to go down to the corner store. What can I get you?”

  “Oh, me? Nothing, Savior. I’m good.”

  “Really?” David asked with shock. “You’ve still got vitamins? Something to eat?”

  “Yeah, all good here. I did a little work helping fix up Chang’s place. He hooked me up and I still got a few bucks left.”

  “A few bucks left. Since when does that happen?”

  “I’m turning over a new leaf,” Lieutenant said with a smile.

  “You’re quitting drinking?”

  “Woah, woah, let’s not go too far. Just trying to practice moderation.”

  “Good for you, Lieutenant. Good luck,” David said and started to walk away.

  “Where you going now, Savior?”

  “Well, I was going to run to the store, but it seems like everybody’s all stocked up. I guess I’ll head down to the church and see how the repairs are going.”

  “You’re not going downtown?”

  “Why would I go downtown?” David asked.

  “For the rally. I’d head down there myself, but with my leg, it’s just too far. I’m with you in spirit, though.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The rally? You know, to demand the government do something to help you out. It’s supposed to start at noon at city hall.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You haven’t seen the paper? Take a look,” Lieutenant said, and he pulled out a copy of the Seattle Times and handed it to David.

  ◆◆◆

  Thump! Thump! Thump! David pounded on the door to Alexis’s apartment. The heavy Pho-Plastic door rattled on its hinges.

  Alexis looked through the peephole and saw the top of David’s stomach as if the power behind the thumps wasn’t enough to know who it was.

  “What do you want, David?” Alexis said through the door.

  “I need to talk to you,” David said.

  “About what?”

  “You know what. You owe me an explanation. Come on, Alexis. Open the door. You know I could rip it off if I wanted to.”

  Alexis sighed and opened the door.

  “You aren’t going to hurt me, are you?” she asked.

  David’s response was a dirty look.

  “Okay, come in.”

  They stood in the entryway to her apartment. That was as far as David could make it before his anger overcame him. He threw a crumpled wad of newspapers to the
floor.

  “I finally decided to do some reading. For the first few months, the articles were okay. A few exaggerations for dramatic effect, but nothing too egregious. But something weird happened these last two weeks. You became a fiction writer. And I’m confused because I thought you were some sort of journalist,” David said, his voice heavy with sarcasm no one was buying.

  “I’m some sort… I told my editor you wouldn’t like it.”

  “Ahh, your editor. I bet you’ve always wilted like a flower under them. You seem like such a pushover.”

  “You’re right. I used to scream as long as it took to get whatever no-talent moron they put in front of me to shut up. But I also used to write real stories that took real courage. What can I say? Did you think you were the only one suffering from the ravages of time? We’re just two more in a long list called everyone who ever lived past thirty.”

  “Is this all part of your apology?” David asked.

  “What am I supposed to apologize for? Everything I wrote is the truth.”

  “The truth? You made it sound like I’m a loser charity case who lost all of my money because I was a naive kid swindled by a con man. And now I’m sitting on the street corner with my hat in my hand.”

  “Well?” Alexis said with an exaggerated shrug.

  “Please… You left out the part where I didn’t go after my cousin for the money because I left him to rot for years without even bothering to try to find him. You left out the fact that I could probably get a different job at Ultracorps now if I wanted to. You left out the fact that the only reason I even care about getting money is so that I can help the Heights and that I don’t want any money for myself.”

  “I can’t put everything in the article,” Alexis said flatly.

  “That’s your answer? Come on. The least you owe me is not bullshitting me.”

  “I don’t owe you anything. We aren’t friends. We only talked to each other because we both needed something from each other and it was the same thing: money. You needed it for whatever the hell you do with it, and I needed it for the paper.”

  “You didn’t keep up your end of the bargain. You aren’t paying for my mom’s care. I’m getting it for free now because you made the whole Metro Area pity me,” David shot back.

  “The Times is still happy to pay your bill. It just so happens that the bill is now zero. Listen, I know you’re mad because we left out your charity work, but what do you think that would change? Does the public need more convincing that you’re a hero? It’s safe to say that story has been run into the ground. But the story people don’t know is how you’re living now. You live in a rathole, David. The Savior of Seattle lives surrounded by drug addicts and gangs. That’s a story whether you like it or not.”

  “And where should I live? I know that I’m supposed to be ashamed to live in the Heights. I grew up in Pioneer Square after all. I was taught that the people who lived in the Heights were poor worthless drug addict losers. I know how people think. I know that to a lot of people, how much money you have is the same thing as how good a person you are. And you know what? I don’t give a rat’s ass. I don’t care about any of it. The heat in my apartment barely works. Of course, that doesn’t matter to me because I only barely feel changes in temperature. I’m too poor to buy food? Good thing I don’t eat. I sleep on a ratty old mattress? Well, sleeping on a slab of concrete doesn’t feel that different to me, so why should I care? Why should I care about any anything? Don’t you get it? I’ve already lost more than anyone ever has. I was a freaking god!” David said and stood to his full stature. “The planet was my playpen. I could move the Earth like I was a kid playing with clay. I could leap around the globe like I was doing hurdles in a high school gym. I could have run into a Slug train going full speed, and the train would have lost. Now I’m supposed to care about a fleabag apartment. Now I’m supposed to care that people judge me for being poor. Well, I don’t care. A nicer apartment is number ten thousand on the list of things I miss from the past. Sorry, I don’t feel the way everyone thinks I’m supposed to feel. That’s what you left out of your articles,” David said, shouting now.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Alexis said, shaking her head. “The reason those articles worked isn’t because of your shame. It’s because of ours. Everyone in this Metro Area owes you a debt that they could not possibly repay. Every time we turn on our faucets, we’re using water from your dam. Every time we throw out the trash, we’re putting it in a Hoover pipe that you laid. Every Slug ride and half the buildings in the Metro Area rest on foundation beams you put into the ground. Lots of us, especially the older folks, know this. Meanwhile, the world has spent the last thirty years vilifying Differents. Vilifying your kind. Deep down, we all feel ashamed of ourselves for it. And when people hear about you out walking in the slums—you, the one Different who everyone loves—it makes us all feel terrible about ourselves. Listen, there’s no doubt you’ve earned the right to live however you damn well please, but life ain’t fair, especially when it comes to feelings. You living your life the way you do makes the rest of us feel terrible. It makes us feel bad, not just for you, but for all the Differents we curse while living under their care. That’s why we went with the story to make you look like a charity case. That way, the people can have their little rally and demand the government do something about you. And then, after they feel like they did something to fight injustice, everyone can feel better about themselves and they can go back to complaining every time the Slug is late or think.Net cuts out. That’s the reason you should take a job at Ultracorps, whatever the hell it is. You’ve given us enough already. You don’t need to be a tool to assuage the nation’s guilt. It’s time to stop giving. We don’t deserve it.”

  David stared at the floor. After a few seconds, he looked up at Alexis.

  “Okay, are you done now? Because I’m obviously not getting an apology, so I’m going to leave. I’m guessing you know there won’t be any more interviews. Good luck with trying to be a real reporter again.”

  Alexis started to say something and then stopped herself. She reached into her nearby credenza and pulled out a wad of cash. “I feel bad that we aren’t paying for your mom’s treatment. Here, take this. You deserve to be paid for the interview.”

  She reached out with the money, but David did not flinch.

  “I thought you told me I should be done helping people, yet here you are, asking me to help you clear your conscience.”

  Alexis looked at the wad of bills for a moment and then put it down. David turned and walked out of the apartment without giving Alexis another look.

  12

  “I know that sometimes old wounds can be the hardest to heal, but I want to assure you, Mr. Gilbreth, we here at Ultracorps are truly sorry for any bad blood that exists between the corporation and yourself. I hope you can appreciate that the individuals responsible for the difficulties on our end have moved on from their employment at this corporation. And the sentiments they expressed are not shared by our current leadership team. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Everyone expressed their deep admiration and appreciation for everything you’ve done,” Ms. Hanson said.

  Laurie Hanson was dressed impeccably in a pencil skirt, designer sweater, and shoes that probably cost as much as David’s rent. David liked that she had to come down here to the Heights and see how the other half—or the other ninety-nine percent not lucky enough to have executive positions in Ultracorps’ PR department—lived. She’d probably never been this far from downtown in her life. And now she was out here in the slums, sent by her corporate masters to beg David for his forgiveness. At least the misery of his public humiliation had company. David’s apartment was most certainly the cheapest home she had ever been inside.

  “Difficulties? Is that what you call offering me a job working in the sewers?” David said with a smirk.

  “Yes, I was horrified when I learned about that fact myself. Obviously, it was well before my time. To think a hero such
as yourself would be treated that way. It is beyond the pale,” she said with sincerity. But every word she spoke had that sense of sincerity that ended up making it all seem insincere.

  “I know. What a horror. And I’m sure no one in the company knew of it. Not the entire board of directors or anything. They certainly weren’t angry with me for doing the work of building the Metro Areas. Giving people housing, shelter, and sanitation, and doing it for free. No, it couldn’t have possibly been the whole company that was mad at me. It must have been a few bad apples who retired or were fired long ago, right? Just like I’m sure you happened to be looking through old personnel records when you saw this mistake from twenty years ago. It had nothing to do with any recent articles in any newspapers or any rallies downtown. And definitely not because you see an excuse for some great press for Ultracorps.”

  “I cannot fix past injustices, Mr. Gilbreth. I can only try to move forward. And I was led to believe you wanted to move forward as well. That was why you responded to our letter, correct? I hope it was not simply to berate me.”

  “No, I didn’t. I did it because I need money.”

  “Good, and that is why, as a way of demonstrating our deep regret for how you were treated, Ultracorps would be happy to offer you employment at this time.”

  “Let me guess. You’ll let me clean up after dogs? You are legally obligated to employ me, after all,” David said with a smile. He was relishing this opportunity to twist the knife. “Well, I’m not much of a Strong-Man these days. I guess I could work at the port or something like that, as long as you don’t expect too much out of me.”

  He neglected to mention the hole in his shoulder, but so far that hadn’t led to any specific ill effects besides being deeply concerning.

  “We are aware of your physical… limitations, and that does not concern us. As you say, using you as a garden-variety Strong-Man would be a poor use of your unique assets.”