Theo

by Ed Taylor

  Yes, Theo said, dreaming and gliding. I’m going outside.

  Okay baby, you go play. I’ll be out in a minute and we can do something. Why don’t we go into town and have a nice lunch.

  Okay, Theo says but his mouth is disconnected from his head, which is disconnected from his body. Eating seems a weird thing to do. He just wants to get outside and lie down in some shade. The air’s not moving inside and it’s hard to breathe. Breath. It’s loud.

  How does he get out of the maze, everything looks the same, same walls, same empty rooms, and he sees again the snow piled in the hall, feels cold air. Then he smells fresher air from his left and follows the hall toward light and he’s back in the ballroom and someone is lying down on the parquet floor, arms spread wide. Eyes closed, resting on a cheek, mouth a little open. Did he fall. Is he asleep. Like in the city. No one was here earlier. He’s a stranger. Barefoot. Theo notices his legs are tied together at the ankle with what looks like a twisted up T-shirt. Theo keeps walking, past the man. Outside. Must get outside.

  Theo wonders if he should be scared. It’s not getting better, but it’s hard to care, because everything seems so soft and he just wants to sleep. It’s the summer. Another day. He moves over the terrace, moving in a giant circle or stuck in a whirlpool, doing the same things he did earlier, walking the same places. How do you climb out. But Theo’s just a kid. There’s so much he has to wait on and depend on the grownups for. He makes sure the dogs get fed. He worries. He worries about his mother. He worries about Colin and about Gus. He worries about his dad.

  People talk about his dad a lot. People write about his dad. They say things about him that Theo doesn’t understand. They say things that bother Theo.

  Theo doesn’t feel like a pirate. And right now he starts to cry. Because maybe he’s dying.

  Do people know when they’re dying. His head is fuzzy, and he’s dizzy. He wants to be somewhere dark and cool and away.

  There is a moment of quiet, like the world is breathing. And from inside whatever room it’s in, Theo can’t remember now, comes the chiming. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty two. Twenty three. There’s shouting and a faint clanging crash.

  The clock is broken. Theo remembers it sits on a mantel in one of the front rooms, close to where people usually start to congregate, drifting down from upstairs. The sun sits just over the bristly gray-green trees, and the earlier breezes are gone. The air hangs in curtains, and Theo notices Gus now, back in his chair, with a pipe. And a glass, his stubby legs crossed at the ankle. He is wearing a white T-shirt with a blue devil on it, from a college in North Carolina, Theo knows. Gus has on bright red socks and dark shoes. And a hat that says Jack Daniels. Why do pictures of the devil always show him smiling, if he’s supposed to be bad. And pictures of Jesus never show him smiling, and he’s supposed to be good.

  Gus is waving at Theo, waving him over. Come here, he’s saying with his hand. Theo shuffles over the wiry grass and bumpy ground, so hard and dry Theo’s feet hurt. He floats a little but is feeling heavier, more connected. His head hurts.

  Have you seen your mother.

  I don’t feel good.

  Gus sets down his glass on the rusty wrought iron table beside his chair and stares carefully at Theo, curvy pipe smoking. Theo follows the smoke straight up but the light stabs his eyes. Ow. He ducks his head back, closes eyes, feels dizzy.

  Here now, what’s wrong exactly. Gus smells sharp and sweet, which is coming from the rum in the glass.

  I guess I hit my head.

  Hold on, son, how’d you do that. Gus is leaning forward, trying to focus on Theo’s eyes but having to squint and then close one eye to see. Let me see your pupils.

  Theo unsquints, but the light’s still bright.

  How’d you hit your head.

  I was running and I fell down inside. On the rock part.

  Christ almighty. Are you seeing lights at all.

  No, Theo lied.

  You sure now.

  Yes. I just have a headache.

  Gus collapses back, into the chair, rubbing his face up and down and knocking off the hat. Well, maybe you should take it easy for a few minutes, eh. Maybe get an aspirin. If it keeps up bad we’ll make you up an icepack.

  Gus struggles up from the soft seat and lowers himself to the ground beside Theo, stiff and sighing a lot. Whew. That’s not an easy thing to do. Whyn’t you take the chair.

  Instead, Theo lays himself down, carefully, to avoid moving his head a lot.

  So how do you feel now, son.

  Fine.

  That’s fine. We can just rest our bones here for a bit, and go in and have a bite of something after a while. How about that.

  Frieda said she wanted to go to town for lunch.

  Did she. She came in like gangbusters last night. I’m surprised she’s up.

  Theo says nothing, but keeps his eyes open. In the blue high up flicker seagulls. The sky is close enough to touch.

  Gus, when is my dad coming.

  That, my friend, only he and the Almighty know. And his managers, I suppose. But it will be soon.

  You said he was going to make a record here.

  True, son. Soon as your da tells me I’ll tell you.

  Can we get a TV.

  Ah, you know how your mother feels about that.

  I just want to watch TV. I want to be normal.

  Well, bucko. What exactly is normal, in your estimation.

  TV.

  Anything else.

  I don’t know. I don’t remember right now.

  Theo drifts with birds, hearing the low rushing of the ocean, and a bugle, and two people singing somewhere in the house, and somebody teasing the dogs, their snarls the kind of thing that happens when people are mean to them but think they’re playing. Adults seem to do that to each other, too.

  Theo is anxious to not be treated like a kid. But he wonders how many ways there are to grow up, and can you pick the one you want, or do you even get a choice.

  Theo watches the gulls, hears the new sound of Gus snoring a little. Theo listens to the wind, the house, other stuff that must be the world. Then he closes his eyes to see if the spins come back, and when they don’t, he leaves his eyes closed, watching fire on his eyelids and feeling really, really tired, suddenly.

  He’s in a boat, just him, on the water, a rowboat but there aren’t any oars or a motor or anything. Or a life jacket. Just the ocean and the sun, and the boat, and whispering. Hold on tight. The waves get bigger, the boat starts to rock, and jump, slow and low at first but then faster and higher, and it’s a bucking bronco, like a horse, and Theo is lifting off the seat and slamming back down, going a little higher each time, and slamming harder and –

  He opens his eyes. Sky birds snoring house sounds. He’s on his back in the yard, where he was, next to the mound of Gus. The pipe is cold on the table.

  Theo remembers little paper pills his dad sent one time that dropped into water turned into dragons and swans. From Japan. The day is unfolding. He wants to be in the ocean. Paper. Where’s the fax.

  Theo is not holding the fax anymore. Where is it. It was for Colin, but what did it say. Something weird, about a ship. Did he leave it in the house or outside. It’s hard to remember stuff.

  Theo wants to be responsible. He can be trusted with important things. He pushes himself up, and slowly onto his feet, and steers back to the house, which he just left. All day he’s done nothing but circle around, in and out, up and down. He’s getting dizzy. He wants to go in a straight line and not stop. Find Colin.

  There’s the lady from the car. She’s out on the terrace now, drinking a glass of something, smoking a cigarette, sitting with two other people Colin doesn’t know, two men. One has goggling eyes that pop out, and spiky hair. His clothes are all torn and both he and the other man have on long sleeves and long pants and hard heavy-loo
king black shoes. The men sit propped on the stones of the terrace. All three are smoking. One is beating on the terrace with his hands. The others nod their heads to a rhythm they hear.

  Hi Theo, the lady says. You remember me.

  Theo does, but he doesn’t remember her name. Sort of, he says, but not wanting to be rude. He’s a little fuzzy.

  I’m Gina. This is Richard and Alan. This is Theo, Frieda’s son.

  Hey: one speaks, the other nods and smiles.

  Where’s Colin.

  Colin. Oh, Colin.

  The motorbike’s waspy whine echoed from the ballroom. I think that’s him. He’s inside, Gina says.

  Thanks.

  Theo walks around them, and toward the open French doors. He can see the noise shooting out like smoke or waves. It hurts to hear, and Theo puts his hands over his ears. Ducking from the light into the darker ballroom Theo gets dizzy for a few seconds and halts, looking while he steadies himself, hands cupped over ears.

  Colin straddles the lime motorbike wearing the towel cape, revving the bike, staring at the exhaust pipe and then at Theo. The towel says Welcome to Myrtle Beach, with a big seahorse on it. Colin also has on the goggles he wears when he rides, and a blue swimming snorkel strapped to his head. He holds a thumb up to Theo and spits out the snorkel and yells: what is up, white man.

  Theo walks over with his hands on his ears, as Colin stops twisting the grip throttle and the engine settles into a crackling and popping idle.

  There was a fax for you, but I lost it.

  Colin stares, his eyebrows angle down under the goggles: What did it say.

  I’m sorry: Theo takes his hands from his ears. Something about an old-timey ship.

  What. Sorry mate, what.

  Something about a sail.

  A main sail.

  I think.

  Did it say something about reefing the main sail.

  I think. I’m sorry, Colin – I’ll try to find it. What does that mean.

  Holy suffering nails of Jesus.

  Colin guns the bike and skitters off down a hall toward the other side of the house, legs splayed on either side for balance as the bike totters. The noise splits Theo’s head and he ducks, then isn’t sure what to do. Is it something he can help with. He follows Colin, feeling bad. How could he know what it meant. But he could have made sure to deliver it. Theo’s face feels hot.

  Crows land in a noisy knot somewhere outside, sounding like angry babies, demanding and raw. Theo’s been around babies and didn’t like them much.

  He hears loud voices ahead, agitated, but can’t tell what is being said, the bike revving in the background, then the engine revs and grows a little fainter – Colin must have be riding around to the front hall. Then the bike noise dies.

  Theo follows the sound, coming into the seraglio and seeing his mother and the others up and rummaging through clothes and digging in pockets, collecting things lying around, yelling about where to put them. Theo’s mother sweeps around angry and impatient; she snaps at the others, including the Marthe woman: my god, you act like children. Use the bathrooms or eat it. Seeing Theo walk toward her, she glides at him. My love, go outside and play.

  What is going on. Why is Colin upset.

  It’s nothing, love. Go outside. We’ll go down to the beach and spend the day. No, let’s go into town and have luncheon. What time is it, Mark.

  Eleven.

  A.m.

  Yes.

  Good. Lunch would be good, no. We are going out for a while.

  Frieda puts her hand on Theo’s head and walks through the hall, gliding, in the direction of the front hall. She wears white fur, and a very short skirt.

  Mom, do you want to put on your shoes.

  No, my darling, not necessary. Mark, Julio, find Richard and Gina and Alan and see if they’d like to come with. You too, for that matter, of course.

  They’re on the terrace, Theo says, to help.

  The band is, Theo’s mother asks.

  Well, that lady named Gina is there with two men.

  Let’s get out of this place before I suffocate.

  Theo watches the adults, unsure what to do. He puts his hands over his ears again, an ache returning.

  What’s wrong, love.

  My head hurts.

  What’s wrong.

  He looks at her closely, kneeling now in front of him. I hit my head on the floor.

  Oh, no. Are you alright, my darling. She peers into his face, but seems not quite focused, and Theo figures maybe she forgot why she was looking.

  It’s okay, mom, Theo says.

  She smiles slowly, like the sun rising over the ocean: I love you, my love.

  Others disappear through doors. Theo’s mother still kneels in front of him, sniffing and smiling. She’s just looking at him, and eventually she just sits down on the floor.

  What are you doing.

  Looking at you. You’re beautiful.

  Stop mom. He turns, angry and blushing.

  Can’t I look at my beautiful son.

  I thought you said we were going to lunch.

  Ah, so I did. When the others get here, we’ll go. Would you like a hamburger. Yes, seafood, she says. She lies back on the floor.

  Mom.

  Mmm hmm.

  What are you doing. Are you okay, mom.

  Mmm hmm.

  Do you want me to sit with you.

  Mmm hmm.

  So Theo lowers himself to the floor beside her; her eyes closed but she’s smiling. He lies back beside her. Her head is lifted off the floor by the fur, like a pillow, but Theo’s got nothing but stone under his head, surprisingly always cool. He doesn’t want lunch. Where is Colin. Theo sees his chrysalises, glistening up under the attic eaves, gleaming lights in the dark. He wonders if they’ll ever open.

  Frieda. Come on, let’s go for a walk.

  It’s the lady Gina, with the two men, and the short man with the baseball shirt who’d gone to get them.

  Let’s get her up and walk her around. Theo, what are you doing.

  Helping her.

  Okay, cool. Let’s walk her around, get a little exercise, then we’ll see about lunch.

  The man named Richard says, dilettantes and parvenus.

  Would you shut up. Gina glares at Richard as she bends toward Frieda.

  Sorry man.

  Richard’s eyes bulge, a bright green, but the dark bruises under them get darker as he bends over. Gina isn’t looking at Richard anymore, just lifting Frieda, limp but awake, staring, smiling from one side of her mouth.

  I need a cigarette, Frieda says. Then she says hello darling, but to whom is not clear.

  Come on, show me your house, Frieda.

  It’s not my house, baby. It’s Adrian’s. He just lets me live here. He lets me live other places too. He’s very kind. A kind of man. Frieda stares around. And my beautiful boy. His grandfather has custody. It’s the only way Adrian can get a visa. Theo’s mother says something else, in a language Theo didn’t know.

  What did you just say, Gina asks.

  The end of pleasure is pain, Frieda says. That was vernacular Italian, speech of the Roman street.

  Really.

  I forgot who said it. Not Dante, now that I think about it. Too Celtic. Must have been some Irish ballad. I can’t remember. Shall we sing.

  How about Nearer My God to Thee.

  Ha ha. Frieda leans at Richard and kisses him, on the lips, Theo sees. Women and children first. Then we shall blow the iceberg out of the water with a big torpedo, we have learned our lesson, Frieda finishes.

  Theo follows Richard and Gina, on either side of his mother, who is tall as Richard even barefooted, with Gina shorter; Frieda in her short skirt, and Gina in hers, Richard in his black torn things. A lot of people here look like they were attacked by something with claws. Theo has forgotten his head, concentrating on what the adults are saying. When he flicks back to thinking about his head, it hurts.

  As a kid trying to guess what wa
s important to grownups, based on what they said, Theo was almost always wrong. Theo figures maybe he’ll try to find something to eat in the pantry, because he is hungry. However, he follows the knot of adults, thinking about what to say if his mother wants to drive because that seems like not a good idea.

  Theo was in a car wreck with her once. He was five, and his face hit the radio button on the dashboard, right next to his eye, on his cheekbone, and that side swelled up. The dashboard was made of wood and the buttons were silver metal, with a flat round top that made a circle bruise on his cheek, he remembered. He got to ride in an ambulance, and the ambulance doctors joked around with him, a lady and a man wearing yellow rubber gloves, the lady sat next to him, and the man sat on a kind of built-in chair. They called him a basketball because he had bounced around the inside of the car, but they smiled nicely when they said it. They talked to him about animals and his birthday, and food he liked to eat. His mother had been crying and yelling at him, he couldn’t understand what she was saying after the car stopped and the police and ambulances came, but the ambulance doctors said it was okay and that she wasn’t mad, that she was just worried about him and sometimes upset people get things backward, act angry when they’re really scared and worried. We see it all the time, the man said. Theo had lived with his father in hotels for a while after that.

  Now they are in the entrance, among Colin’s chess pieces, and Theo’s mom and Gina and Richard pass the open front door clogged with car and then someone is talking at them from outside, from the other end of the car. They stop. Theo walks up from behind but can’t see so he moves to one side to see around Richard.

  Two black cars out there on the gray gravel, three men in blue suits and one man in a blue police uniform. The cars have lights on top but no writing on the sides.

  What happened here. There’s no shortage of parking space, one of the men in suits laughs out.

  Captain, or admiral. Sergeant. This is private property. We may certainly park wherever we like.