Machine Dreams

by Jayne Anne Phillips

  DECEMBER

  Billy picked his sister up at the courthouse the night of December 2nd. Near evening the day-long drizzle had turned to constant rain. There was no bus station anymore in Bellington, and Trailways let people off on Main Street at the courthouse steps. Billy drove up and saw Danner standing under the portico of the domed building, alone, hems of her jeans wet to the ankles, collar of her denim jacket turned up. After all the money she spent on clothes in high school, Jean had said as Billy left the house, Danner dresses like a bum. Danner had no raincoat, no umbrella, but she had a larger suitcase than was necessary for a visit of a few days. Billy got out of the car to help her, but before he could cross the street she was halfway to him, the rain drenching her. They threw the suitcase in the back seat and pulled both doors shut; then he handed her a towel.

  “You look drowned,” he told her as she dried her face. “I can’t believe you rode the bus to Bellington in a storm like this. They must have stopped at every little podunk on Route 20. No wonder it took three hours.”

  Danner laughed. “At least it wasn’t snow. The bus would have ended up in a drift in Peel Tree.”

  “You want to go down by Shinner’s and have a beer with Kato before we go home?”

  She looked up as Billy started the car, a little surprised. “Sure, I guess. You seeing Kato again since you came home?”

  “Some.” There were no cars on Main Street. Billy ran a red light and turned the corner down past the movie house. “Why didn’t you wait until the weekend to come home?”

  She threw the towel in the back seat. “I saw the lottery list this morning and I got the first bus that came through Bellington. I want to talk to you, Billy. Before we go inside.”

  Billy parked opposite the billiard room, then pointed across the street. “Take a look at Shinner’s new sign.” The long horizontal sign snapped lazily off and on behind the downward slant of the rain. BILLIARDS, it said in alternate hot pink and blue, waves of the colors rippling, muted in rain.

  “Big,” Danner said. “Not exactly classy, but very noticeable. Billy, can you turn the heat on?”

  Billy did. “All right, I want a beer. What do you want to tell me?”

  “Just hear me out, okay?” She looked down at her bare hands, her long hair dripping onto her jacket. With the heat on, Billy could smell the dampness on her, almost smell rain. She looked back up at him. “Billy, you’ve got to make some plans. You don’t have to let them send you over there.”

  “You mean Fort Knox? Basic training?”

  “You know what I mean, Billy. Don’t make fun of me. This is not funny.”

  “I’m not laughing, Danner.” The motor of the Camaro idled and the windshield wipers thwacked, regular as metronomes.

  “I’ve brought some money with me, a thousand dollars. And an address in Canada. Saturday you’re supposed to drive me back to the University. We’ll say you’re staying overnight with some school friends, and when we get to Montreal, we’ll phone and say where we are. I’ll stay a couple of days and take a bus back.”

  “Where did you get a thousand dollars?”

  “Emergency Student Loans.”

  “You got the money that fast, in one day?”

  “No. I applied last week, just in case.” She gazed out the windshield, then turned to him. “Oh God, please listen to me. One way or the other, they’re going to fuck you up. Look, if you’re standing on a railroad track and a locomotive is coming closer, very fast, don’t you step off the track? Don’t you get the hell out of the way?”

  “Not until the last minute.” He looked away from her and switched off the wipers. Rain immediately runneled on the windshield, distorting the street to colors on a black shine.

  “You can’t wait, Billy. If you leave after you’re inducted, you’re AWOL, you’re a criminal. If you leave now, you’re a resister. A lot of people think resisters will be pardoned, maybe in just a few years.”

  “You mean the draft counselors at the University think so.”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “Draft counselors everywhere think so. But I didn’t get the address from them. A girl in my dorm has a sister in Montreal.”

  He smiled at her. Lighten it up. “A pretty sister?”

  But she looked at him, frustrated, fearful, her face open and naked, and bit her lips. “Please,” she said, “please think about this.”

  “What the fuck, Danner,” he said quietly, “don’t you know I’ve thought about it? I thought before I quit school and I’ve thought all month, selling trousers up there at Rossing’s. Hardly anyone comes into Rossing’s. I had time to think about it a lot.”

  Danner looked past his face at the billiards sign, but he knew she wasn’t seeing it. She was planning her next remark, some way to convince him.

  “Listen,” he said, “if it was possible to avoid the army, I would. But my number is nineteen. I’m not going to Canada for ten years, I’m not going to Canada at all. I decided I’d go with the numbers.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” she said angrily. “They’re not your numbers.”

  “I don’t feel that way,” he said, raising his voice. “Things are in the cards. I could buy it right here in Bellington, crack up my car on the Winfield road, like that college kid did last weekend.”

  “That’s stupid reasoning,” she yelled back. “You don’t put yourself where bad things happen.”

  “Bad things can happen anywhere!” He caught himself then and sat back. “You don’t reason through these things. The best way to be lucky is to take what comes and not be a coward.” He looked silently into the rain. “I’m going to go. It’s in the cards.”

  “What cards?” She was almost whispering.

  “Everyone’s cards.” He looked over at her. “It’ll be different for you after I go.”

  “Jesus, I’m not worried about me.”

  Billy touched her hands and they were cold. He held both her hands hard between his. “The fuckers won’t do me in. I’ll stay off the ground if they send me, get into an air crew. I’ll keep my ass in the air.”

  “Great. Then you’ll have farther to fall.” Danner had slumped down in the seat beside him, and she moved her legs toward the heating vent.

  “Please,” he said, encircling her forearm with his hand, “take the money back to Student Loans, and don’t give me any more suggestions. Not about Canada and not about Nam. And don’t mope around all through Christmas. Weren’t you going to go to Florida for New Year’s with your pals? I want you to go ahead and go.”

  She looked away from him, her eyes wet.

  “Don’t be a pain,” he said gently. “You’re not the one with the number. It’s not your show.”

  “All right, all right. Let’s go have a beer.” She caught his arm as he turned off the ignition. “But if you change your mind, you’ll tell me.”

  “I will.” He opened the door of the car and the rain asserted its steady patter. “When we get inside, be sure to tell Shinner you like the sign.”

  The first heavy snow blanketed Bellington on Christmas Eve. Billy sat in the living room. He listened to his mother and Danner in the kitchen and gazed at the tree, a six-foot pine decked out in lights and ornaments and gold trim. The thing had been hell to get through the kitchen door and into the holder, since Danner wasn’t strong enough to help much. Jean had swathed the metal holder with a wide length of hemmed red corduroy. Billy and Danner had marked the change silently; always before there had been a simple white bedsheet under the tree, to look like snow. But the dining room table was familiar, set with the white damask cloth, the silver service, the Havilland china. Billy knew the name because Jean had always referred to the white, gold-scalloped plates as my mother’s Haviland, washed before and after use each Christmas and Easter. The kitchen radio played carols and the house was filled with the smells of roast turkey and yams. The day felt long and slow and full; since he’d left school, each day had seemed completely separate from any other.

  Jean was doin
g pretty well. She’d wept easily the first couple of weeks after the lottery, but then she determined they’d have a normal Christmas. Well, not exactly normal. Dinner on Christmas Eve, since he and Danner would eat the big noon meal tomorrow with all the relatives at Bess’s, with Mitch.

  “Billy, you want another egg nog?” Danner leaned out of the kitchen doorway. “Or straight bourbon?”

  Jean’s voice, from the vicinity of the stove: “Don’t you dare give him straight bourbon.”

  “No thanks,” Billy told them. “Since you two are drinking so hard, I believe I’ll stay sober.”

  Danner looked nice in black velvet. Jean’s reproof: I haven’t seen you in a dress since Billy’s high school graduation. Now his sister smiled and disappeared again. Billy knew she’d made careful preparations for tomorrow; a special joint rolled in red and green papers to smoke in the car on the way to Bess’s house. But he wasn’t sure he’d partake. Though he didn’t leave for basic until January 5th, the relatives would all feel they had to mention his going into the army. Only Mitch would not refer to it. Damn it, was all he’d said to Billy, his face grave, the morning the lottery list was published.

  Radio music in the kitchen increased slightly in volume; Danner came into the living room and sat with Billy on the couch. “How do you think Mom is doing?” she asked in a low voice.

  “Good.”

  Danner nodded. “I think I may go to Florida, but I’ll leave on the 26th and be back on the 2nd. Then stay a few days after you have to go. She shouldn’t be alone then.” She took a drink of her bourbon and coke. “You and Kato exchanging presents?”

  “Tomorrow night. I got her a gold necklace, a chain. Something she can keep. Real pretty.”

  “Want me to wrap it for you?”

  “They wrapped it at the store. Otherwise, I would have already asked you.”

  Danner looked at the tree. “What ever happened to that cop of hers?”

  “I guess he’s biding his time. Kato must have told him I’m on my way to foreign parts, though so far it’s only Kentucky.” He touched Danner’s arm. “You look cold, you’ve got goose bumps.”

  “It’s colder out here than in the kitchen.” She looked down at her drink.

  “Kato told me he was in Nam in ’65. He’s only been a cop for a year.”

  “Gee, Kato’s turning into a real heartbreaker. First you, now him.”

  “That’s not how it is, Danner. We don’t advertise things. I don’t stay over there. Now we’re like all the other couples in Bellington, we make it in my car.”

  She smiled. “Cars aren’t bad.”

  “Takes flexibility.”

  A pause.

  Danner frowned. “Do you think she’s sleeping with both of you?”

  Billy shook his head and gave his sister a sideways glance. “I don’t worry about those details. I don’t ask her if she sleeps with him. That’s her business, and his.”

  “I bet she isn’t,” Danner said slowly, and folded her arms, “not now.”

  “I think you’re right,” Billy said.

  “Right about what?” Their mother stood by the dinner table, holding the big platter of roast turkey.

  “Mom,” Danner reprimanded, “you should have let me bring that in for you.”

  “Who do you think carried it home from the store? It’s not much heavier now.” She smiled, pretty in her white wool dress. Billy had given her a corsage, a white gardenia, and she’d kept it in the refrigerator until five minutes ago. The white flower was just opening, ribboned with red satin and a sprig of holly. Billy knew she’d keep the ribbons in a drawer for years.

  They put the rest of the food on the table together: potatoes, peas, yams, gravy, bread dressing with walnuts, relishes, all in china serving dishes. Finally they sat down.

  “Enough for a party of eight,” Danner said. “Mom, maybe we didn’t need quite such a big turkey.”

  “We count for eight,” Jean responded, “and this is a celebration. Besides, these leftovers will last until the army comes for us.”

  Billy caught Danner’s warning glance. “Right,” he said, “and then you can always ship crates of turkey sandwiches to Fort Knox.”

  Jean handed Billy the carving knife and fork. She’d put the platter of meat near his plate. “Really, there are things to celebrate. We’re together, you don’t have to leave until after the holidays, and your sister—did you know she’ll make the dean’s list this semester?”

  “Mom,” Danner said, “it’s not for sure.”

  “A toast.” Billy raised his glass, then asked in a stage whisper, “Who is the dean, anyway?”

  “Bob Hope,” Danner answered.

  “Danner,” Jean said seriously, “you should go ahead and go to Florida, since your friends are going and you have a ride. You’ve worked hard, and you’ve been such a help to me, too—.” She stopped talking, her voice quavering.

  “Come home with a tan like Bob Hope’s,” Billy injected quickly. “I’ll supervise here in Bellington.”

  Danner unfolded her napkin. “You mean you’ll supervise Black’s Billiards.”

  “Exactly. But first I’ll eat my dinner.” He picked up the carving knife and made ready.

  “Wait.” Jean held up one hand. “Let’s say the blessing.”

  “Good idea.” Danner fixed Billy with an encouraging look. “Billy, the floor is yours.”

  “Do I know a blessing?” Billy put the knife down. “I’ll make one up.”

  Their mother shook her head. “You act as though you were raised as heathens.”

  “We’ll hold hands for luck.” Danner crossed her wrists as though taken captive.

  But they did hold hands, Jean at one side of the square table, Billy and Danner at either end. Danner couldn’t quite reach Billy; she moved her chair closer and arched one arm over the steaming food. Their fingertips met in a pyramid.

  “Secret signal,” Billy said, and stood to grasp her hand. Pewter bells on the front door moved in the wind; he remembered the snow outside, drifting along the street. When they were children, in the country on Brush Fork, the snow drifted magically high. They’d worn bulky mittens impossible to lose, mittens strung on yarn around their necks and through the sleeves of their snow-suits.

  “Start talking,” Danner said, “it’ll come to you.” She and Jean bowed their heads and waited, smiling.

  Billy spoke, words from one of the old prayers, but behind his closed eyes played a memory of startling clarity: watching the snow plow with Danner, both of them small, standing in snow to their knees. The big yellow machine rumbling by, slow, all-powerful. Engine roar, shrill jangling of chains. The powdery snow thrown up in fanned continuous spray as the heavy machine pressed on.

  December 31st. Snow on his boots, stamping his feet on the back porch of the white house beside the hospital. Chains of the dismantled swing moved in the wind, and the lattice of the porch roof was built up with thick snow so wet that the square spaces of the lattice work were solidly snowed in. Snow made the gray light whiter; he stamped his feet and heard them inside—his father and Aunt Bess moving from their chairs to the kitchen door: Mitch coughing, his tread heavy; and Aunt Bess moving stiffly, laced into her corsets. The coal bucket was full beside the door and laced with snow, the black lumps jagged and big, showing snow like a powder. Billy took off his gloves and brushed the snow away; the coal was so cold it left no smear on his fingers. By now they were at the door and the sound of the knob turning was loud. Aunt Bess was there, behind the screen, his father hovering beyond her like a wall. Her face wore that pleased, surprised expression, the thick eyeglasses exaggerating her inquiring gaze.

  “Well hello, Mister,” she said. “You’re up early.”

  Mitch motioned for Billy to come inside. “Get on in here, let’s not let Bess get cold.” He shut the door behind them all and clapped a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Got some spuds cooking. You want some eggs?”

  “No thanks.” Billy put his snowy gloves i
n his pocket and unzipped his jacket.

  “Big mistake,” Mitch said, “I make good eggs.” He nodded at Bess. “Even Bess eats them, and she’s hard to please.”

  “Your father is a wonderful cook,” Bess told Billy. “Now, there’s no question about it, we all know I can’t cook.” She went to the stove to pour hot water into two cups of instant coffee.

  Mitch gave Billy an amused look, then sat down again.

  Billy stood awkwardly in the small room as Bess brought the coffee to the table. He took a breath. He would just have to go ahead and tell them. “Mitch, Danner called last night from Florida. She got into some trouble. She got arrested for possession.”

  “Possession of what? What are you talking about?”

  “Possession of marijuana. Danner got busted.”

  His father looked at him, incredulous. Behind him Aunt Bess touched the back of his chair.

  “You mean drugs,” Mitch said. “Is Danner in jail?”

  “Yes. Mom went down to the bank this morning to borrow the money for bail. She had to borrow two thousand dollars.”

  “Jesus Christ.” His father bowed his head and leaned his elbows on the table. He turned his head to one side and touched his forehead, then covered his eyes with his hand. For a strange moment Billy thought he was praying.

  Aunt Bess still stood, gripping the back of Mitch’s chair as though holding it in place. “But Danner is all right, she’s not hurt.”

  “No, no, she’s okay. She should be out of the jail by tonight.” Billy stepped closer to the table but kept his hands in his pockets. His father sat silently, with no movement in his body. He moved his hand now to support his forehead and tears fell on the checked tablecloth. Billy felt very warm, as though he were going to be dizzy. Snow was falling past the kitchen windows in big wet flakes; the yard and bushes on the other side of the glass were a smooth, unbroken white. The kitchen was lit with snow light, indirect and off-white. The warmth of the room was inconsistent with the light and the consciousness of snow; Bess was baking bread, that was it—Billy hadn’t smelled it till now.

  He looked at his great aunt and she faced him from behind his father, unblinkingly. She seemed to be looking straight through Billy, through the walls of the house as well, sadly and evenly. She was very thin and held her rounded shoulders high, of some long habit; her stance lent the front of her body a concave aspect from chest to knees. Now she moved to give Mitch her white handkerchief, taking the small square from the pocket of her sweater, unfolding it, placing it near him. Her gesture was deliberate and unobtrusive. She sat down, very straight, on the tall stool beside the hoosier.