‘Milo,’ Pablo calls. ‘Check this out.’ He beckons Milo to a pink and blue room undisturbed by the evacuation. ‘This is a baby’s room, man.’
‘So?’
‘Nothing’s been used, man. Everything’s, like, still wrapped up. There’s never been no baby here.’
Milo looks at basket of baby toys wrapped in cellophane. ‘What’s your point?’
‘They couldn’t have no bambinos. They got the house and the nursery but no babies. That’s sad, man. They just left everything.’
‘What else are they supposed to do with it?’
The upstairs back room of Milo’s house was intended for a baby. His parents referred to it as the baby’s room. But after repeated miscarriages the baby’s room became the back room again, and Milo’s parents stopped exchanging the smallest of tender gestures. From the age of four, Milo never saw them sit in the same room at the same time, although they continued to share a bed, and argue. He’d block his ears with his teddy bears until Mrs. Cauldershot, with hands like sandpaper, yanked them away from him. ‘Best to keep busy,’ she told him. ‘Sitting around never helped anybody.’ Which is probably true. Milo has done more sitting around than keeping busy and look where it’s got him, en route to becoming a fire hazard. But then wasn’t Gustaw mercilessly busy? Isn’t it possible he walked into the storm to stop being busy, to inhale the brisk air, to die?
The bubbly Canadian girl died of a heart attack at forty-two.
‘Wakey, wakey,’ Pablo says, ‘you don’t want the boss man on your back. We got fleas. He wants us to pull up the hall carpet.’ Pablo tucks his track pants into his socks and starts ripping up broadloom with an X-acto knife. Just the mention of fleas starts Milo scratching. He too tucks his pants into his socks.
‘We got to get poison to spray on these suckers,’ Pablo says. ‘If I bring bugs to my girlfriend’s, she’ll kill me.’
Pablo’s girlfriend is always about to kill him. Milo has difficulty understanding what Pablo gets out of the relationship, but then who is Milo to judge, having blown each and every one of his relationships? ‘I don’t think she’ll kill you, Pablo.’
‘Are you fucking slackers getting a move on?’ bellows Wallace. ‘No fucking group therapy, you read me?’
Wallace doesn’t like it when Pablo and Milo commune.
‘She told me,’ Pablo says, ‘I’m not committed. She says I’m always doing stuff without her. What’s she talking about, I gave her a ring.’ He rips up more carpet. ‘What’s she want from me? I gave her a ring.’
Milo rolls up pieces of carpet and binds them with twine. ‘Maybe she wants affection rather than material things. I mean, rings are just rings.’ Although maybe if he’d given Zosia a ring, she wouldn’t have dumped him. ‘Where did you buy it?’ he asks.
‘Walmart. They got nice jewellery there.’
‘Oh, so it wasn’t like an engagement ring?’
‘Shit, no. It was a honey-I-love-you ring. That’s what guys do, they buy girls rings. You never done that?’
‘No.’ Zosia left a silk scarf behind. In moments of howling woefulness Milo lies with it draped over his face. What if he’d bought her a honey-I-love-you ring? ‘How much did it cost?’
‘What?’
‘The ring.’
‘Fifty bucks.’
‘Maybe it was too cheap. Maybe she wanted an expensive ring.’
‘Not Maria. She don’t like extravagances.’
‘How do you know? I mean, maybe she just says that.’
‘Qué?’
‘Maybe she just says she doesn’t like extravagances. Maybe she’s secretly hoping you’ll splurge.’
‘What do you know? You never bought a girl a ring.’
The sound of splintering wood interrupts them. ‘I told you deadbeats to shut the fuck up.’
‘Come mierda,’ Pablo mutters, which Milo knows from previous translations means ‘eat shit.’
At McDonald’s, Pablo continues to work out the girlfriend thing. ‘Sometimes, when she’s shouting at me, I’m thinking she’s trying to reach out. I saw that on Oprah. When people shout, they’re just trying to reach out.’
Is that what Milo’s parents were doing? Is that what Christopher and Robertson were doing?
‘She’s shouting because you’re not fucking getting it, asshole,’ Wallace says.
‘You are a very negative person, Wallace. Always. You are just trying to protect yourself from being hurt.’
‘By who, dickwad?’
‘You never loved a girl, Wallace.’
‘What the fuck do you know about it?’
‘I know you never loved nobody. Not even your mother.’
‘Fuck you, asshole, you fucking Mexican.’
‘He’s Cuban,’ Milo says.
The afternoon shift involves spraying bug killer throughout the house. Pablo takes charge, even spraying himself.
‘That’s toxic,’ Milo warns.
‘If I bring fleas to Maria’s she’ll kill me.’
‘It’s getting hard to breathe, Pablo.’ They remove more labelled garbage bags and broken exercise equipment. On good days Milo discovers books in the deserted homes but the only books here are How to Eat What You Want and Stay Skinny and How to Get the Love You Want, both of which Pablo intends to give Maria.
‘You have to forgive people,’ he says. ‘That’s what it’s all about.’
‘Forgive them for what?’ Milo asks.
‘What they did to you, forgive them. I saw this movie about this family who were all mad at each other. At the end they forgave each other, were all, like, hugging and kissing. It made me cry.’
‘It’s a fucking movie, butthead,’ Wallace says, emptying a chest of drawers at their feet.
‘Wallace, people do forgive each other. If you love somebody, you forgive them.’
Milo tries to forgive his father. Everyone has to move beyond blaming their parents, don’t they? Particularly if their parents are dead, or presumed dead. Increasingly Milo feels a seeping regret for opportunities lost, distances maintained, intentions misunderstood. After all, as his father was so fond of telling him, he’s had it easy. Milo was not a child in war-ravaged Poland, did not cower under a table while five drunken Russians raped his beloved sister. According to Gus, Poles were spineless, letting the Nazis, then the Russians, walk all over them. According to Gus, Poles turned on Poles so they could steal their pigs. Poles betrayed the Jewish boy who’d been buried under corpses and had run naked to Gus’s father’s barn. When the Nazis came for Jakob, he was in the woods searching for his cousin, even though it was assumed that the cousin was in a mass grave along with Jakob’s parents and uncle. The Nazis lured the Jews to town squares by telling them they were taking them to Palestine. Then they’d march them to the graves, force them to strip and trample the recently murdered to make room for their own soon-to-be-dead bodies.
When Jakob returned from searching for his cousin, Gustaw’s father told him he had to leave immediately or they would all be shot. Jakob had become like a brother to Gus; they’d shared a bed and talked about outer space and how one day Jakob would fly a rocket to the moon. Gustaw never forgave his father for ordering Jakob to leave. He watched his friend creep into the woods like an animal. Within days he was back, shivering and begging for food. Gus’s mother packed him some bread and cheese. Gus’s father told Jakob that if he returned again, he would shoot him.
Such grim reminiscences cause Milo tremors of compassion for his father, until he remembers Gustaw swatting his head after parent-teacher interviews. ‘How can my son be such an idiot?’ Milo knew that Gus was longing for his other sons who weren’t idiots, the ones who died before they were born.
•••
Robertson tosses the ball for the dog. Fortunately for Sal, Robertson, unlike normal children, is never bored by this activity. He can play fetch for hours.
‘How goes it?’ Milo asks, approaching slowly because sudden movements startle the boy. ‘Any snails ab
out?’
‘Didn’t look.’
‘Did you go to school today?’
‘Nope.’ Robertson has difficulty interacting with people but not with animals. Dogs strain against their leashes to lick his palms. ‘My dad left.’
‘Did he say anything to you?’
‘About what?’
‘Why he was leaving?’
Robertson begins speaking in the rushed manner he adopts when he doesn’t understand but wants to appear as though he does. ‘He’s tired. I don’t know, maybe he’s just tired of me, he works too hard, maybe he just needs a rest. Mummy says it’s all right. It’s just for now. I’m not easy to be around. I get mad and I don’t know why. I’m going to finish the patio.’ Since April Robertson has been laying patio stones on gravel in symmetrical patterns. Tanis said she knew he was different when he was three and lining up his toys. He would become extremely distressed if she tried to tidy up, thereby disturbing his order.
‘It’s looking good,’ Milo says, offering Robertson some cashews. The boy takes a handful and scatters them around the garden for the squirrels. Sal, ball in mouth, pants at his feet. Robertson takes the ball and tosses it. Milo lies back in the grass, not wanting to crowd Robertson with conversation. It’s hard to imagine the house without Christopher. Tanis will drink alone. Robertson will seek refuge in World of Warcraft without Christopher to stop him.
Scratching at flea bites, Milo sees Tanis preparing dinner. How strange to set places for only two. What can Christopher be doing? Watching TV in a Days Inn? Does he despise himself for hitting his son? It’s not the first time he has had to be rough with him. When Robertson has episodes in stores, and onlookers stare disapprovingly – believing him to be a spoiled child in need of discipline – Christopher throws him over his shoulder and carries him out. He has no choice but to force him into the car and wait for the tantrum to pass. The car functions as a therapeutic quiet room, a term they learned after sending Robertson to the Child and Parent Resource Centre. Overall, it seems to Milo, Christopher has shown tremendous restraint. As much as he loves Robertson, there are times when Milo feels an urge to slap some sense into him.
Sal lies on her back with her paws in the air, waiting for Robertson to rub her belly.
‘Robertson,’ Milo says. ‘Sal wants tummy rubbing.’
Robertson rubs her tummy but doesn’t talk to her as he usually does.
‘Have you ever tried pretending you’re an alien?’ Milo asks.
Robertson doesn’t respond. Unlike normal people, he doesn’t feel compelled to reply to mindless chatter.
‘Because,’ Milo continues, ‘I’ve found that pretending to be an alien with the capacity to vaporize at any second helps me through difficult situations.’
‘You mean like being beamed up on a transporter?’ Robertson is a Trekkie, his favourite characters being the androids who, though emotionless, have great curiosity – and wistfulness – about being human.
‘I prefer having the capacity to vaporize at any second,’ Milo says. ‘Who wants to wait around for a transporter?’
‘So where do you vaporize to?’
‘My planet, where everybody thinks like I do. We get along great, no wars. So I don’t mind visiting Earth occasionally. I find it quite fascinating, actually. Studying humans.’
‘As long as you can vaporize at any second.’
‘That’s right.’
Robertson faces Milo, which is a bit disconcerting. Generally he avoids eye contact and glances at people sideways. Under such scrutiny, Milo realizes the absurdity of his alien ploy. It works for him because he has never experienced the kind of suffering and isolation Robertson endures daily.
‘Are you saying I should pretend I’m an alien at school?’ Robertson asks.
‘Anytime you feel like it. Generally I become an alien when people act like assholes. I also picture them naked and make mental notes for my report.’
‘Who do you report to?’
‘Other aliens. My comrades back home.’
Robertson considers this, blinking repeatedly as he does when he’s working things out. ‘You can do that because you’re an actor,’ he says. ‘I can’t do that.’
Tanis has told Milo that children with Autism Spectrum Disorders are very literal. They miss nuances, which is why socializing proves challenging for them. Social conventions and codes are beyond the comprehension of the autistic – they don’t understand that people rarely say what they mean.
‘I don’t see why you can’t vaporize,’ Milo says. ‘It’s all in your head. How you look at things. If you can vaporize at any second, there’s no point sweating over anything, just vanish.’
‘You can’t vaporize at any second. That’s stupid.’ He leaves abruptly, as he often does without so much as a ‘see you later.’ Social niceties never seemed important to Milo until he met Robertson. Sal glances briefly at Milo, who offers to toss the ball for her. She too turns away, trailing Robertson. Once in the kitchen, Robertson shuts the blinds.
tanding or sitting naked in front of strangers in cold rooms pays thirty bucks an hour. Despite the space heater, Milo feels a chill, which adds to the thrill of being nude in front of strangers. They must look at him, have paid to look at him, he exists – even with the spreading gut and thinning hair – and can’t be ignored. There is power in this, and in his ability to hold a pose for twenty minutes. A concentration is required that he is unable to muster outside the studio. Outside, his thoughts run on, split up, turn back, scrambling over one another. In the studio they sit quietly with their hands folded in their laps.
It is while he’s standing with one arm overhead and the other resting on his uplifted forehead that his mission becomes clear. He must find Christopher. Without Christopher, Tanis and Robertson cannot mend. Tanis doesn’t realize this; she will soldier on, clipping back her hair. Robertson will absorb the blame for the loss of his father just as Milo internalized the blame for the loss of Gus, despite searching for him long after the police called off the sniffer dogs. Clambering in the ravines, acting a grief he could not feel, he spoke to the homeless about the old man in the beige windbreaker, following their leads, imagining his father a King Lear under exploding skies. During his quest, Milo lost twenty-four pounds and developed a swarthy complexion. Wallace called him the Marlboro Man. Women looked at him differently but Milo did not return their glances, so intent was he on his task. When asked about Gus, he simulated anguish, hoping that by acting it he would feel it. As the weeks passed and he could no longer ignore the fact that money was not being withdrawn from Gus’s account, and no credit card transactions were being reported, Milo continued to walk the city. If he stopped searching, it meant Gustaw Krupanski of Krupi and Son Ltd. was dead. The only interruptions Milo allowed were auditions during which he tried not to think; but thinking about not thinking destroyed his spontaneity, and he stood empty, unable to give or take. His agent told him the same thing happened to Olivier. ‘Sir Larry couldn’t look anybody in the eye,’ Stu said, ‘asked the other actors not to look at him because it would throw him. For a while he couldn’t even be alone onstage. Seriously, chief, everybody goes through rough patches. Your dad died, give yourself time to grieve.’ Milo waited to be struck and pitched into the throes of grief he’d acted when he still knew how to act. As though preparing for a part, he read about the stages of grief, assuming some common behaviours, all the while appalled at how badly he was acting.
‘Did you tell Robertson to pretend to be an alien?’ Tanis has been pounding on Milo’s back door for several minutes.
‘Yes.’
‘What were you thinking? He feels like an alien all the time. Not a second goes by when he doesn’t feel like a total freak.’
‘Being an alien is quite different from being a total freak,’ Milo says.
‘Oh, really? How so?’
‘Aliens belong on other planets. They aren’t total freaks on their own planets.’
‘He tried to strangle a b
oy today. He said he was pretending to be an alien when a human threatened him. He had no choice but to respond with his superior alien strength.’
The image of Robertson, nurturer of snails and small creatures, grabbing the throat of another human being, forces Milo to seek support from the fridge. He leans against it, sobered by its rumble. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘It was supposed to stay inside his head.’
‘What?’
‘A different perspective.’
‘What perspective?’
‘Of being special. He is special, just not everybody can see it. I was trying to help him feel special regardless of what people say.’
‘Well, it didn’t work, Milo. The school’s hysterical. They don’t want him back.’
‘They can’t stop him.’
‘Would you want to go where you’re not wanted? Where you’re despised?’
‘What if I go with him?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I could go with him and hang out in the yard, shoot some hoops.’
‘They’re not going to let some strange man into the schoolyard.’
‘You could tell them I’m not strange.’
‘Oh, okay, so I say, “This is my neighbour, an unemployed actor who’s got nothing better to do than hang around my son”. That would make him real popular.’
Robertson scrambles towards them holding two snails. ‘These were under the steps. Don’t know what they’re doing there. I’m going to put them on the hostas.’
Tanis rubs her face. Milo knows she despairs over her son’s concerns for pests that destroy her foliage. Robertson charges to the hosta bed and sets the snails carefully onto the leaves.
Milosz Page 2
