Ray likes this place because it’s always empty. No one ever stays here, Corazón said as we walked toward the rooms, which were lined up in a row facing the parking lot. Our rooms were side by side.
See you soon, Corazón said. Unpack. Take a shower.
Corazón was breathless. I knew that excitement. I’d seen it in my mother. I’d felt it when I knew Leo was about to come home from school. Her eyes were looking for Ray. She knew he was close by.
My hotel room smelled like lavender-and-vanilla-scented Mr. Clean. I knew the smell well, as my mother used to steal bottles of the cleaning liquid from the VA hospital. She used it to scrub the inside of our Mercury because we were always fighting the mold, which grew easily on the car’s upholstery and rugs in Florida’s wet air. The smell of Mr. Clean stuck around our car for days.
I placed my bag on the bed and unzipped it. The first thing I did was take out Eli’s small black gun, which was wrapped inside my T-shirts. I looked around the room for a place to hide it, and placed it under the pillow on the bed.
I was even beginning to think that maybe I should have left the gun in the Mercury along with the bag of Domino sugar cubes and the box of Cheerios.
On the drive to Laredo, Corazón had warned me that the hotel was pretty awful, but when you’ve lived in a car any hotel is a palace, even if there are cockroaches and stains on the sheets and old rugs.
I really wanted to take a long, hot shower, but I wanted a cigarette even more. Corazón had the cigarettes, so I went out to find her and get some before bathing.
I knocked and Corazón did not open. She asked who it was from the other side of the closed door.
It’s me. It’s Pearl, I said. Me.
What do you want? she asked.
The door was still closed.
Corazón opened the door a crack. Just a minute, she said, and walked back into the room, leaving me at the door.
I pushed the door a little and peered in.
The room had two queen-sized beds in it.
The four duffel bags we’d picked up in Mobile and transported on the bus were laying zipped open on one of the beds. On the other bed, the guns were laid out by size as if they were being counted. There were crumpled and folded newspapers, which looked like old wrapping paper at a birthday party, everywhere. The newspapers had been used to package the guns.
Corazón took the cigarettes out of her bag and turned and saw me standing in the doorway looking into the room.
Oh, what the hell, come in and smoke with me, Corazón said. There’s no place to sit down. What am I supposed to do with my suitcase? What am I supposed to do with my things? Ray’s taken over this whole room with the guns!
Corazón’s suitcase was still unopened by the bathroom door.
You can see Ray’s counting them up. He doesn’t trust anybody. Then he has to wrap them all again. And he’s right. The truth is, Pastor Rex is always saying there’s fifty guns when there’s forty-eight, like that. He’s always cheating. You know.
These are Pastor Rex’s guns?
Yes, of course, Corazón said. Yes.
So, Eli’s here?
Yes. Of course.
Is Pastor Rex here too?
No. No. He and Eli had a big fight. We have not heard from Señor Rex because he said that your mother being killed ruined the business for all of us. Yes, the police found out about the guns and we all had to get out of there. I had to leave everything behind.
I knew that Pastor Rex’s trailer and Corazón and Ray’s trailer were going to sit there empty for years. Abandoned homes in trailer parks were everywhere—all across the United States of America. I also knew that April May would never have the guts to explore Pastor Rex’s left-behind stuff without me.
So Eli’s here? I’m going to see him? I asked. His name tolled inside of me.
Yes. Of course.
And the song came. And the song was in my head. The song was singing and it was Louisiana Red: You’re tied to me girl I can feel your sweetblood call even if you sneak away I’ll find you before nightfall ’cause you are tied to me girl I can feel your sweetblood call.
And I heard my mother, with words like after-a-prayer amens, she said, Bad luck is better than no luck at all.
39
You can help me pack up these guns. Ray’s counted them and has gone off to take care of some things and get the SUV we keep parked in a garage. If you help me, it will go faster. All I want is a shower after those long hours on that dog bus.
I walked on the crumpled newspapers as I entered the room. I pushed the empty duffel bags to one side so I could sit on the edge of the bed while I helped Corazón wrap up the guns again. A strong scent of vinegar lifted up out of the canvas bags.
I looked at the newspapers around me and I could see Ray looking for newspapers at the dump of my trailer park and buying newspapers from the men who trucked in the garbage. The piles of newspapers outside Corazón and Ray’s trailer appeared before my eyes. On rainy days, Corazón would cut open large plastic garbage bags and run outside and cover up the papers so they would not get wet.
I looked at the newspapers filling up a room of the River Inn. I looked at the guns piled up on one bed.
There was no song inside me.
Help me, Corazón said. We can do this quickly.
I picked up a rifle. It had a tag on it written in my handwriting.
As I wrapped up a DPMS Panther Arms assault rifle, I looked over the newspaper I was wrapping it in. I read, The Florida Miccosukee Indians require members to have at least half-Miccosukee ancestry, and will accept individuals with Miccosukee mothers who are not enrolled in any other tribe. They are a matrilineal system of kinship and inheritance. Children are born into their mother’s clan, from which they gain their status in the tribe.
As I wrapped up a Smith & Wesson M&P assault rifle, I read, Following a call to a fire in the woods, Putnam County Sheriff’s Office deputies followed a trail to a one-pot meth operation in a shed, a Sheriff’s Office report stated.
As I wrapped up a 22-caliber Savage Mark II rifle, I read, The annual winter migration of endangered whooping cranes to Florida has been completed with the help of ultralight aircraft.
As I wrapped a Del-Ton assault rifle, I read, A Florida judge will consider a deal for a mother who drove her kids into the ocean in her minivan during a hearing in Daytona Beach. That same morning, police arrested a central Florida father two weeks after his 5-year-old son shot his 2-year-old sibling. Also, that same morning, a mother of three was arrested Thursday after one of her children was found walking alone on a major highway. The 12-year-old youngster was carrying a luggage bag and a backpack. She was trying to run away. Authorities said the child was unable to provide a home address.
As I folded, I read, Over one diamond, the singleton is not good news; North should quietly bid one heart, four-card suits up the bidding ladder.
As I placed the guns one on top of another in piles by size, I read the horoscope sections. Under Taurus, I read, Sometimes your favorite things are not your favorite things. Under Virgo, I read, Travel and romance are encouraged.
I wrapped up three .223-caliber AR-15 rifles, a Beretta PX4 Storm pistol, a Glock pistol, a Smith & Wesson pistol, a Taurus pistol, a .40-caliber semiautomatic pistol, a .45-caliber Glock, a Beretta pistol, two Smith & Wesson semiautomatic pistols, a Remington shotgun, and a Bushmaster XM-15 rifle and read the comics, the classifieds, the sports, the weather, the TV guide, and birth announcements.
I read all the obituaries.
40
Late that night there was a soft knock on my door.
I didn’t get up to answer and called out, Come in.
I was sure it was Corazón coming to get her Bic lighter I’d run off with.
The door opened.
I heard his voice before I sa
w him.
What are you doing here, girl?
Eli stood at the door. The light from the parking lot behind him created a silhouette of his body and the hat on his head kept his face in shadow. Eli wore a hat even if it was the middle of the night. In Eli’s world the moon burned hotter than the sun.
I sat up in my bed and pulled the covers up close to my chest.
He was wearing Mr. Don’t Come Back’s silver cowboy belt with the gold eagle flying, rounded wings open, in the center of the buckle.
The next thing Eli said to me in his song-voice was, Oh sweet sweet sweet lovely, what have you done to your hair?
Dyed it.
Why? Are you in a beauty show? You running?
Maybe.
Did Corazón steal you or did you want to come away with her?
Maybe.
He said, Is that the only word you know? The word “maybe”?
Maybe, I said.
You owe her money I bet. Where’d you get that noose of pearls that’s around your neck?
Is everything for you about owing?
I was just saying. I’m not accusing.
Eli closed the door of my room behind him and walked toward me. He moved slowly with one boot in front of the other.
I was chewing on my hate for him.
The eagle was swooping through tall grass and soaring up into the blue night sky toward the telephone wires.
Outside I could hear voices in the parking lot. I knew the Indian ghosts were there. I could hear them whisper as they walked the Trail of Tears. It was a whisper that sounded like, Safety, safety, safety, the Great Brilliance is beginning.
The only other time I’d ever been alone with Eli was when I’d seen him for the first time sitting naked on a bed in Pastor Rex’s trailer with a shotgun across his knees.
Eli was only two steps away from my bed.
I said, Stop there.
Hush, hush, shh. Hush, he said. We both need a shoulder.
Get out.
Listen, Pearl, Eli said. I miss Margot too. She went to heaven.
When he said Margot I heard my mother’s name inside his body where he kept it hidden after he’d stolen it like money, stolen it like a Bible out of a hotel room.
Sure you miss her. Sure you do, I said. I bet you miss her all the time. You didn’t even take your hat off for my killed mother’s daughter.
Eli took off his hat and placed it on the bed.
You’re a liar, I said.
Ah. The thief calls me a liar?
I reached for the gun that was under my pillow and held it out toward him.
Eli looked at the gun and stopped walking toward me.
Don’t come close, I said.
Hey, hey, hey. Pearl, what’re you doing?
Remember, you gave us this gun, Mr. Eli, I said. Do you remember? You told my mother it was for our safety.
I did want you to be safe. It seemed no good for a young woman and girl to be living in a car without a gun. Put it down.
Say your last words, I said. What’re your last words going to be?
Please. Hey, Pearl, put that gun down. Stop it.
What are you doing in my room? Why did you come here? It’s late.
I just wanted you to know I’m your friend. I want to comfort you. Also, if you put down that gun I’ll tell you who your father was. Your sweet mama never told you. I know this. Margot told me you didn’t know.
I don’t believe you, Mr. Eli.
She didn’t want you to think you could go looking for him. Your mama didn’t want you to be poking around with a stick and stirring everything up.
I knew I wanted to shoot him dead. He was just a truth-tricker with a sharp tack in his shoe.
Put down the gun, Eli said. Pearl, little oyster-shell girl, put down that gun. I’ll tell you. Listen. Your daddy was that piano player, you know, the man who gave your mother piano lessons.
Stop lying. You live with your fingers crossed behind your back.
That piano player liked to suck on sugar cubes.
I held my breath and tightly gripped the gun my mother had taught me to use down at our river.
Your father always carried sugar cubes in his pockets.
Eli wasn’t lying.
My mother played the piano across the dashboard of the car and I didn’t even know it was my father she was playing for.
I was born from the tonic, flats, sharps, rests, born from tones, semitones and intervals, born from legatos, chords, and arpeggios and the metronome-heart beating: love love, love, love, love, love, love, love.
But Eli should have known better. He could sweet-talk a grown-up woman, but he couldn’t sweet-talk this girl he’d just gifted a father. Eli Redmond didn’t know he had spoken his honey words to a champion, gold-medal daredevil.
I had no feelings for him.
He had no broken bones.
In that room the word “mercy” was in the lost-and-found box.
I looked down at my hand and at my father’s blue opal ring on my finger.
Eli should’ve known nothing good ever happens after midnight.
I looked up at Eli. I pointed the gun. I shot him. I shot him for my mother and with the divine intervention of her chorus of singers singing the blues.
41
Cleaning fingerprints off of everything in a hotel room is a true act of kindness.
Corazón heard the shot that killed Eli and came to my room.
Pearl, are you in there? she asked, and knocked on the door.
I didn’t answer.
Corazón opened the door.
I was still sitting in my bed, under the covers. Eli was lying on the floor. I had not missed.
Corazón took care of everything. She wiped my fingerprints off of all the surfaces while I sat in the bed and Eli lay on the hotel-room rug dying over and over again. Every time I looked down to where he lay, he died again as if looking were shooting.
Corazón took care of everything as if she were cleaning up popped balloons and paper plates covered with chocolate icing left over from a birthday party. She was bringing down the streamers and sweeping up confetti.
When she’d finished, Corazón helped to dress me as if I were six years old. She buttoned up my blouse, held my jeans while I stepped into them, and then zipped them up. She knelt on the rug and tied my sneakers.
She packed up all my things.
Then she picked up my gun that was lying on the bed and placed it in the front left pocket of her jeans.
I knew I would love her for the rest of my life because she wasn’t angry. She didn’t scold me.
Then Corazón took me to her room and gave me a glass of water.
Listen, Corazón said, we’re going to Mexico. As soon as Ray gets here in the morning with the car we’ll cross the border. We need to get out of here first thing. In my town you’ll be almost the whitest person anyone has ever seen. They’ve seen blondes, but nothing so strange like you except for a donkey that was once born an albino. Someone once saw a white dolphin in Acapulco. That was even in the newspapers.
I knew my mother would say, What has happened to you was not in the Lamb’s Book of Life.
As far as I could tell, no one in my family was in that book.
Corazón explained to me that the men who worked for Ray—the ones who’d taken the bags of guns in Mobile—would be dealing with Eli’s body.
You don’t have to worry about a thing, she said. Ray is that kind of man who takes care of everything.
In Corazón’s hotel room, she took a leftover newspaper out of the trash and used it to wrap up my revenge-maker gun. Then she unzipped the duffel bag assigned to the handguns and placed it inside.
This gun, she has to go with all the other guns, Corazón said.
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Is Ray going to be angry? I asked.
Of course not, Corazón said. There’s no man on Earth who liked Eli Redmond.
When I listened to my heart, I heard footsteps.
All night long we sat in the hotel room smoking cigarettes one after another.
That way long night we both knew smoking was keeping us alive.
42
When Ray arrived in the morning, Corazón and I were still sitting in the room wakeful to our Eli vigil. Two message-in-a-bottle plastic water bottles filled with cigarette butts were on the bedside table.
When Ray walked in, he found us in a closed room thick with smoke and surrounded by the bags stuffed with guns.
I stood and slipped out of the room. I didn’t want to hear Corazón tell Ray what had happened and listen to my life in words.
I stepped out of the hotel room into the cool, new morning air and didn’t look next door, toward the room-horizon where Eli lay.
One after another the trucks and cars drove down the highways. I tasted the mix of diesel and exhaust fumes. A light spray of dew covered the gray cement ground of the hotel’s parking lot.
I looked up. On that day of days the moon was still in the sky because that night was not going away so fast. It was sticking around for the last scraps.
After a few minutes Ray and Corazón came outside. Each of them was carrying one of the heavy bags filled with guns.
Ray brushed past and walked straight toward the car. Of course I knew he’d never speak a word.
Corazón stopped next to me and placed the bag down on the ground.
Don’t worry, she said. I told you Ray wouldn’t be angry. He only said that it was better late than never, which means he wishes it had happened sooner. You know, Ray does not give that much importance to life. He says you swatted a fly.
I walked over to the car with Corazón. Ray placed two of the long bags in the trunk and then lay another down across the backseat.
Ray looked at me and pointed at the car.
I understood.
Corazón held open the car door and I got inside. I lay down across the backseat on top of a bag of guns. At first it was uncomfortable but then I moved around until I found a spot where the metal settled beneath me. I lay on my back so I could see out the rear window.
Gun Love Page 17
