Blue Bottle Tree

by Beaird Glover

  I sighed, came around the car, and got in beside him. He grinned, not believing his luck, ran fingers through thin hair. He sat up straighter and reached to turn up the death metal again but I stopped him. I said, “I know this sounds crazy, Ray, but could you do me a favor?”

  He liked the sound of that. He adjusted the rearview mirror, let me get comfortable, then casually dropped his hand on my thigh. “What you need?”

  I gave his hand back to him and said, “I left my clarinet somewhere and I need you to go and get it. Will you do that?” His forehead furrowed and my voice must have been shrill. My head was ringing, the pressure in my ears was not right. I looked out the window to hide it from him, popped my jaw and swallowed hard, but could not correct it.

  “Sure. Let’s ride.” He eased back onto the road, closely watching his mirrors for anyone who might be tailing him. “You know I got set up, right?”

  “What? At the school cafeteria?” I popped my jaw again. “You got any gum, Ray Dimple?” He gave me some and I focused. I felt about as clear as underwater looks.

  “All the lunchroom ladies were supposed to be gone by two thirty, but one of them was still there.”

  I nodded. “Um-hmm. I always knew there was a rat in that kitchen.”

  “Those Eskimo Pies had a street value of like …twenty bucks.”

  “Sorry you got busted, Ray. But I’m in a pinch right now, and I need your help. My clarinet has a street value of like …a thousand.”

  “Whoa, that’s grand theft.”

  “Except, it’s actually mine, and I forgot it. She’ll probably give it right back to you, so it’s not even stealing, technically. You just have to go to somebody’s house and ask for it. Cake, Ray. Cake.”

  “Why don’t you just ask for it?”

  “Have you ever heard of Marie LaVey?”

  He nodded. Now he knew why I sounded so desperate. “How did she get your clarinet?”

  “I was just over there. I forgot it.”

  “Penny, what were you doing with Marie LaVey? Do you know her?” He gulped and his Adam’s apple tracked up and down his skinny neck. He backed into his spot at the park, under a shade tree that overlooked the four-way intersection, the uncongested heart of Bellin. He was deep in thought, then he scooted away. “You know, I’ve got to roll. I would do it, you know, but I can’t do it right now. I’ve got to meet some dudes and we’re going to…”

  I slammed the door and headed for the cave. Seven would help. He should be thrilled at the opportunity. We could make a deal. If he did me this favor, then I would promise never to tell anyone about the bones. Win/win and this should be nothing to him. How hard could it be? It was his grandmother. Finally, I exhaled a deep breath that had been bottled up for hours. The pressure equalized in my head.

  As I crawled toward the candlelight in the back of the cave, I heard voices. Seven had probably gone crazy back there. Now he was talking to himself, or he had made friends with those bubbly-looking fish.

  When I poked my head into the room, Mad Dog said, “Well, speak of the devil. We thought you’d be back.”

  I stood up, brushed off my hands, and looked down into the pool of blind fish gliding through still water. “I knew you knew about the cave, Rickey,” I said.

  Seven picked up a couple of bones and romped them around in a circle. “Look at this—it’s Penny Longstocking running back to me. Did you miss me, Penny Longstocking?”

  I hung my head. To grovel before these two would be more humbling than I expected. But I did, and as I explained my predicament, I felt the bag on my chest getting heavier. I felt compelled to tell them about it. I wanted to show it to them, like it would make my case better, that it was proof that she was crazy. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell Seven that his grandmother was crazy. That would make me sound crazy. Whippoorwill. It echoed. It was in the cave with us. If I really thought a bird was following me, talking to me, I had to be losing my mind. Finally, I grabbed the plaited gold cords and whipped the bag out from under my shirt. “She gave me this, to keep spirits off!” I opened my hand like I was presenting a lethal prize. “She fed it smoke and made it alive! It’s too heavy. I think she put a curse on me!”

  Seven peered and said softly, “Oh, Penny Longstocking. Where did you get that?”

  Mad Dog retracted. His eyes were wide in the candlelight.

  “Seven, I think I was at your grandmother’s house. I don’t want to make you mad, but I’m scared of her. I don’t want to go back out there by myself.”

  “What were you doing there?” They kept their eyes glued to the little red mojo bag like it might really be alive. Neither of them came forward.

  “That’s okay, P-Lang,” Mad Dog said. “Why don’t you just hold on to that.” He and Seven exchanged glances, in concert against me. Seven shook his head like I had disappointed him.

  “I’m not touching that thing,” he said. “I know better. It’s a trick. She’s laid a trick on you.”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t take it so seriously.” But my voice was shrill again.

  “You take it seriously. That’s what matters most.”

  Seven had me there. I dropped the bag under my shirt again. What could I do? I saw myself at the police station, explaining about the bones in the cave. But what I really wanted was for the cop to go to Marie LaVey’s house and reclaim a lost clarinet. So, the officer would say, you forgot your clarinet at this old lady’s house and you want me to go out there and get it. Is that right?” Yes sir, I would nod, and he would say, Are you insane?

  “I could get your clarinet back,” Seven said, easily. “Unless you traded her for it. Did you go there for a gris-gris and traded your clarinet?”

  “No, I swear. I didn’t even want it. She made me take it and I got scared. I ran away without my clarinet. It’s in a chair by the table. She probably hasn’t even noticed.”

  “You’ve told me about some weird stuff she does,” Mad Dog said to Seven. “I’m not getting in the middle of this. Who knows what P-Lang is up to? She’s too curious lately. Asking too many questions.” He shook his head, like I was lying. “You better leave it alone.” Mad Dog was suddenly the authority and he turned to me. “Do you know Hoof?” he asked. “He could probably do it.”

  I knew of him. We were not friends. Victor Radcliffe. His family was the richest in Bellin, and he was born with this crazy deformity. His left hand was like a goat’s hoof. I had heard that it was a bizarre genetic anomaly, an evolutionary misstep. That somehow he got the DNA sequence for a goat, or some part of it, and instead of a left hand, he was born with a cloven hoof. It was supposedly just like a goat’s, with two toes as tough as horn. “Do you know him?” I asked.

  “I do.” Mad Dog beamed.

  “Well, will you ask him to help?”

  “Don’t bother with that guy,” Seven said. “He’s a weirdo. I’ll get you the clarinet back, Longstocking. I told you I would do it.”

  The fact that they thought I was lying, and Seven was going to steal from his grandmother, something he believed I gave her in trade—it was so far off it made me mad. I thought he trusted me and now he was going to help me out of pity. He thought I wanted this mojo bag. I didn’t care if Seven could get it or not. The importance of reclaiming the clarinet diminished a notch. It was now a tool to meet Victor Radcliffe. I turned away from Seven and looked at Mad Dog. “You’ll take me to him?”

  “Seriously, Penny, I’ll get it!” Seven said. He was a little too uptight, and he’s not the kind of guy who wins prizes for most reliable, anyway.

  “No. I want Victor to do it.”

  “It’s not that easy,” Mad Dog said. “He’s a very private guy, doesn’t mix with the common folk.” Mad Dog gloated. “But he’s cool with me. He says he’s Baron Samedi, Lord of the Cemetery. He’s into some very freaky stuff.” It was rare for Mad Dog to be a person of significance in any way and he liked the idea that I needed his help. “I meet up with him sometimes at Cat Shit City,” he said.

/>   “At the dump?” Seven said, exasperated. “You meet Victor Radcliffe at the dump?”

  “Have you ever been there? There’s like, a million cats. It’s not just a dump. Everybody calls it Cat Shit City.” We waited for more.

  “What do you do there?” Seven asked.

  “We look for stuff. You know, treasures. One time I found a hundred dollar bill in an old jacket pocket. I’ve found jewelry, all kinds of stuff. And Victor does too. He keeps very specific articles like scissors or hair brushes—horse hair brushes especially. He likes things that he knows belonged to certain people. And born with a hoof—an actual hoof!” Mad Dog balled up his fingers, making a grotesque claw. “He’s probably got issues.”

  “Of course he’s got issues!” I was livid. I don’t know why I was suddenly rising to the defense of some guy I had never met, but I did. They were making fun of him because of circumstances that were totally beyond his control. It wasn’t his fault he was born that way. He’s probably the saddest guy in the world.

  I had seen Victor Radcliffe a couple of times from a distance. He was aloof, a couple of years older than me, taller. A very attractive guy, considering. The idea that I could finally meet him piqued my interest. Everything else was suddenly much, much less important. I had not expected to ever have the chance. The little bag under my shirt felt warm and I squeezed it.

  7 From The Conquered Summit of the City Dump

  An hour later we were walking single file down a trail in the woods. Seven led the way and was careful to hold branches back so they wouldn’t slap me. I had never been out here before. I had been at the top, on the bluff above the dump with my parents, when we threw out some old furniture that the garbage truck wouldn’t take. I slowed down to step over a log and Seven must have thought I was farther behind because he let go of a branch and it swatted me. My arms were already in front of my face because I knew something like that was about to happen. “Hey!”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know you were so close.”

  “Let me get in front,” Mad Dog said. He joggled around and took a more protective position, walking almost sideways, and keeping the path clear for me. It was endearing until he said, “Big Daddy Mad Dog gonna keep his lil’ baby safe.” At which point I pushed him into Seven and Seven bounced off him like a pinball. I let them just be boys and go ahead of me.

  * * *

  The trail opened up into a pit the size of a basketball court. We were in a deep trench below the bluff and it was much farther down than I had ever imagined. Way up there, the road ended in a gate which was supposed to keep vehicles from falling in, where people backed up and tossed garbage onto the pile.

  The small town of Bellin had been using this place as a dump for more years than I had been alive. The No Dumping sign was rusted through, made out of some cheap metal from way back before I was born. “Cat Shit City,” Mad Dog said. “He’s probably here.” We walked around the mountain of garbage and looked up. On it, near the top, there he was. Victor Radcliffe. He was kicking over an upended table and digging in with his hoof, shattering an old mirror, balancing his weight on the shards. He could not see us yet, but he raised his head and twitched, sniffed the air, and then he spun. He dropped whatever treasure he had found and climbed up an almost vertical wall to the highest point. He was like a mountaineer presiding over the conquered summit of the city dump, and he reared his hoof in the air.

  He was not like I had seen him before. Maybe it had been a few years and he had grown. Maybe it was because he was in college now. He was the town phenomenon and my former best friend’s boyfriend. Whatever the case, he was not the shy aberration of a human that I had expected, but a man. A strong and very attractive man. Seven and Mad Dog cowered when he turned to us. I was staring. My mouth gaped and I felt the hot air come in with a breath. I started to itch. The little pouch must have been hit by the branch and the horseshoe nails scratched me, or something. It made me scratch at my belly like an animal. Victor bounded down over the rubble, his hoof the steadiest of the three limbs he was using. It smashed through glass and plastic, finding footholds to propel him forward. His real hand never touched anything and his index finger pointed at me.

  He circled us. He was breathing hard and he smelled sweaty. Good sweaty. Muscle sweaty. I had the urge to wriggle up against him. He was really tall. Most guys cannot look down on me. But he did and I leaned my head up to his face. My lips felt uncomfortably dry, like I needed to wet them before he kissed me. It would be as easy as that. I closed my mouth and stepped back, suddenly afraid that he was going to walk over me.

  Seven narrowed his eyes at Victor, bending his knees like he expected Victor to lunge at him. There was tension between them, some bad blood from way back. But I could not imagine how Victor Radcliffe and Seven had ever run in the same circles. The few years between them made a world of difference. Seven was still gangly and developing, while Victor was a man. Victor circled our little group, herding us closer together with the dominance of a lion over prey. Mad Dog kept his head down. When Victor’s eyes met mine, they smoldered. He was more intense than flame.

  He stalked toward me and my hand raised to stop him. He considered it and grinned, touched it with his hoof like that was his way of shaking hands. “Boo,” he said. I startled backward and he laughed.

  To Mad Dog he said, “Eyes!” Mad Dog came to attention from his slouchy parade rest and brought his gaze to Victor’s. Sustaining eye contact was a challenge for Mad Dog, more than he could bear. “I stand up next to a mountain, and chop it down with the edge of my hand,” Victor barked at him. “Who said that?”

  “Jimi Hendrix, greatest rock star of all time.”

  “Correct. What makes him the greatest?”

  “He wrote the greatest song.”

  “Which is…”

  “Voodoo Child.”

  “Yes. Written in anticipation of me.” Victor brought those burning eyes back to mine. “Rickey’s not as dumb as he looks. Well, actually …he is.”

  Seven snorted. Mad Dog swayed, trying to recover his pride. They must have been as mesmerized as I was when Victor had come loping toward us. Mad Dog cleared his throat and kicked a rock. “What’s up, Vic?”

  Victor appraised him and nodded once. “Mad Dog,” he said. It gave me a moment to better evaluate his face. His jaw was square and perfect. His eyes were pure blue flame, framed by uncommonly high cheekbones and a long, intelligent forehead. His nose was thin and carved to perfection like his chin. It was singularly the most handsome face I had ever seen.

  “We …umm…” Mad Dog seemed to have forgotten what we were doing there.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Penny Langston.”

  Victor turned his attention to me and grinned again, like he knew me already. Like he could shoo the boys away and keep me for himself. I thought his hoof would be a fragile and delicate deformity, but it was not. It was tough and capable. A hand would have been ripped to shreds the way he had used it.

  I wanted him to lean into me again and he did. Was he smelling me? I smiled and fidgeted my hands together behind my back, tried to improve my posture. I had been told that my back had a very nice arch, but I sometimes forgot to keep it straight. Now I felt embarrassed that Victor had seen me slouch.

  A sideways glance at Mad Dog found his eyes beneath mine, searching the ground for his lost soul, for Victor’s approval, which he did not have. “This is Seven LaVey,” I said.

  “I know who he is,” Victor countered. Seven extended his right hand and they shook, testing each other and bristling.

  “She lost her clarinet,” Seven said, like I was his problem.

  “I haven’t seen it, but if I do…” Victor flourished his hand over the mountain of garbage, as if he knew everything there and was losing patience. Two cats stalked out of hiding places and flanked him on either side. They bored their eyes into mine, the way he had, looking through me. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’m planning for my birthday, the most important day of the year.�
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  I felt more cats watching me and the still background of the dump was no longer fixed. They had been watching us while we did not see them. Now they went back to their usual activities. They were everywhere. I had never seen so many cats in my life.

  My abdomen started to itch where the branch had hit me. I scratched as inconspicuously as I could. “I left it somewhere,” I said. “We shouldn’t have even come.”

  Everyone was silent, waiting for whatever Victor was going to say. “Well, why are you still here?” He turned away.

  “Do you know Marie LaVey?” Mad Dog asked.

  He spun back. “Marie LaVey? Does she have your clarinet?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, that’s more interesting.”

  “I could go back and get it,” I said. “But…”

  “But she scares you?” Victor taunted me. “You need to find someone with magic as strong as hers, and so Mad Dog brought you to me. Is that it?”

  “Basically.”

  He considered. Seven was staring at a mottled cat whose back arched and then it hissed at him. Even the cat knew Seven was the lesser of the two. “You have to blink when you look at them,” Victor said.

  “Oh.” Seven did not look Victor in the eye again.

  Victor Radcliffe brought his attention back to me. “Did she give you something?” he asked.

  I took off the necklace. “She gave me this—to protect me.” I did not think any of them needed to know it was also to bring me love, and that …maybe it was working. I held the little red bag in my open hand. He swiped it before I could stop him. “Wait! She said not to let anyone touch it.”

  “Or what? It would lose its power? If you want me to help you, you can’t let her keep power over you.” He examined the bag, turned it over with his fingers and found a tick on it, which he impaled with fingernails that had been filed to points. He split the tick in half and flicked it away.

  “It was because I set a spirit loose from her bottle tree. That’s why she gave it to me.”