Empire of Light

by Michael Bible

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he got quiet and looked at the ground like he was seeing his future in front of him. We did more of everything. Charlie put on a mambo record at half speed and passed out on the rug. Molly arranged her stolen treasures on Charlie’s bed. I heard a knock at the door. When I answered it no one was there. Out in the driveway was a long dark Cadillac. An older woman sat in the backseat, in the front seat was a driver. The car’s exhaust poured out into the black night.

  Who is it, Miles asked.

  I don’t know, I said.

  He came to the door and paused and then returned to his place on the couch and lit another cigarette.

  My mother, he said. They probably flew her in from Charleston.

  Are you going to talk to her, I asked.

  Let her wait, he said. She’s never waited on anything in her whole life.

  After a few minutes there was another knock at the door. I answered it again. It was the driver. He said that Mrs. Armstrong would like to see her son. Miles put out his cigarette and walked outside.

  I’ll be right back, he said.

  I watched him get in the backseat of the big car and I could see them talking. Molly came out of the bedroom and asked what I was doing. I pointed to the car and we watched Miles and his mother in the backseat. It was like a silent movie. The driver stood in the cold until they were done. Miles came back inside and his mother drove away.

  What did she say, Molly asked him.

  She wanted me to go to boarding school, he said.

  What did you tell her, I asked.

  I told her the truth, he said. I told her she was lonely.

  Charlie got up off the floor.

  What’s going on, he said. I’m going to make breakfast.

  What did she say when you called her lonely, I asked Miles.

  She said I was right, he said.

  Who’s hungry, Charlie called from the kitchen.

  He made us omelets and tequila sunrises and we each ate half a benzo and sat on the stoop and watched the dawn come over the town. In the soggy morning I began to realize that we had fooled ourselves into thinking this was some kind of endless party against the regular world. Miles had become our rallying point but we were really lost, each of us drifting in a sea of nothing.

  The dirt in this town wasn’t good for growing anything except tobacco, which kept the economy alive as it killed the people. I walked back to Frank’s house that night thinking about the redheaded woman on the Ferris wheel. I realized then that for some people childhood was a dream. It was a place where no consequences existed. Tooth-fairy money and Santa Claus down the chimney. I never had that dream of childhood. My first memory was of nuns beating me for crying. When I was seven years old I was left for three days locked inside a motel room until a newspaper boy saw me through the window crying on my bed and called the police. My foster parents skipped town without telling me. The woman on the Ferris wheel was the first time that dream of childhood existed for me. The first time I knew that innocence was supposed to be a shield against a truth. A truth I already knew. That humans were born into suffering. It was years later that I came to realize that I was among the lucky ones.

  We crept inside the city gates. A man hung by rope from a sycamore tree. The streets were aglow in neon. The man was calm, dying. His breaths were mighty and slow. Through the sword holes in his chest you could barely see the stars. Forever wept a little from his good eye and Princess did the sign of the cross. Zorn was hiding in the castle on the hill.

  * * *

  —

  WHAT I LOVED most about Molly was her crooked tooth. Only one of them was crooked but it was crooked in just the right way. We woke up in a sleeping bag together on the air mattress in Charlie’s living room. I’d called Frank the night before and told him I was going camping with the church youth group. He bought it. So I spent the night zipped up with Molly that Friday. It was so easy with her. The way we breathed together, spooning through the night, as tight as two people could be.

  It was cold that weekend. On Saturday morning every blade of grass was tipped with frost and the wind went straight for your bones. Charlie made us chicory coffee and toast. Soon Miles roused himself from the couch and lit a smoke. I put on one of Charlie’s big flannel shirts and walked out into the yard. Molly got a record going. I think it was Howlin’ Wolf. I went outside and pissed on the side of the house and steam rose up and I saw a family of deer leap over a fallen fence. It was a big mother and a father with a full rack of antlers. The baby deer was lagging behind and was too small to jump the fence. I watched as the baby jumped and fell, jumped and fell, again and again. It began to get frantic. The parents weren’t coming back. I went in the house.

  Hey, get out here, I said. There’s a baby deer that’s lost from its family.

  Stop, Molly said. Are you serious?

  As a heart attack, I said.

  Charlie, Miles, and Molly came out with blankets around their shoulders and coffee mugs warming their hands. We watched the poor animal struggle to get over the fence. It ran around the trailer wildly.

  What should we do, Molly asked.

  Maybe we could corner it, Miles said. Urge it to leave the way it came in.

  Me and Miles tried to chase it down the driveway but the deer was much faster. We tried to corral it toward the open side of the fence but it didn’t want to go. It wanted its parents to come back. It couldn’t understand there was another way to go. We tried putting food on the other side but it was too spooked to move closer. We backed off. Charlie called animal control but they told him there was nothing they could do and asked which way the father went, they could tip off the hunters in the area. Charlie said he didn’t know.

  We sat on the front steps smoking cigarettes and watched the fawn resting in the dewy grass. The sun was rising now, melting the frost. Molly lit a smoke.

  Maybe we can keep it, she said. We can name it Cantaloupe.

  Why Cantaloupe, Miles asked.

  I don’t know, Molly said. It reminds me of a cantaloupe.

  How long do you think she’ll stay, I asked.

  What makes you think it’s a she, Charlie asked.

  I don’t know, I said. She’s cute. I think of Bambi, I guess.

  We’re all little Bambis, Miles said. In some way or another.

  Not her, Molly said. She’s my Cantaloupe.

  I think Cantaloupe might not want to be a pet, Charlie said. Look.

  Cantaloupe was making another run for the fence, this time smashing her tiny face into it. I felt so helpless. I ran after her again trying desperately to get her to run free. Finally, I gave up and walked back to the trailer. Everyone had gone inside. It was cold out and I wasn’t wearing shoes. I left Cantaloupe some toast and a bowl of water. Her tiny black eyes and white whiff of tail. I pictured her life in the forest. The electric feeling of a predator nearby. Her ears perking up. How scared she must’ve felt alone there with these weird creatures screaming at her. How could she know we were only trying to help? I wanted to pick her up in my arms and carry her away and drop her gently to the forest floor with her family. I watched her a little longer then went inside to get warm.

  Molly flipped the record. Miles rolled us a joint and Charlie was cleaning the kitchen.

  You mind if I take a shower, I asked Charlie.

  Mi casa es tu casa, he said.

  I went to the bathroom and took a long hot shower and thought about Cantaloupe. I hoped she only needed to rest and would find a way out. I thought about Molly. About her pain. I wanted to pick her up too and set her down gently in some faraway place. I thought about all the girls I had ever been with in my life. They cycled through me and I tried to remember how each of them smelled and what it was like to kiss them and what it felt like to be with them. Starting with my first encounter all the way through Molly, my first real big actual love. I pictured the curve of each of their lips and the way they said my name. But Molly was the best. As the hot water steamed up the bat
hroom I melted into her. It was like I was being baptized into another life.

  When I got out I could hear conversation in the kitchen. I got dressed and walked out to see everyone around the kitchen table talking to Mrs. Everhart.

  My favorite student, she said. They said you’d be joining us.

  Grab a chair, said Charlie. Mrs. Everhart was just telling us all the latest school gossip.

  Please call me Alia, she said.

  I noticed she was drinking a glass of whiskey.

  Come sit, she said.

  Miles got me a chair and we all sat around the table. Molly had her arms crossed staring at her feet. I gave her a nudge. She looked at me and rolled her eyes. I smiled and winked but she looked away.

  We were talking about the changes at the school, she said. Miles quitting scared the administration half to death. If the star quarterback could up and quit school then what was stopping any of them from walking out?

  Miles smiled a little and shook his head in amazement.

  What kind of changes, Charlie asked.

  For starters, she said, they’re in talks to extend the lunch period and build a canopy over the smoking pit. The teachers got in on it too. Everyone’s getting a 2 percent bonus this year for Christmas.

  You’re kidding, Charlie said.

  It was a near mutiny, Mrs. Everhart said.

  She held up her empty glass.

  I could use a refill, she said.

  Charlie went to the kitchen and got the bottle. Molly shifted in her chair.

  Maybe this should be the last one, Molly said.

  It’s Saturday, Mrs. Everhart said. I can indulge.

  I saw Molly go for a cigarette and expected Mrs. Everhart to get upset but she didn’t do anything. She just smiled at Charlie as he refilled her glass. Miles lit a joint but Mrs. Everhart didn’t seem to care about that either. It was like she was one of us already. Or maybe it was more like she had been like us once upon a time and she was remembering the feeling.

  You don’t mind, Miles said and held up the joint.

  I’m no puritan, she said.

  Surprised to hear you say that, Miles said.

  Mrs. Everhart took a long swig of her drink. She looked Miles in the eyes.

  Why’s that, she asked.

  You know, Miles said. You’re like the town’s feel-good story.

  Mrs. Everhart took the joint from his hands and hit it and put it back slowly between his fingers and blew three perfectly round smoke rings, each one fitting into the last.

  OK, Molly said. We’ve had enough fun doing drugs with the English teacher.

  Calm down, Mrs. Everhart said. I want to get to know your friends. They don’t mind, do they?

  Not me, Miles said.

  Molly sighed.

  Did Cantaloupe get free, I asked.

  She’s still out there, Molly said.

  There’s no way out, Miles said. No good place to go.

  Then he reached out and put his hand on Mrs. Everhart’s shoulder. He was in his zone again, like on the roof. Mrs. Everhart had touched off something in him and he needed to let it out. His eyes were lighter than usual. There seemed to be a question unfolding in his mind. A question only she would know the answer to.

  Did my father send you here, he asked.

  Mrs. Everhart took a long last sip and killed her drink. She looked at Miles and she grabbed the joint from his fingers again and sat smoking it awhile. Molly took her mother’s empty glass to the kitchen and put it in the sink.

  It’s time to go home, Mom, Molly said.

  Mrs. Everhart exhaled smoke into the room.

  Just because you can’t see it, she said. It doesn’t mean it’s not true.

  You didn’t answer my question, Miles said.

  No more questions, Molly said. It’s time to go.

  She grabbed her mother by the wrist.

  Get off me, Mrs. Everhart said.

  She tried to laugh it off but I could tell she was serious.

  Mom, Molly whispered. You’re drunk.

  Says who, Mrs. Everhart said. You?

  She slammed her hand down on the table like Frank did sometimes.

  Maybe you should rest a minute, Charlie said.

  I don’t need defending, Mrs. Everhart said.

  Charlie didn’t mean anything by it, I said.

  She looked at me with such patience. She didn’t shout. She walked over to the couch and sat down.

  Maloney, she said. Maybe I need a glass of water.

  I went to the kitchen.

  Are you OK, Molly said.

  Fine, Mrs. Everhart said. Just the water.

  I came back with the water and she took two deep sips and put the glass down on the table. She looked at Miles.

  Yes, she said.

  Yes to what, Miles asked.

  Your father sent me here, she said. If I can’t get you to go home he said he was going to get me fired.

  I knew it, Miles said.

  Mrs. Everhart started to cry. None of us knew what to say. Her chestnut hair fell along her shoulders. She was the smartest woman I’d ever known. We all stood there awkwardly looking at Molly for some sign of what to do.

  I don’t want to only be some dead hero’s wife, she said. Do you know how hard that is?

  Charlie went to her and touched her back.

  Every day I wish it was me and not him, she said.

  Charlie squeezed Mrs. Everhart’s hand.

  Captain Everhart was a good man, he said.

  A good man, she said. And a dead man.

  Why don’t you let Molly drive you home, I said.

  Or another drink, she said.

  I think Miles was considering going home anyway, I said. Isn’t that right, Miles?

  I winked at him.

  Right, he said. For Christmas. So I’ll tell my dad you convinced me.

  I could see in Mrs. Everhart’s eyes there was a realization. Maybe she bought our story or the booze was subsiding for a moment giving her sudden clarity.

  You’re right dear, she said. I should go home.

  Her back stiffened. She was back to being Mrs. Everhart again. Molly and I got her to her feet and she kissed Charlie on the cheek.

  So none of that stuff about school was true, he asked.

  It’s been a mess since you left, she said.

  He laughed.

  She hugged Miles next. Held him tight.

  You’re special, she said. Don’t fuck it up.

  Then she turned to me.

  I’ll see you in class, Maloney, she said.

  I smiled.

  I’ll be back in a minute, Molly said.

  Molly got her out the door and into the car.

  Cantaloupe was still lying in the grass. A shaft of sunlight was framing her. Charlie was whistling a tune as they drove away.

  What a dame, he said.

  Which one, I said.

  All of them, he said.

  He walked back inside and the wind settled in the treetops. It was one of those impeccable Carolina Saturdays when everything seemed possible at the same time. It was only in a place so boring and irrelevant that you became acutely aware of time passing. The light was so genuinely strange it felt like a bird might hop on your shoulder and tell you a story. Or a horse might run right out of your dreams and into your heart.

  Me and Miles watched Cantaloupe move again toward the fence. She didn’t seem to have any will left. She got up a running start and headed straight into the fence then fell backward into the grass. Me and Miles ran over. She was a grisly mess. Her neck snapped and her legs bent as if still in motion. Death had struck her motionless in the mannerism of escape.

  Zorn rode in the back of a Cadillac, humming a hymn in C minor. A deep scar smiled around his throat. We hid behind the palm trees and I held Princess close to me. Forever twitched and blinked. Footfalls echoed up the canyon walls. Soldiers with wild orchids around their necks sang a dirge and prayed an unknown prayer. I whispered for Princess t
o stay close. A long quiet fell over the war. Then a long war fell over the quiet.

  * * *

  —

  ME AND MILES were making plans to bury Cantaloupe when we heard Molly’s car drive up so we had to quickly cover the little body with dead branches. Miles did a quick sign of the cross and we hurried over to the trailer as the sun broke open the afternoon. The shadows from the trees stretched onto the grass and the light seemed to pick me up and put me back down in another world. We sat on the front steps and waited for Molly to get out of the car. She handed me a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt from her bag.

  I went by your house, she said. Got some clothes. Nobody was home.

  Thanks, I said.

  Where’s Cantaloupe, she said.

  Finally jumped the fence, Miles said.

  Sad to see her go, she said. But I’m glad somebody got out.

  She touched my forehead.

  You OK, she asked. You’re sweating.

  You know me, I said. I always think I’m dying.

  Poor baby, she said and kissed me.

  I looked out over the yard and into the tree line. All I could think of was poor Cantaloupe alone, dead in the grass.

  I’m sorry about earlier, Molly said. Thanks for covering for me.

  No worries, Miles said. But I am really thinking of going back home.

  Seriously, I asked.

  Maybe, he said.

  Please don’t, Molly said.

  Before Miles could say anything Charlie opened the door and we could hear music blasting from inside the trailer. He walked outside and kept the door open so we could hear it.

  The Rolling Stones, he said. Beggars Banquet. Don’t get better than this.

  Charlie was always trying to defend his tastes to us although we always liked what he put on. It was more than the music. I think he wanted us to remember his golden years. He wanted us to keep the flame alive. I felt the afternoon slide right out from under me and things were easy for a few hours. We listened to more records. Motown and Muscle Shoals. We watched Rocky IV. Stallone beat the hell out of the big bad Russian. There was nothing we needed from life except each other. We smoked a joint and I got so I high I was thinking about the whole awesome miracle. How improbable it was that we existed at all and how every instance of human life was a marvel. The probability of any father’s sperm impregnating a mother’s egg was amazing, not to mention the millions of small choices that led to those people meeting and having sex and their parents meeting and so on, until the whole thing becomes unfathomable. The fact that I was able to exist was such a finely tuned mystery. Who did I think I was to deny it?