by Craig Davis
CHAPTER V
There once passed a day when Joe B., figuratively, kicked the tires. He studied the control panel and breathed deep the leathery newness. He gauged carefully the ample leg room in front and storage in the back. Joe B. even fell into a dreamlike state over factory GPS and satellite radio. He signed the papers with no hesitation. But now the day had come to trade away the family SUV, before it was taken away.
Joe B. pulled the vehicle into Daddy Bill’s Showroom, a combination used car lot and service station, whose ads bragged, “We’ll sell you a car and give you gas.” He gave the stick shift a farewell caress before sliding out; the door shut behind him with a clunk of finality.
The gravel skritched and scratched under his shoes as Joe B. passed rows upon rows of dull sedans and station wagons, windshields resplendent with numbers and exclamation points. Strings of flags fluttered overhead; sunshine blinked between the waving red and blue triangles of plastic, flickering in Joe B.’s eyes as he scanned the questionable bargains spread before him like grave markers. Through the glare he thought he saw a silhouetted figure approach.
Indeed, a huge man, the sun to his back, swaggered toward Joe B. like a grizzled cowboy just finished with months on the range. His form riding against the sky, shoulders broad as a wagon, a 10-gallon belly hanging prominently over his belt – with even steps the man mosied up to this stray customer. Joe B. had heard these beefy chaps didn’t horse around, and might stampede him into a sale, or at least saddle him with a lemon. Just one look at this guy was all it took to spur such thoughts.
“Kin I he’p yew today, son?” the man roared in an exaggerated drawl.
“Maybe. I need to make a trade.” Joe B. continued to scan the lot in order to avoid eye contact.
“Well, then, I’m the man you want to talk to. I’m Daddy Bill his very own self.” The man thrust out a hand that looked like a cleverly carved ham. “You’ve come to the right place – your first tank of gas is on us, you know. That your vehicle over there?”
“Yeah. Well, about a third of it.”
“Now son, that’s a nice vehicle over there. Let’s get you out of this section here and find you something closer to what you’re accustomed to.” Daddy Bill started to pull him toward a different part of the lot where the cars gleamed in the morning brightness.
“Well, no, I need to avoid taking a loan,” Joe B. said, looking toward his SUV like a lost love.
“Hmmm –” Daddy Bill’s face fell. “What you looking for then?”
“I’ve got a family of five to carry around. Plus I need room to stow a wheelchair. I was thinking maybe this one.” Joe B. indicated a nearby station wagon with wood paneling on the sides.
“No, son, you don’t want that one,” Daddy Bill broke in. “That one done is bust. Come over this way.”
“I have to keep the cost down,” Joe B. insisted. “I got a pay cut at work, and we’re trimming back.”
“Sad story, son. Let’s see what we got for you.”
The two passed through the boat-sized American classics; Joe B. heaved a sigh as they turned toward the minivans.
“This here’s a pretty little thing. She’s got all the room you need plus a surround sound system. Look at the size of them speakers! Shag carpet throughout the back. I think we can make a deal considering your happenstances – it’s a hard economy, and a lot of companies are making adjustments.”
“I think I need something more appropriate for young children,” Joe B. surveyed the carpeting, scrunching his nose at the funny smell. “I wish it was just the economy. Fact is, I don’t know why I was kicked downstairs. The economy doesn’t have much impact on Universal Whirligig.”
“Oh, Universal Whirligig …” Daddy Bill said in a knowing voice.
“Yeah, we’re pretty well known around here.” A spark of pride still flew up from Joe B.’s voice as he talked about his company.
“Shore do, and everyone knows your Big Boss, too. He’s scattered his works all over this city – made him famous. Just down the street is the library he built. Some folks love him for it, and some folks hate him.”
“Same at Universal Whirligig, and it doesn’t seem to make a bit of difference to their careers.”
“Yes, well, I tell you one thing, I’d hate to have crossed a man like him. If you did something he didn’t like, no wonder he cut you down to size.”
“I don’t know that I did cross him.” Joe B. suddenly sounded peeved. “I just got demoted out of the blue. What good is taking me to the woodshed when I don’t know why? I just can’t believe I deserve this.”
“Seems like maybe there is something more going on then,” Daddy Bill allowed.
“Believe me, there are people at Universal Whirligig who cut corners, who shortchange the company or play fast and loose with their customers. They don’t get demoted – only I do,” Joe B. groused.
“Well, at least you’ve still got a job.”
“Sort of. I’ve tried to adjust, but every time I have to do something like trade in my car, it reminds me I’m working for someone who’s drawn a target on my back. And it’s gone on for weeks now. I find trusting in the future a hard sell.”
“Well, ol’ Daddy Bill will make you a bargain that will be a nice, easy sell. Let’s just find you a good pre-owned vehicle to make you happy right now. Never mind the future; think about what you can do now. Here we go. Look at this spunky little classic.” Daddy Bill approached a VW bus.
“That does not cheer me up.”
“Not only does this little darlin’ have all the passenger and cargo space you need, but she’s a collectible, too.”
“So I guess one day when we’re through with it I can sell it on eBay?” Joe B. offered facetiously.
“Why do you keep talkin’ about the future? Just think about now. You need a car, let’s us just concentrate on that.”
“Sorry. I can’t seem to take my mind off it. I’d have been better off if I’d never been hired. I envy people who just pump gas or flip burgers, who are happy with that and don’t have great ambitions. Now all I can really look forward to is just trying to stick out the next few years.”
“There you go again! Stop thinking about the future, and focus on what will make you happy today! Your Big Boss will finish with your punishment, and then you’ll get a better job. Or maybe you won’t. You just can’t predict what he might do. But you can get what you came here for. Then we’ll both be happy. Now, here’s a little beaut with only 180,000 miles on her.”
Joe B. noticed they were walking toward something that looked like a box on wheels. “How can some silly possession make me happy?” he wondered aloud. “The very man I most wanted to please is treating me like a red-headed stepchild.”
“I tell you son, you just stop that!” blurted Daddy Bill, not sounding quite so cheerful. “Why do you keep talking? Your Big Boss is a crazy man, a crazy man! You say you did nothing, and yet he beats you down! He will do what he wants! Obviously, he has no, what you call, humanity! Now, this here van will meet all your needs. Climb up in there and feel how good it fits!”
“How can you call him crazy? He built Universal Whirligig from scratch.”
“Get up in the van, son. Okay, maybe crazy isn’t the right word – he’s a great businessman, okay? Like my father, the original Daddy Bill, who built this car lot from the ground up. He gave his whole life to make this business a great success, and to pass it along to me. The generation that builds a company loves it more than any other. And I could always tell when he was unhappy – he made sure of that. He could sure make me miserable if he wanted to. A great businessman, but no people skills.” Daddy Bill seemed to be staring at something in his mind, and his folksy accent mysteriously faded.
“The Big Boss, or your father?” Joe B. asked.
“Um – yore Big Boss,” Daddy Bill’s attention snapped back. “Now, what you want is this fine piece of foreign engineering.”
“I’m not sure he just wants to make me miserable. But what else co
uld he be thinking?” Joe B. stared at his feet as he followed Daddy Bill absent-mindedly. He suddenly realized he was face-to-face with a car as big as a whale, complete with fins.
“Oh, what’s the use?” Joe B. intoned. “I can’t make a decision. Now I think no matter what I do, it’ll backfire on me. Whatever I drive home, my family will be too afraid to tell me what they think of it, but my friends won’t be able to stop laughing at it. Every new turn of events torments me, and it all goes back to the Big Boss. I just wish I could know why he’s angry with me.”
“Your friends won’t make fun of you. Keep your mind on the car. Why, five million Frenchmen drive this car.”
Joe B. made an effort to look interested. “It looks like they did,” he said, inspecting the sagging undercarriage. “What about those bugs on the windshield? Are they standard, or will they cost me extra?”
“Now, no need to get nasty. Just take your mind off that car. I’ll find you something.”
“Just sell me anything. I can’t concentrate. Making any kind of choice is like playing roulette – you pick a number and spin the wheel, then the ball flies out and hits you in the eye. It’s like running a marathon over broken glass when your shoelaces are tied together in some tangled Gordian knot. Why’s it so tough to get through this life? It shouldn’t be so hard to figure out – it’s not rocket surgery! It’s not concert pianism!”
“Why are you still talking such nonsense?” Daddy Bill broke in. “I can’t make head nor tail of what you’re saying. ‘Pianism?’ You know, around here something close to English is speaken – er, spoken. ‘Gordianot!’ What kind of hifalutin talk is that? Now here’s a sweet little sedan –.”
“All I’m saying is it’s totally arbitrary. Maybe I do deserve to be demoted to the mailroom, but if I do then surely everyone does. My service to the Big Boss maybe wasn’t so great, but it was as good as anyone else’s. But nobody will take my part before the Big Boss. I can’t see him, and nobody else will talk to him for me. I need someone to stand up for me. And until that happens, until I can be either vindicated or told what my misdeeds are, I won’t quit! Nobody can make me quit!”
“No, don’t quit. How you gonna pay for this vehicle if you quit?”
“If only someone would stand up for me,” Joe B. said again.
“What good would that do, anyway? Son, I’ve heard all about your Big Boss, and he’s not the type to listen to anyone. He’s the type who thinks he always knows everything that’s going on. You made mistakes, boy – at least he thinks you did. That’s all that matters. And so you’re paying the price. Now, just cast your peepers on this fine Studebaker –.” A sign on it read “Make an offer.”
“That’s just the point – if I made mistakes, I’ll never know what they were, because nobody will tell me. Just tell me what they were!”
“You say that over and over! You sound like a broken record!”
“What’s that?” Joe B. asked, betrayed by his advanced technological experience.
“Well, back when we had the phonograph” – Joe B. gave Daddy Bill a puzzled look – “Oh, never mind. You just need to get off this constant complaining. You’re obviously never going to get any answer out of your Big Boss. Life now is as good for you as it’s going to get, so it’s better for you to just be afraid of your Big Boss, and not expect anything better from him.”
“But I don’t want to be afraid of him. I’m stuck in the middle with nowhere else to go. All I can do is hang in there and adjust – I need a cheap car – will you please stop distracting me and sell me a car?”
Daddy Bill gave him a disgusted look, but then the shimmering dollar signs returned to his pupils, and again the two picked their way through the lot. Before long, Joe B. was easing the VW bus out of the drive, nearly jarring the rear bumper loose as he bounced off the curb. The long bench seat stretched out to his right, and before him the dashboard proudly displayed its speedometer and AM radio, complete with five preset buttons. From the floorboard emerged a spindly gearshift, reaching up like a skeletal arm from the grave. As he parked in front of his house, his wife turned silently away from the window and let the pulled drape fall back into place.
“You expect me to drive that thing?” she greeted him.
“I’m afraid so.”
“In public?” she displayed her horror.
“Well, that’s where most of the streets are.”
“This just isn’t fair!”
“I know,” Joe B. tried to comfort her. “But it suits our needs for now, and we even got some cash back for our SUV. Eventually I’ll get to the Big Boss and straighten all this out.”
“Your Big Boss!” she replied through taut lips. “May he never die, until I shoot him!”
The afternoon waned, and evening began to draw to a close. As drowsiness began to bring bedtime chores to mind, three-year-old Hope approached Joe B.
“Daddy, what’s a hanker-chef?”
“What? I don’t know – a cook with a cold? Why do you ask?”
“Mommy says you should take yours and go blow your nose.”
“Oh. Well, she’s just frustrated. So am I.”
The time came to prepare Marie for bed. Profoundly beset by cerebral palsy, she was unable to see to any of her own needs. She had endured and survived a number of complications over her short number of years, nearly dying twice, only to be saved through treatment at a large medical facility. Joe B. and his wife had passed long hours in the center’s family care unit, receiving tender care from support staff even as doctors and nurses worked tirelessly to save Marie. She pulled through each time, and now spent her days bound to a wheelchair, signing a few simple words and smiling. Joe B. fed her the fifth small meal of her day, carefully wiping the remains of each tiny mouthful from her chin. Sips of juice dribbled onto her bib, utensils and napkins accidentally flew onto the floor, and gurgles of laughter danced off the walls.
Then it was off to the tub, where Joe B. supported Marie’s frail body while his wife bathed her. Next, the kitchen sink, Marie’s head propped upon the edge to get her hair washed. Gingerly sudsing and rinsing, then lovingly drying with towel and blower, Joe B. hoisted the delicate bundle into her specialized bed. Her rigid limbs made dressing difficult, but Joe B. had perfected a system that quickly made her cozy warm in her fuzzy flannels.
Two hours spent, he gazed deep into her eyes, wondering about futures past. Thoughts raced through Marie’s little brain, never to gain expression. Joe B. studied the sparkle in her bright iris, then watched it fade. A glaze overcame her face, and an alarm blared in Joe B.’s head. She was sinking into a seizure. Her hands gestured blankly, suspended in time, and her body wrenched slightly. Joe B. reached to take her up in his arms, to caress her straining muscles and coo her mind into calm. She twitched again and vomited the whole of her dinner, on Joe B., on her pajamas, her hair, on her sheets. In but a moment she relaxed, relieved but limp after her ordeal, soiled and spent.
And so did the routine begin again. Marie coughed and moaned as she was lowered back into the tub. As Joe B.’s wife took care of Hope and started the laundry, Faith, at eleven years old already a little adult, helped her dad gingerly wash the folds of Marie’s ears and the corners of her eyelashes. She picked up extra towels and shampoo as Joe B. carried his gasping daughter back to the kitchen counter to clean her hair a second time. Lying there helpless, Marie’s body startled again. A panicked look flooded over her face, and she coughed and gagged with another seizure.
Years of seeing and not understanding boiled up within Faith. Standing by her sister’s head, she couldn’t take any more. “This just isn’t fair!” she cried, and tears spilled out over her cheeks.
Joe B.’s wife, crossing the room, stopped in her tracks.
Little Marie, hardly able to squeak out a single word, reached her contorted hand to Faith’s face and wiped at a tear. Plainly she said, “Faith. No.”
At last she was clean and calm, and fell into restless sleep after a spare sn
ack of crackers and juice. The family members spread to different parts of the house, each to seek a separate peace. Joe B. arrived in the bathroom, weeping and cursing and praying.
The darkness grew yet more deep, and Faith first crawled into the sanctuary of bed, then later her mother, and finally Joe B. The room filled with heavy blackness and sighing. As he contemplated the invisible ceiling and what lay beyond, and the hole he felt within his heart, no lack of light could hide the redness of Joe B.’s eyes.
“With all the hurt and burdens the world has laid on Marie, still she cares more about Faith’s suffering than her own.”
“Faith put me to shame tonight,” added his wife without turning from her side. Quietly her chest heaved with heartbreak.
“Every time Marie tries to take a step, or signs a word, or smiles, she overcomes all the evil the fall has dumped on her. She wins a battle over everything that’s against her, over everything that God hates. She is the mightiest warrior in this family,” Joe B. replied. “I can do at least as much.”
