by Minick, Jim;
I was such a fool to fall in love with them. Such a fool to think they could say exactly what I meant. They never touch the truth of a thing, they only point toward it.
Which is another way to say this: words are all lies. Don’t believe me? Then try to define just this one. Try to define god.
Can’t be done. Let me tell you, I have tried, and nothing comes close. Except silence. He even said so: Be still and know that I am God. But why the hell did he give us words, then? Jesus. I wonder if he ever regrets it all? Says, I sure fucked that up.
It’s like language became its own little demon-god. It doesn’t want you to shut up. Demands that you chatter on and on. When do we stop and just listen? In a quiet world, what would we find?
More miracles. Maybe more gods.
47
The pain never stopped, especially during debridement. He suffered the steam of the whirlpool only to leave flotillas of swirling scabs.
Then Dr. Roberts came in. “You’re looking better, my boy. You’re getting itchy, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for a response. “The burns weren’t as deep here and here,” he said as he touched Will’s cheek and forehead, “and that new skin is already spreading.” He lifted Will’s chin. “A couple more days and we won’t have to debride from here up.”
The doctor inspected his arm. “The swelling’s gone way down, and here”—he pointed to Will’s bicep—“you have more new tissue.” For the first time, Will saw this new skin, a web of melted wax, folds of pink and shiny yellow bordered by the raw redness, all of it incredibly ugly.
“Move your arm for me,” Dr. Roberts instructed.
Will bent his elbow and grimaced.
“That’s not enough. Try it again.”
When Will opened his arm, the doctor pressed on his shoulder and wrist, forcing the muscles to rip. Will screamed.
“Wrap the bandages a little looser,” Dr. Roberts told the nurses, “and make sure he stretches.”
Next, he pinched Will’s thumb. “Can you feel that?”
Will nodded.
“Speak to me. Here?”
A “yes, sir,” with each finger. But still no sensation in the little finger. “The swelling’s down, so I’m not worried about that finger anymore. It’s getting blood. Eventually those nerves will grow back.”
Dr. Roberts placed Will’s hand on the table. “Now, move those fingers.”
Will wiggled them a little.
“Spread them wide.”
They moved slightly.
“Make a fist.”
Will’s fist looked like a cup. He couldn’t even touch thumb to finger.
Dr. Roberts frowned. Again, he grabbed Will with both hands, this time one at his wrist, the other on his fingertips. Slowly the doctor bent each finger and thumb inward, and slowly he pushed each one back out. Several times he did this, the pain so sharp Will wanted to punch him. Instead, he grabbed the chair with his good hand and howled.
Nurse Young wiped Will’s tears. The doctor waited for Will to look at him. “You might think I love torturing you, but I don’t. We have to get your joints moving. Otherwise the scar tissue will contract and you’ll lose a whole range of motion, from your shoulder to your fingers. You understand?”
Will nodded and quickly added, “Yes, sir.”
“See how you can only partially open that hand? That’s the skin healing. But scar tissue grows back tighter than a tourniquet on a tick, so you have to stretch it constantly. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, sir.” Will’s voice squeaked.
“Now, let’s listen to those lungs.” Holding his stethoscope to Will’s chest, he asked him to breathe deeply. “It’s happening to your lungs, too. They’re healing, but they’re also contracting. That’s why your voice sounds funny. Now, I know you had some ladies in here singing with you. How many songs did you sing?”
“Two.”
“That’s not enough. I need to hear you talking and singing a lot more, OK?”
Will nodded.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” The doctor stepped past the nurses and out the door.
“I think I’m going to faint,” Will mumbled to Nurse Hallett.
“Just rest while we work on you. You’ll be all right in a bit.” As they made Will a mummy again, Nurse Hallett said, “He can act like a mean old codger, but he’s really a good doctor. One time when he was on vacation, he even sewed up a stranded whale.”
The orderly helped Will back to his bed.
GROGGY from lack of sleep, Ada plodded into the afternoon sun, the wind full of the scent of fresh-cut alfalfa. Across the road, her father waved from his tractor and pointed upward before steering out of sight. In the top of the maple, she spotted the black bird. It had been watching her father; now it stared at her.
“Cicero?”
The bird flew in a broad sweep over the barn. He cawed and landed back in the maple.
“Hello, Cicero,” Ada called.
The raven gave a guttural cark.
“Wait a minute.” She ran into the barn to grab a handful of dog kibble. Back outside, she threw it onto the ground. “Here.”
Cicero watched, bobbed his head, but didn’t fly.
“It’s dog kibble. It’s all I got right now,” she shouted and stepped away.
The raven glided to the ground, keeping the food between them. He gave a low bell-like sound, cocked his head before grabbing a piece and flying back to the tree.
Ada shaded her eyes. “There’s plenty more,” she called.
Cicero swooped closer. He pecked a piece, and this time, he didn’t fly away.
“It’s good, isn’t it?”
The bird stayed silent, lifting its beak to swallow.
“Will is OK,” Ada said.
Cicero stopped eating, looked at her.
“Will is OK. He’s in the hospital. He’ll be there for a while.”
Cicero looked away.
“He’s hurt bad, but he’s going to be OK.”
Cicero ate more kibble.
Ada folded her arms. “I just wanted you to know.”
Then Cicero said, “OK.”
“OK,” Ada repeated.
“OK,” the bird echoed.
IN the afternoon, a state trooper knocked on Will’s door. He carried a clipboard and took off his hat when he greeted Will and Aunt Amanda.
“I’m Sergeant Chamberlain.” His voice was deep, his eyes somehow too small for his round face. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to ask you a few questions. The doctor said this might be a good time. Is it?”
Will nodded, and Aunt Amanda said, “Please, have a seat.”
“No thank you, ma’am.” To Will, he said, “I see you’ve had a hard time of it.” He paused. “I’m investigating the explosion that occurred at the Blue Mountain Esso Station on August ninth, 1953. That accident caused your burns, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you tell me what you remember? Start with what you were doing before it happened.”
Will didn’t want to put words to this, but here was the question, that one simple question—what happened?
Aunt Amanda interrupted the long silence. “Are you all right with this, Will?”
Will nodded and began. “Johnny Hilton and I were huddled in the shade of the restaurant. Because of the heat and the slow traffic. Just trying to make it through the shift.
“Then the rental truck pulled up. It was my turn, so I headed out. Johnny yelled, ‘Be careful,’ because last month another rental almost hit a guy. When I got to the truck, the driver said to fill’r up, and then he disappeared into the restaurant. I opened the tank, and a whole gush of fumes hit me in the face, it was that empty. I turned on the pump, stuck the nozzle, and clicked it on. But the trigger flicked off. I squeezed it again, and that’s when I saw a spark down in the neck, I guess where the nozzle tip must’ve hit metal. Then, the whole thing blew.”
The sergeant wait
ed, but Will didn’t say any more. “Were you smoking at the time?”
“No, sir.”
Aunt Amanda added, “Will has never smoked in all his life.”
“Was anyone else smoking nearby?”
“No, sir, not that I’m aware of. Johnny was working on the other island. He smokes, but he’s real careful to do it away from the pumps. And I didn’t see any customers nearby.”
“I was looking out the window when this happened,” Aunt Amanda said, “and I didn’t see anyone nearby either.”
Chamberlain looked at her this time. “So you saw the whole event?”
“Yes, I did, and all I saw was one moment Will working on this truck and the next, a big boom and fire and Will flying through the air, all on fire. Oh, it was awful.”
The sergeant made a note. “So you think you saw a spark?” he asked Will.
“I guess when the metal struck metal. I’m not sure. I never thought aluminum could spark. What do you think caused the explosion?”
“I don’t think anyone will know for sure. I’ve talked to everyone involved, including Mr. Hilton, who verified all of what you just said. I also talked with fire experts at the state capital. One fellow mentioned that under the right conditions—including high heat, like that day—aluminum can strike other metals and spark. And that tank neck was heavy steel. So, that’s what I’m filing as the cause in my report.”
The trooper asked a few more questions. When he finished, he thanked them and left.
Will and Aunt Amanda didn’t talk for a long while after.
THAT evening, Will seemed happier. Ada could almost see his smile under those bandages. She had waited for this.
“Mama sent you some shoofly pie. She had to wrap it special to let me sneak it in. And I brought you something else.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the handkerchief with the “M.J.B.” monogram. “I thought you might want this back.”
Will looked startled. “Oh, Ada, I’m sorry about that whole damn day. I never should’ve forced Cicero on you, and I never expected him to take your earring. Then all I could do was watch you ride off. I’ve been wanting to apologize ever since.”
“Well, you should. You and that bird both. Here I thought you were seeing another woman, and I just couldn’t believe it. Finally, I told Aunt Amanda. When she looked at this hankie, she held it a long time before telling me who it really belonged to.” Ada placed the cloth in his good hand. “I wish I had known your mother.”
“Me, too.”
Will examined the handkerchief.
“I saw Cicero today,” Ada said.
“You did! How is he?”
“To use his words, ‘OK.’” Ada mocked the raven’s deep croak.
The laughter caused Will to wheeze and cough.
Ada told about the encounter. “He didn’t make any noise for the longest time until I repeated that you were OK. Then he looked at me and said, ‘OK.’ It was like he understood.”
“I think that bird knows way more than we do.”
A nurse entered and gave him another shot of morphine and then left.
Before the drug set in, Will asked what he’d been wondering for a long time. “Right after the explosion, when you knelt beside me—what were you saying?”
“A powwow chant. To take the fire out.”
“Will it work on me?” His voice was a whisper.
“I don’t know.” She stroked his hand. “Your burns are so deep . . . but I think it’s helping.”
Ada told him about the only other time she’d healed a burn. It was winter, and she had just learned to heal when her brother burned his hand while stoking the stove. “He came running into the barn, holding his burned hand close. We all rushed to see. He thrust that wound right into my face and said, ‘Help it.’
“That red welt on the back of his hand was huge. I bent close, like Uncle Mark taught me, and recited the chant.”
She wondered how much more to say.
“When I powwow, my hands tingle. They get all warm and hot. As soon as I touched Nathan, the tingling started. I said the chant three times, close to the burn, in a whisper, so only God and the Devil could hear. When I finished, we couldn’t see any changes in the burn, but Nathan started shouting, ‘It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt anymore.’ We all hugged, and Papa held the hand up to the light to have a closer look. Then right there with the cows waiting to be milked, Mama had us kneel in the straw and give thanks.”
“What do you say?”
“In a chant?”
Will nodded.
Ada was silent for a moment. “You have to believe, you have to have faith. It’s a secret that can be handed down only from one powwow doctor to another, and only from man to woman, woman to man. I’d tell you, but I don’t think you’re ready to start healing others.”
“You never know.” Then he added, “Your hands are tingling now, aren’t they?”
Ada said yes and squeezed his hand as he drifted to sleep.
48
One afternoon, Dickson stood in the doorway.
“Why, come in, Buddy,” Aunt Amanda greeted him. “I wondered if you might visit.”
Will opened his eyes at the sound of voices. His boss held his cap and fidgeted.
Aunt Amanda stretched. “I’m going to take a break. Let you two catch up. I won’t be long.” She disappeared out the door.
“How they been treating you?” Dickson moved to the foot of the bed.
“All right, I reckon.”
“Are you eating?”
Will raised his good arm with the IV tube. “Doc said it won’t be long before they let me feed myself. But I’ve eaten a few goodies snuck in.”
Dickson looked at the flowers. “Everyone’s been asking about you. Figured it was time I visited.” He tapped his thigh. “I almost brought the broom and shovel in case this place needed swept. Thought you might be bored or something.” He glanced at Will, cleared his throat. “That was Scoop’s idea. I never was very good at jokes.”
Will held back his grin. “How’s everyone at the station?”
“They’re fine. Traffic’s been steady. No one’s been sick. Dino still complains about the night shift. You know how he is. We’re getting along.” He stared out the window. “Last week, a crew came and tore down the burnt pumps and shelter. They’re supposed to come back and build us a new one tomorrow. Did Chamberlain, that trooper, come talk to you?”
Will said yes.
They both stayed silent for a long while.
“I brought you something.” Dickson opened his bag. “I know how much you like that raven, so I thought this might help pass some time.” He placed a large book on Will’s lap. “It’s about all the birds in the Bible. I thought you could read it and learn some things. Or Aunt Amanda might read it to you.”
“Thanks, Buddy.” Will leafed through the pages.
“You know, everyone’s praying for you, Will.”
Will flipped more pages.
“Our church and the other one in Doylesburg and the two in Spring Run, and the ones on this side of the mountain there around the station. We all have faith that God will heal you. He might even heal you faster if you believed in Him.”
Will slammed the book closed. “Thanks for the book, Buddy.” His voice held steady, even though he hated its high pitch.
“You know, when I heard how bad you were burned, the first thing I thought was he’s not saved. Will Burk is on Death’s doorstep, and he might go to hell. Might never see his mother or his father.”
“Listen, Buddy. I don’t need your church or all the others. And I don’t need to be saved. I’m fine enough as is.”
“Is that so?”
“Now, leave me alone.”
Dickson pulled out another, smaller book. “I’ll just leave this here on the table.”
Will recognized the red cover of a Gideon’s Bible as Buddy slid it beside his water.
Dickson pulled on his cap and walked out the door without saying
goodbye.
Why can’t the damn do-gooders just leave me alone? At least Aunt Amanda didn’t badger him about going to church anymore, but she probably wouldn’t ever understand. Nor Ada. It was not that he loved doubt. He just couldn’t stand so much blind belief.
Sure, it’d be nice to know what happened when you died. But no one knew. That’s just how it was. So we made up stories to fill in the emptiness. Heaven, the story. Hell, the story. God, the story. They might exist. They might not. Who knew? No reason.
This was all there was, folks. And damn Dickson for thinking he knew more.
Cicero knew more, that was for sure. From the day he hatched, he understood that this world was heaven, not the next world or the last one, but this one. He didn’t fly around worrying about the future of his soul or about the sky falling. He just flew through that sky, sure of it.
It was like when Will used to play his saxophone in the empty grain bin, one bare bulb lighting the small space, the tongue-and-groove walls tight, the wood dark. He’d run through some scales to clear his head. Then he’d wander off with a melody, following it as far as he could. Sometimes he found a kind of haunted wholeness.
He reached for his water and smiled at the little Gideon’s. Dickson had given him at least three of these along with scads of pamphlets. Cicero loved every one of them. He ripped the pages, shredding the onion-skin paper, and he made confetti of the pamphlets. When he flapped his wings, he made a biblical snowstorm, the words floating around the room.
Here’s another one for you, ol’ Cicero. Just come get it.
IN the evening, Ada showed up with Woody Watson, and Will was glad to see his old friend.
“Howdy, ol’ Whip. How you doing?” Woody looked Will over, eyeing the bandages. “Looks like those pretty nurses are taking good care of you.” They talked about the station and their coworkers. Woody had a girlfriend, a new HoJo’s girl named Louise. “And boy, can she dip some ice cream.” Woody winked at Ada as she blushed. Will blushed, too, though no one could see it under his bandages.
