Last Bus to Coffeeville

by J. Paul Henderson

  Daniel had changed the topic of conversation at that point: ‘So what are you up to these days, Jeff?’ he asked.

  ‘Still pitching, Daniel, still pitching.’

  ‘Like in baseball?’ Eric asked.

  ‘No, kid, I pitch ideas to television studios and publishing companies. I’m hoping to get some interest from one of the studios in Los Angeles next week. I can’t write worth a damn but I do get these ideas. You ever heard of The Dwarf Detective?’

  ‘No,’ Eric replied. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Well, he’s this detective who’s a dwarf and specialises in high-altitude cases,’ Jeff said, now unusually serious.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Eric said.

  ‘It’s simple really. He’s a dwarf with the head the size of a watermelon, but he’s bright as a button. He’s got this kind of computer-type mind that can make connections most other detectives can’t. He’s good at ground level – on the mean streets so to speak – but he really comes into his own at high altitudes, like the Himalayas or the Andes, because he’s small and compact and never gets altitude sickness like most of the other detectives, who are all taller. So he gets to travel to some great locations and this is what the studios like. One of the cable networks in New York picked it up and it’s already achieved cult status, especially among the little people.’

  ‘And tell Daniel just what you got paid for it,’ Jeff’s wife, Anna said. Her manner was disparaging, and his Aunt Anna didn’t strike Eric as being the supportive wife his own mother was.

  ‘Okay, it was only $5,000, but if other networks take it up, the money will start pouring in,’ Jeff said.

  ‘What are you going to pitch in Los Angeles?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Thanks for asking, Sarah. If I’m honest, I think this is my best idea yet. Provisionally, I’m calling it The Magic Boy series. I’m setting this one in England. It’s about an orphaned boy called Barry Cotter who lives out in the country with a brutish foster family. He discovers he’s got these magic powers after he discovers an old trigonometric point on the moor close to where he lives. If he walks around it three times, he gets transported to this other world full of wizards and witches, and it’s a real good versus evil story. I’m thinking this one is for the film studios rather than TV.’

  ‘But Dad,’ Susan laughed, ‘you’ve just described the Harry Potter books!’

  ‘Who’s Harry Potter?’ Jeff asked.

  ‘Oh come on, Dad, everyone’s heard of Harry Potter!’

  (This was the birth point of the Magic Boy litigation that Jeff had alluded to in his letter to Eric. He became convinced that a publishing company or TV studio he’d mentioned his idea to, had stolen it and developed it with some woman called JK Rowling, though he couldn’t be certain that he hadn’t also mentioned the idea to some random person he’d met in a bar and struck up a conversation with. The resulting litigation cost him his savings and his marriage, which at this time already appeared to be on shaky ground.)

  What Eric remembered most about the visit was Susan. At the time of the visit, Eric had been eight and Susan seventeen. As far as Eric was concerned, Susan was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen; she smelled of patchouli oil and wore clothes which adhered to the minimalist principle of covering as little of her body as possible while still remaining legal. What Eric also liked about her was that she talked to him as an equal and not some small kid; he had no doubts that when he was old enough, they would get married.

  They went everywhere together: to the beach, to the amusement park and to the movies; they sat in diners and talked endlessly, Eric oblivious to the furtive looks that came Susan’s way from older boys and men. In fact they did everything together except the drugs, which sensibly, Susan decided to do by herself.

  It was the drug taking that caused the Lawrence family’s expulsion from the Gole house. The drug in question was plain and simple marijuana. Maybe Daniel might have excused this as a teenage aberration, had Susan not substituted two pages of the Gole family Bible after running out of rolling papers. To Daniel, this act was sacrilegious and there was no room for compromise. Jeff’s mitigating argument that the pages had only been torn from the Book of Leviticus was to Daniel completely irrelevant.

  When the Lawrences left the next morning and checked into a hotel, Eric was heartbroken. It was only after Sarah pleaded with his father that Daniel relented, and allowed Eric to accompany the Lawrences to the Paul McCartney concert.

  The only time Susan’s name was ever mentioned in the house again was two years later. Eric had walked into the living room and overheard his parents mentioning her name and holding a letter from Jeff.

  ‘How is she?’ Eric asked.

  ‘Difficult to tell.’ replied his father. ‘According to Jeff, she’s dropped out of college and become a Polish dancer.’ This wasn’t what Jeff had actually written, but Daniel had presumed he’d made a grammatical mistake and unilaterally corrected ‘pole’ to Polish, though he did wonder why Susan had become attracted to Eastern European folk dancing. He’d also thought, however, that other than steroids, these Eastern Europeans wouldn’t tolerate any drug use on her part, so maybe it was good news after all.

  On the day of the funeral, Eric woke early and pulled back the curtains. Fog had rolled in from the sea during the night and still lingered. By the end of the day, all physical evidence of his parents’ existence would have disappeared into another hole, the second hole in a matter of weeks; there his mother and father would lie next to each other for eternity. Eric would remain on the surface.

  It still hadn’t been decided what would happen to Eric. Arthur Annandale and his wife, although happy to take care of Eric for a couple of weeks, were in no position to either adopt or foster him if it meant that Eric would actually have to live with them. Arthur knew he had trouble connecting with children, but explained the impossibility of such a situation by intimating Mrs Annandale’s nervous disposition and weak heart as the real reasons.

  The Lawrence family, the only identifiable relatives, had apparently imploded. Jeff and his wife were divorced and Jeff was now in prison. Arthur had read the letter Jeff had written and come to the quick conclusion that, mentally, Jeff’s train had left its tracks.

  Money, however, would never be an issue for Eric: his parents had both taken out hefty life insurance policies; Daniel’s pension from the university would pay out another lump sum; and the house was now mortgage free. As both Daniel and Sarah had been only children, they had also inherited their parents’ assets, and consequently their savings and share portfolios were substantial. Eric was told these monies would be placed in trust until his twenty-fifth birthday; meanwhile a monthly allowance would be forthcoming and all costs of schooling and college paid for.

  It was arranged that his father’s attorney would become his legal guardian, and that Eric would go to boarding school in San Francisco. On holidays, he would be welcome to visit with the Annandales or stay with The Reverend Pete and his family. What Eric really wanted to do, however, was find Susan and live with her. He determined that as soon after the funeral as possible, he would head to the correctional facility where Jeff was incarcerated and find out from him where she was.

  Considering that Daniel and Sarah had few close friends, the turnout at the funeral was big. The bizarre nature of their deaths had captured the interest and imagination of the local media, and Eric, the orphaned son, was the icing on the ultimate human interest cake story. The closed caskets lay side by side at the front of the church, and Eric sat in the front pew between Arthur and the mother of one of his friends. The arms placed around him brought warmth to his shoulders in the air-conditioned church, but little comfort. The music was sad, The Reverend Pete’s eulogy even sadder, and poor Eric just cried and cried, desperately alone; the leftover of what had once been a family.

  Standing at the graveside, and aware of his father’s penchant for sand, Eric threw two handfuls on to the coffins. As The Reverend Pete intoned the final pra
yers, the last of Eric’s tears spilled from his eyes and rolled down his young crumpled face.

  Returning to his room at the Annandale house, Eric found an envelope containing photographs on his bed. The photographs had been developed from film found inside Daniel’s camera at the Abu Rawash site, and forwarded to Eric by Wally. There were photographs of the hotel his parents had stayed in; photographs of Cairo; photographs of the Great Pyramid, the Sphinx and other pyramids; photographs of the desert and his parents riding camels; photographs of the Abu Rawash site and…

  Eric shuddered. At the very bottom of the six-by-four print he held in his hand, were the two heads of his parents, looks of surprised wonder on their faces. Above their heads – and the unintended subject of the photograph – a vast ocean of blue, blue sky.

  Slow, but not Deaf

  Talbot Academy was a small traditional school committed to Christ-centred education. Its teachings were based on the principles and values of the Bible, and its pupils were expected to live lives of character and faith. It also promoted the love of freedom and loyalty to the United States by enforcing a strict dress code and discouraging slovenliness. What had escaped the notice of those now responsible for Eric’s education, however, was that Talbot Academy was a school for the deaf and operated in a signing environment.

  Talbot Academy had been one of three Christian boarding schools shortlisted by Arthur Annandale in conjunction with The Reverend Pete; while both men had known the school by its Christian reputation, neither had been aware of its special-needs association. They handed the list to William Strey, Eric’s legal guardian, and allowed him to make the final decision.

  Strey conducted no research of his own into the three schools, and chose Talbot simply because Talbot was the maiden name of his wife. He handed the paperwork for Eric’s fall enrolment to Elizabeth Mills, a newly-appointed legal secretary. She was conscious that Talbot Academy was a school for the deaf, but never having met Eric had no reason to believe that the Gole boy wasn’t deaf.

  It had been originally agreed that Arthur Annandale and his wife would drive Eric to the academy, but all plans were cancelled after Alice was rushed to hospital with stomach pains. The Reverend Pete was out of town and Strey tied up in court. It therefore fell to Elizabeth to take Eric to San Francisco.

  At the Academy, he was greeted by Mrs Isabelle Armitage, a portly woman in her mid-fifties who wore flat-heeled shoes and no make-up. She spoke to Eric in a strange and unusually loud voice, simultaneously gesturing with her hands.

  ‘HELLO, ERIC. WELCOME TO TALBOT ACADEMY. I HOPE YOUR STAY WITH US WILL BE A HAPPY ONE.’

  Eric thanked her and said he felt sure that it would be.

  ‘YOUR LIP-READING IS EXCELLENT, ERIC, AND SO TOO IS YOUR DICTION. BUT YOU’LL HAVE TO USE SIGN LANGUAGE WITH MOST OF THE STUDENTS HERE.’

  Eric had no idea what she meant by this, but gave her a thumbs up to show willing. In return, Mrs Armitage gave him a thumbs up and smiled broadly. After ten minutes of stilted conversation, there was a knock on the door and a boy about Eric’s age came into the room.

  ‘ERIC, I’D LIKE YOU TO MEET CRAIG. CRAIG WILL HELP YOU SETTLE IN.’

  Craig piloted Eric to a hall of residence two buildings distant from the administrative block, and came to a halt outside a door on its first floor. Eric understood from Craig that this would be his room during his stay at Talbot College but, in truth, that was all he did understand: the sounds emanating from Craig’s mouth were generally unintelligible, and he presumed that his guide’s presence on campus was to fulfil a required quota for government funding. He smiled kindly at Craig, who responded with more of the same curious hand signs Mrs Armitage had made. Eric gave him a thumbs up identical to the one he’d given the Principal and Craig then left, a look of puzzlement on his face.

  Classes at Talbot Academy didn’t start for a further two days, and Eric spent most of that time either in his room or in the school’s cafeteria. Craig had seemingly decided his duty of care to Eric had been fulfilled, and signed to his friends that the new boy was quiet and said very little.

  ‘ALL I GOT OUT OF HIM WAS A THUMBS UP!’ he shrugged. ‘IT WAS LIKE GETTING BLOOD OUT OF A STONE. I THINK HE MIGHT BE HERE ON ONE OF THOSE QUOTA DEALS.’

  The first day of classes arrived, and Eric took a seat towards the back of the classroom. As his new teacher started to speak, Eric found himself straining to catch the words. He raised his hand and asked if he might relocate to a desk nearer the front.

  ‘WHY?’ Mr Dexter asked.

  ‘I can’t hear you, sir. I’m not deaf or anything, but I’m having problems with your accent.’

  ‘NONE OF US HERE IS DEAF…’ Mr Dexter looked down at the register, ‘ERIC. WE DON’T USE THAT WORD ANYMORE. THESE DAYS WE REFER TO OURSELVES AS HEARING IMPAIRED. CAN’T YOU SEE MY SIGNING FROM THERE? YOU’RE NOT BLIND AS WELL ARE YOU – SORRY, I MEAN VISUALLY IMPAIRED?’

  ‘No, sir. I’m not blind or hearing impaired. I’m normal.’

  There was a small gasp in the room when the teacher signed Eric’s words to the rest of the class. The school prided itself on engendering a positive deaf identity among its students, and the word normal was at all costs avoided.

  Mr Dexter temporarily halted proceedings and took Eric to Mrs Armitage’s office.

  ‘HE SAYS HE’S NOT HEARING IMPAIRED, MRS ARMITAGE.’

  ‘OF COURSE YOU’RE HEARING IMPAIRED, ERIC. WHY ELSE WOULD YOUR PARENTS HAVE SENT YOU TO A DEAF SCHOOL?’

  ‘My parents are dead, Mrs Armitage. I think my guardian’s made a mistake.’

  Mrs Armitage looked puzzled. She opened Eric’s file and found a contact number. William Strey answered the phone and confirmed that a dreadful mistake had indeed been made. Eric was a little slow, he admitted, but he certainly wasn’t deaf.

  ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT, MR STREY? ARE YOU SAYING THAT BEING SLOW AND HEARING IMPAIRED ARE THE SAME THINGS, OR MAYBE YOU’RE SAYING THAT BEING DEAF IS WORSE THAN BEING SLOW?’

  Strey apologised for his careless choice of words and asked if he might call her back in the afternoon.

  Eric was as unhappy with his guardian’s use of words as Mrs Armitage had been. Who was William Strey to call him a little slow? How could anyone with a solid C average ever be considered slow?

  Eric and Mr Dexter returned to the classroom and, after explaining Eric’s plight to the rest of the class, Dexter suggested they spend a moment in silent prayer. The students looked pityingly at Eric and then bowed their heads. In that moment, no one prayed harder than normal Eric.

  After Mrs Armitage’s phone call, Strey made phone calls of his own, but was unable to find an opening for Eric at any other boarding school; all places had long since been filled and there would be no vacancies until spring. As Eric currently had board and lodging at Talbot Academy, Strey arranged with Mrs Armitage for him to spend the remainder of the fall semester there. Mrs Armitage, however, made a stipulation: Eric was to take a crash course in American Sign Language. Strey had readily agreed – the boy was once more out of his hair.

  The arrangement, however, mattered little to Eric. He’d never intended remaining in school for more than a few weeks, whichever school had been chosen for him. His aim had always been to abscond and go looking for Susan, and with this objective in mind, he had already written a letter to Jeff. While he waited for a reply, he learned what he could from the classes he attended, and struggled with the sign language that threatened his exemplary C average. In his spare time he continued to read the Bible and compile a list of its dead.

  By the time Eric had enrolled at Talbot College, he’d already read the Books of Genesis, Exodus and Leviticus. They hadn’t been the easiest of reads, and it had proved more difficult than expected to make an accurate tabulation of those who died. He drew up lists of dead that were named, dead that were specified in number but unnamed, and dead who were both unnamed and unspecified in number.

  Of the 3,614 specified dead, only nine had names: Abel, murdered by
his brother Cain in a fit of jealousy; Mrs Lot, turned by God into a pillar of salt for disobedience; Shecham and his father Hamor, killed by Jacob for the former’s defilement of his daughter Dinah; Er, one of Jacob’s sons, killed by God for wickedness; Onan, Er’s brother, killed by God for spilling his seed on the ground; King Amalek, killed by Joshua; and Nadab and Abihu, the sons of the chief priest Aaron, burnt to a crisp by God for getting an offering ceremony wrong.

  In the category of Almost Named But Not Quite were two men killed by Lamech, a descendant of Cain, for either wounding or striking him; the Pharaoh of Egypt’s chief baker hanged by order of the Pharaoh; several people who fell into bitumen pits; an Egyptian killed by Moses for beating a Hebrew slave; a man of mixed Israeli and Egyptian parentage killed by the Israelis for blasphemy; six hundred Egyptian charioteers drowned in the Red Sea while pursuing the fleeing Israelis; and three thousand Israelis killed by the sons of Levi for building and worshipping a golden calf while Moses was up a mountain talking to God.

  And then came the non-specified numbers: the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah; the male inhabitants of the city ruled by King Hamor; the people ruled by King Amalek; the world at the time of Noah destroyed by a flood; amorphous battle casualties; Egyptians killed by hailstones sent by God; Egyptian first-borns killed by a plague sent by God; and more of Pharaoh’s army of horsemen and charioteers, drowned in the Red Sea while trying to recapture their old slaves.

  And then Jeff’s letter arrived, short but to the point. He said he’d very much welcome a visit from Eric and that he was now back in contact with Susan. He warned him, however, not to contact the prison authorities for an official visiting permit as, being a minor, he would be refused unless accompanied by an adult. Rather, he should just turn up at the gate and ask for Big Guy, a prison guard who was now his friend. He ended by saying he would shelve his plans for escape until after Eric visited, and looked forward to seeing him again. He signed off as he’d signed off his previous letter: Yours in Prison, Jeff.