Roadside Bodhisattva

by Di Filippo, Paul

  “Don’t mind the water wrinkles. They soften the calluses.”

  Sue had to shift her load to her left arm to shake. “Not a problem. I do plenty of scrubbing too. Nice to meet you. Though I guess we jumped Ann’s formal intro by a few minutes. You guys about ready to come over? It’ll be lunch hour soon, and everyone’ll get too busy to talk.”

  “Just let me empty the slops here, and we’re good to go.”

  Sid went past Sue to dump the bucket in the high grass around the trailer, and she stepped inside to toss the sheets on a bunk.

  “This place has a propane heater for the winter, but it gets pretty drafty. You two might want to add some weather-stripping before then.”

  I liked Sue even better on this second face-to-face. She seemed like she cared about people. I wasn’t even seeing her as chubby anymore. “Well, all right, we will. If we’re still here by then.”

  “Okay, lovebirds, let’s go. Lead the way Sue, and we’ll be right behind you.”

  Sue set off ahead of us. I dug my elbow in Sid’s side.

  “Why’d you have to say that?” I whispered.

  The bastard was grinning like a junkie who’d just stumbled on a mountain of free dope. “I call ’em as I see ’em, Kid A. And now I know what made you change your mind.”

  “You’re crazy. Sue has nothing to do with anything.”

  Sid said zero, but just kept grinning, so I couldn’t even continue my end of the argument.

  I didn’t know how I could be getting hungry again so soon after that big breakfast, but I was. The smells inside the Deer Park Diner made my mouth water. French fries in deep fat, hamburgers on the griddle, hot dog rolls in a steamer. I could even smell the cole slaw that the wimpy little chef guy was stirring in a deep stainless steel bowl. It smelled like picnics.

  Only two people were eating at the moment, a shabby old man and old woman who bent low over their food in their booth like someone might steal it from them. But the place seemed like Mission Control before a space shuttle launch, gearing up for concentrated action. I looked out the window and saw a car full of hungry travelers pulling off Route 1. Ann noticed too, and hurried Sid, Sue and me inside with a sweep of her arm.

  “Okay, people, I want you all to get acquainted real fast. First, our new employees. This is Sid Hartshorn and, uh, Kid A.”

  The waitress said, “Huh, Sid and the Kid. What are you two guys, Batman and Robin?”

  Ann said, “Shut up, Yasmine. Gentlemen, this is Yasmine O’Hara. She will be friendly, if she knows what’s good for her.”

  Yasmine scratched one hip right at the hem of her short uniform without any concern. She left red stripes in her white flesh. “Sure. Little Miss Sunshine.”

  “I see you’ve already met my niece, Sue Javor. Sue is staying with me for a little while until her parents get over some temporary difficulties.”

  Sue snorted. “Are you kidding, Aunt Ann? They solved everything when they dumped me on you!”

  “Sue, you know that’s not true. Anyway, Sue is indispensable around here. And she works as smart as anyone twice her age.”

  “Like that’s so hard!”

  Ann swivelled around to point out the chef. “Behind the counter is Sonny Taylor. Sonny, stop a minute to say hello.”

  Once I saw this cool dvd called Repo Man. One of the characters in it was this wacked-out, skinny, grubby mechanic in dirty coveralls who you thought was a total waster and burnout but who really in the end was the only guy that understood anything. Sonny Taylor reminded me of that guy.

  “Hi. Nuh—nice to meet you both,” he said, then went back to his cooking.

  “That’s everyone except Angie, then.”

  Sid perked up. “Another specimen of the fairer sex?”

  Yasmine let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Hardly!”

  Ann looked a little concerned. “Angie is Angelo Malatesta. He’s my mechanic, over at the garage. I asked him to be here, but he was—he said he was too busy.”

  Sid clapped his hands together, like someone had just told him a foot-high ice cream sundae was waiting for him next door, or maybe a chance to meet his favorite movie star. “Well, I reckon the Kid and I’ll just have to go next door then and make ourselves known to Mister Malatesticles.”

  Sue laughed hard and Yasmine tried not to. But Ann still looked troubled.

  “All right. You have to meet him sometime. But keep it short. I’d like you and the Kid to at least start a few chores today, before you break for lunch. We all eat after the majority of the customers are gone.”

  “Beautiful weather for mowing the lawn,” said Sid. “Take off the shirt and work on your tan, right, Kid?”

  “I guess.”

  “I’ll get some gas for the mower while I’m over at the garage. That’ll be my excuse for intruding on your busy greasemonkey.”

  Ann seemed to think this was a good idea, and brightened up.

  Sid steered me out the door with an arm around my shoulder. We had to sidle around incoming customers. Sid gave them all a big smile and howdy, like he owned the joint.

  We snagged a rusty gas can from the cobwebbed tool shed that held the mower, and headed for the deer park filling station. Someone was pumping gas into a minivan while the woman driver sat behind the wheel, and I figured the guy on the hose had to be this Angelo Malatesta. From this distance I couldn’t make out his face real good, but the way he was standing gave me the impression he was a hardcase. Like he had a permanent chip on his shoulder or suspected everyone was always out to get him.

  I got nervous about the meeting. “You’re not going to call this greasemonkey by the dumb nickname you just invented for him, are you? I’ve got a bad feeling about him. Why wouldn’t he come meet us?”

  “That’s pretty obvious, Kid. He was the bull goose around here with three women in his harem. Sonny the chef don’t hardly count as competition. Now you and I step into the picture, and he’s not Mister Rooster anymore. Or maybe he’s just a mean-spirited, misanthropic son of a bitch. But either way, ol’ Sid will win him over. You just watch.”

  Angelo finished filling the tank as we got closer, and socketed the nozzle back in the pump. He walked around to the driver’s window with a kind of swagger, took the woman’s money and made change out of a roll of bills from his pocket. The minivan drove off just as we got within talking distance.

  Angelo was a head shorter than Sid, and not much taller than me. I guessed he was roughly Sid’s age. His skin was a little greasy, plus dark for a white guy, and his thin black hair was combed across a bald patch of skull. Not quite as bad a camo job as Sonny’s. His eyes were shadowed by thick eyebrows and his nose must have been broken at one time or another. The thin lips of his mouth were compressed into a tight line. His body was stout and compact and packed with muscles. The extra hair on his bare arms more than made up for what was missing from his head. He wore a green work shirt with the sleeves ripped out and a pair of blue workpants pretty well spotted with oil.

  Sid waved in a friendly fashion. “Mister Malatesta? Name’s Sid, Sid Hartshorn. This here’s Kid A. We need your help.”

  Sid smiled in a dopey kinda way and stuck out his hand to accompany his words.

  At first Angelo didn’t respond. He glared at Sid, waiting for some kind of nasty verbal jab or impatient demand. But Sid just kept smiling in this brainless way, like he had nothing else to do in the world except wait for his hand to be shaken. Finally the lines of tension and anger in Angelo’s shoulders lessened a bit, and he accepted Sid’s handshake.

  Later on I realized that if Sid had waltzed in like he owned the place, the way he had been acting back at the diner, or if he had tried to meet and match the mechanic’s swagger and hostile vibes, then the two of them would’ve probably started wailing on each other right then and there. But by looking a tad dumb and humble and asking for help, Sid had somehow defused Angelo’s urge to start a beef.

  The two men squeezed each other’s hands awfully hard for about fi
ve seconds, before they broke the shake. I didn’t think either of them got the better of the other.

  “Call me Angie,” said the mechanic in a gravelly voice.

  “Sure thing.”

  Angie turned to shake my hand and I got ready for some hurting. But he took it easy with me, showing me just a little of the power in his grip, until I winced a bit.

  “I’m awfully damn busy,” said Angie. I sure didn’t see with what, but didn’t contradict him. “What can I do for you two?”

  “Here’s the story, Angie. Kid A and me were just passing through your neighborhood this morning, on our way to who knows where, when your friendly co-worker, Miz Danielson next door, asked us to pitch in with a few chores around this fine establishment, over the next few days. Now, I for one am always ready to help a damsel in distress, and I fully believe that Kid A holds to the same high manly principles.”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “So, feeling kindly disposed to this classy lady cuz of the glorious meal she had served us and desirous of earning ourselves a little ready cash, we signed on. Can’t say we’ll be staying very long—itchy feet, you know—but as long as we are here, we aim to do a good job. Now the first task on the docket is to turn this jungle around us into something resembling a lawn. For that, we need some gas.”

  Sid held up the gas can at eye level. Angie contemplated the container like he had never seen such a thing, or more like it held scorpions. Man, was this guy suspicious! But in the end, after chewing over Sid’s speech, he took the can and turned to the pump without saying anything one way or another about us now being part of the Deer Park scene.

  As Angie filled the can I waited nervously, spooked that something might still set the burly guy off. But Sid showed no such concern. Humming some hokey old tune, he moved casually off to inspect the small station, with its single bay and tiny office. Alongside the building a car stood, covered with a tarp. Sid lifted a corner of the blue plastic and let out a sharp whistle.

  “Angie pal, is this a ’fifty-nine T-bird?”

  Angie screwed the cap back onto the can before he replied. “That’s what it is all right. It’s mine. I’m restoring it in my spare time.”

  Sid returned to the pump. “Sweet, sweet car. First one I ever owned, back in ‘sixty-five. Well, hell, man, you need some help with this honey, you just call on me. I doubt I got half your chops with cars, but I can weld a little. And maybe I can even show you a trick or two Big Daddy Roth taught me about saving old vinyl.”

  Angie got an interested look on his face at the mention of this last name, which I didn’t reconize. But he still didn’t smile. “Are you shitting me? You knew Roth?”

  “Grew up right next door to him, didn’t I? Worked with him every summer from the time I was thirteen till eighteen.”

  Angie nodded solemnly. “Well, maybe I could use your help at some point.” But then his face went back to being grim. “Where are you two staying?”

  I figured Angie was worried Ann was putting us up in her own apartment. But Sid managed to sidestep that issue.

  “Miz Danielson was kind enough to offer us the old trailer. It’s not the Waldorf, but we’re grateful, right, Kid? Just look for us there with the racoons and skunks. Say, Angie, what are you doing about lunch?”

  “I usually close the garage at two for half an hour and they send me something over from the diner.”

  “Great! I’ll try to finish the mowing by then and we can chow down together and talk Detroit iron. I’ll carry our grub over.”

  Angie paused to consider this offer for a while, before he said, “Okay.”

  “C’mon, Kid, let’s get a move on.”

  I picked up the container of gas and we headed back. Out on Route 1 cars and trucks zipped past us like all the drivers had the most important appointment in the world to keep. Someone threw an empty paper cup from his car, and I noticed how much roadside trash had drifted onto Ann’s property. A lone shoe, a burger carton, a weathered porn magazine, a bucket smeared with dried red paint. Picking up that crap, now there was a chore that needed doing.

  I was feeling kinda unsettled after our meeting with Angie, and I knew it had something to do with Sid, but I couldn’t say why or what, so I trudged on in silence. There was stray sheet of junk metal in one lane of the highway, and the cars in that lane kept running over it with a loud whump. The sound was annoying, and I started to get irrationally angry about it, until I finally realized what had pissed me off about Sid’s actions.

  Once we had walked far enough away that Angie couldn’t hear us, I said to Sid, “You’re a liar and a hypocrite.”

  Surprisingly, Sid did not get pissed off, but instead smiled broadly and said, “How’s that, Kid?”

  “First off you insult a guy by using a jerky nickname behind his back. Then to his face you’re all respectful and feeding him ‘I’m your best friend’ stuff. Then there was that crap about growing up in California and working for some famous car guy until you were eighteen. But you told me you ran away from your prep school around age sixteen. Both those stories can’t be true. So all that bullshit you just shoveled out makes you a liar and a hypocrite in my book.”

  “Kid, didn’t you ever try getting on someone’s wavelength and using their own language in order to smooth out the bumps in the dialogue between the two of you? You know, synchronizing your rap with his.”

  “That sounds like the same kinda Buddhist crap my parents were always handing out. Preaching through skillful means.”

  “’Skillful means’ I like that phrase.” Sid repeated my words once more, then chuckled. “Maybe that’s what I was doing. But it’s not crap. It’s using your wit and ingenuity and insight into the habits and patterns and prejudices and needs of people to lead them in a good direction they don’t necessarily want to go in. Back at the diner, I could see that everyone was tense about me and Malatesta getting into some kinda brawl. So to cut through their anxiety, I cracked a lameass joke about his name. The stunt worked, and they all breathed a little easier as you and me strode off High Noon style. Then, when I got face to face with Angie, I switched tactics. I went all non-threatening, letting him be the alpha dog. I sussed what he was passionate about, and made myself into a mirror for his interests. Maybe I had to stretch the truth of my autobiography a little to cover all the bases, but so what? Who did I hurt? No one. Did I lie in order to rip him off or get some personal advantage over him? I don’t think so. In fact, I made my life a little more tedious in order to keep the peace. Now I have to spend my lunch break with the surly mook, listening to his boring gearhead chatter, instead of with you and Ann and the others. So yes, maybe by your strict standards I’m a mendacious two-faced son of a bitch. But that’s not how I see myself. And your opinion of my character is not going to keep me awake nights. However, maybe if you fart as loud and frequently as you did last night under the tree, that will do the trick.”

  “Fart! I don’t fart in my sleep!”

  Sid clapped me on the back. “No, Kid, you don’t. But as soon as I said you did, you forgot all about my supposed sins, didn’t you? That’s skillful means! And it just goes to show how fleeting moral indignation is now, don’t it?”

  Back at the shed, Sid wheeled the ancient lawnmower out and worked on getting it ready to use. I found a rake inside the shed, figuring I’d rake up the clippings, since the mower didn’t have any catcher bag. I circled around the overgrown lawn, picking up any rocks and litter that might interfere with the mowing. The sun was hot, and I unbuttoned my shirt. But I didn’t take it off, feeling kinda self-conscious. But before Sid even got the machine running, Ann called me from the diner door.

  “Kid A! C’mon inside. I’ve got a job for you here. We don’t need two men to do the lawn.”

  I tossed down the rake, kinda angry at having to go work inside. I’d been looking forward to helping Sid outdoors.

  “Hey now,” Sid said, buffing the grime off a spark plug, “that’s no way to act. Pick up that rake it st
ow it away properly. Then go inside and do whatever Ann tells you to. And do it with a smile, hear?”

  “Oh, all right.”

  “And remember, she just called you a man. Try to act like one.”

  About a dozen people filled half the seats in the diner. The air was even thicker with good smells than earlier, and my mouth started watering. Sonny the chef was moving like some kind of skinny spastic tornado, but he seemed to be getting everything done pretty efficiently. Behind the counter Ann waited on the customers seated on stools, while Jasmine threaded her way from booth to booth, plates full of food stacked on her bent arms up to her elbows. I didn’t see Sue, and figured she was busy in the cabins.

  Ann stopped a second to push some hair out of her eyes. “Kid, you’re going to bus the tables and wash the dishes from now on during breakfast and lunch times. You’ll find an apron in the back room. Yasmine will be there in a minute to show you what to do.”

  I started to object, but then remembered how Sid had asked me to behave. So I cracked the best smile I could manage, although I thought it must’ve looked kinda sickly, and said, “Sure. Anything you say.”

  The back room tacked onto the diner was about a quarter the size of the front space. Big metal sinks, an industrial-sized dishwasher, an oven, plastic drainracks atop counters, extra fridge and freezers, cardboard boxes of napkins and coffee filters, shelves to hold dishes and glasses, pans suspended from ceiling hooks, silverware in upright metal containers, a mop and bucket in a corner. The linoleum was peeling, the only window was a small one high up where a wheezy fan spun, and the back door was open with a screen door keeping out the bugs.

  I found a grungy apron and tied it on. Yasmine came in carrying a big plastic tub full of dirty dishes and leftover scraps of food. She set it down with a crash next to the sinks.

  “Thank Christ somebody else is going to be doing this dirty job! I’ve had it with pulling double duty. Okay, listen up. Food scraps alone go in this bin here. We compost.” Yasmine pronounced this last word the way my folks pronounced “nirvana.” “You arrange the dishes and glasses like this in the machine. Soap powder’s under the sink here. Don’t run the machine until you’ve got a full load, it’s wasteful.”