by Garth Stein
“I knew it sounded ridiculous before I told you.”
“But you’re still going to look for a shaman.”
Jenna sighed.
“No. I guess not. I don’t know. Where would I look? But judging by how strange things have been, I wouldn’t be surprised if a shaman found me.”
Eddie smiled and stood up.
“All right, enough with the kushtaka for now. Are you still hungry?”
“Yes.”
He waved his free arm at her. “I can hold the frying pan, but you have to stir.”
Jenna stood up and they started into the house, only to be stopped by the tap of a car horn. It was the sheriff. He pulled up to the front of the house and got out of his car.
“Evening,” he said, walking around his car toward the porch.
“What’s up, Sheriff?” Eddie asked.
“Well, I got this dog, here . . .”
He opened up the rear door and grabbed a piece of rope that was tied to Oscar’s collar. Oscar jumped out of the car and ran to Jenna, greeting her enthusiastically.
“. . . and I figured he belonged to the young lady.”
Jenna hugged Oscar. Finally he was back. That was good. But the sheriff had found him. That was bad. Jenna could see that the sheriff was angry. Now she was in trouble.
“And this, here, is a citation,” the sheriff said, approaching Jenna and holding out a piece of paper. “It’s for allowing your dog to run around, unleashed. Under normal circumstances, I would let it go. But your dog was endangering the welfare of a child. And we can’t have that.”
Jenna took the ticket.
“What happened?”
“I caught him chasing a little boy. The boy was so scared, he ran off and I don’t know where he went. Now listen. Put the dog on a leash and keep him on it. If I catch him again, there’s only one thing I can do, and I don’t want to do it. Understand?”
Jenna nodded, holding Oscar tight. The sheriff turned to Eddie.
“I don’t think she understands me. You understand me, Ed?”
“She understands you, Sheriff,” Eddie answered.
The sheriff walked back around to the far side of the car and opened the door.
“I hope that boy made it home all right. If I find out he’s lost and something happened to him, I’ll be back.”
“Where’d you see him last?” Eddie asked.
“On my way into town this morning. Out by the Institute.”
The Institute. That rang a bell for Jenna. Actually, it wasn’t a bell. It was an alarm. An air-raid horn. The Indian school. The story that Rolfe had told. The sheriff waved and got into his car. He turned the cruiser around and headed back toward town. Jenna looked up at Eddie.
“The Institute? Isn’t that where that farmer lived?” she asked.
“What farmer?”
“The one that Rolfe talked about. The kushtaka story.”
Eddie snorted and shook his head.
“Well?” Jenna persisted. “Is any of it true?”
“Any of what?”
“What happened to the family.”
Eddie shrugged, resigned. “Whitey Jorgenson’s mother was crazy. Everybody knew that.”
“And?”
“And she stabbed her husband to death when Whitey was a baby.”
Jenna’s eyes got bigger. Her pulse quickened.
“What about Whitey’s uncle?”
“I don’t remember,” Eddie mumbled, turning away and starting into the house.
“Eddie.” Jenna stopped him. “What happened?”
“He was Whitey’s mother’s brother, and when he died, she snapped. It was about a year later that she killed her husband. Her brother died, she went nuts, and then one night she murdered her husband. That’s all. Straightforward crazy people killing each other. It happens all the time. I’m going to cook dinner.”
Eddie tried to escape again, but Jenna wasn’t through.
“Eddie. How did he die?”
Eddie groaned and dropped his head.
“Well?”
“He drowned, okay? He drowned. Are you happy?”
Eddie looked up at Jenna and saw confusion in her face. But it wasn’t confusion, really. It was an understanding that dawns slowly. The last few grains of sand through an hourglass. The long-awaited comprehension of how a puzzle fits together. It was a feeling of resolve that swept over her and made her comfortable, at least, in knowing what she had to do.
She had to find a shaman who could help her.
Chapter 26
SO, ROBERT HASN’T HEARD A THING FROM THE INVESTIGATOR and he’s worried that they didn’t actually find Jenna. His depression is snowballing on him, and with each refill of his drink he thinks more and more of suicide. He thinks there’s nothing left in his life that’s worthwhile. He doesn’t enjoy being with other people; he doesn’t enjoy being alone. He doesn’t like what’s on TV; he doesn’t want to read. He won’t eat but he will drink. And everything he has dedicated his life to, the grand scheme that he devised for himself so long ago, seems like some kind of essay on a college entrance exam. My hobbies are baseball and people. So much crap. When you look ahead, you see such wonderful things, beautiful scenes in slow motion unfolding before your eyes about yourself and your future. And none of it is true. Or, maybe, if you’re lucky, some of it is true for a while. But in the end, it all falls apart, and then you’re left standing there looking back on the last fifteen years wondering what the hell happened. And you think about the final cut.
And while he pours another Tanqueray for himself, it suddenly dawns on him that he’s going through now what Jenna went through long ago. That maybe he suppressed all his suicidal thoughts so he could appear strong to Jenna and help her through her hard times. And, furthermore, he thinks to himself, maybe if he had let himself feel depressed and he and Jenna had been suicidal as a couple, maybe they would be together now instead of apart. And these thoughts make him blame himself for Jenna’s absence, and he feels more depressed now because he didn’t know any of this earlier.
He looks at the TV and feels so alone he wants to cry. It’s Friday night and he’s always hated Friday nights, ever since he was a teenager. There was so much pressure to do the right thing, go to the right places. Always a nagging feeling that other people were having more fun, an overwhelming sensation that he wasn’t with the cool people. So he now thinks it is important for him to get out and circulate. He wants to talk to some people because sometimes that’s fun. So he calls his old friend, the guy who’s always doing something on a Friday night, Steve Miller. He hasn’t talked to Steve in about a year. It was too tough. Jenna outright hates him now. She thinks he’s a slug. But Robert still has fond memories, even though Steve muscled him into taking that bum deal.
Steve’s message machine picks up because he’s out on a Friday night, of course. Robert figures he’ll leave a message and he’s listening to the OGM and it says, “The Garda Bar is the place to be tonight. If you’re too lame to be there, leave a message.”
The Garda Bar. That’s down on Fourth Avenue and Bell. That’s what Robert wanted. All his life, that’s what Robert needed. A telephone number he could call and listen to a recorded message that told him where he should go to have fun. That’s convenience. The Party Line. Don’t know what to do this weekend? Call the Party Line and we’ll clue you in to the best, hottest bars and parties. Just ninety-nine cents a minute.
So Robert drives on down to the Garda Bar where he’s greeted by a velvet rope. So eighties it’s not even retro. But he knows the game so he strides up to the guy in the black T-shirt like he owns the place and looks at him like, why the hell don’t you open that stupid velvet rope, already. And the guy parts the waters for him and Robert goes on in.
The place is as dark as Calcutta and there’s velvet everywhere. Some big fan is blowing air all over and there’s incense on every table smelling like lavender. It’s not too crowded and Robert wonders if there’s a rope outside to keep
people out or to try to get them to come in. Steve Miller is sitting at a booth with his arms around two girls, young girls in little black dresses. He’s got a mammoth cigar in his mouth. One of the girls has the hugest breasts. Robert figures they must be fake because they’re jamming straight out of her body like the prow on some ship. Steve sees Robert and nearly drops his cigar.
“Jesus, Robert, where the fuck have you been?”
He stands up and pushes past the girl with the hooters and rushes to Robert, embracing him.
“You look like shit, Robert, absolute shit. Come on and sit down.”
They sit together at the booth and the two girls scoot around.
“This is Stacy and Erin. This is my old buddy, Robert. Stacy and Erin are in business school at the U.”
Robert shakes their hands. So warm and soft. The cuter one, Erin, is the one with the smaller breasts, but she has beautiful lips and the tiniest little button nose.
“What are you doing here, man?” Steve asks, but Robert is sneaking a look at Erin’s lips. So full and delicious. “I didn’t know you hung out here.”
”I was supposed to meet someone, but it doesn’t look like they’re going to show up.”
Steve gives Robert a big wink, like he knows what’s going on. “Don’t worry about me, Chief. I’ll never tell.” A couple of elbows to the ribs and Robert is about to regret coming at all. Maybe suicide was the right choice.
But before Robert can regret anything, Steve is up, he’s waving his hand and snapping his fingers and jumping all over like some kind of hyper kid. Turns out, he’s signaling the waitress.
“Elaine, honey, take my buddy’s order.”
Robert orders a martini; the girls will have more champagne. Steve wants “a piece of your ass, honey.” The girls excuse themselves. They’re going to the ladies’ room. When they leave, Steve wraps his long arm around Robert and pulls him close.
“How’ve you been, Chief? It’s been a long time.”
“Surviving.”
“Yeah? I know that gorgeous wife of yours hates my guts, but that doesn’t mean we can’t go out for an occasional boy’s night, does it?”
“I’ve been laying low, you know?”
“Yeah, I know, I know. But look, Robbie, tell me if I’m out of line here, but you’re one of my oldest, dearest friends and when I see you like this for so long, it hurts me. Can I tell you straight?”
Steve is practically on top of Robert now. Robert looks into Steve’s eyes and sees that his pupils are dilated so big you could drive a truck through them. He’s high on something.
“Go ahead.”
“Have you two tried again? I know your little one, Bobby, was the light of your life, and I know how hard it was for you two. But maybe the best thing is to get back on the horse, you know? Give it another go.”
This makes Robert very sad. He wants to have another go, but Jenna said not yet. Soon it will be too late. He doesn’t want to adopt a Mexican kid; he wants his own.
“Hey, man, I didn’t mean to get you down.”
Steve pats Robert on the back and the drinks arrive. Robert goes for his wallet, but Steve stops him and tells the waitress to put it on his tab. Robert takes a sip of his martini, and Steve once again leans in on him.
“Dude, you want some sniffy to make you feel better?”
Robert looks over at Steve, his face so close he can smell the Old Spice. The eyebrows wiggle.
“Let’s go take a whiz and I’ll turn you on.”
They get up and go to the men’s room and cram into a stall. Steve pulls out a little brown vial with a spoon cleverly attached to the lid and scoops out some white dust. He puts his forefinger up to Robert’s right nostril and holds the spoon under Robert’s left. Robert inhales quickly. Pow. Steve scoops some more. Pow. Then Steve helps himself to three or four scoops.
“You’re up, dude.”
He feeds more coke into Robert’s right nostril, and by now Robert’s sinuses are full of life. Robert shakes his head and shivers. He snorts in. Pow. His eyes are pinned open. He laughs.
“Snorting coke in a bathroom stall,” he says. “Very homoerotic. Very eighties.”
“That’s what it’s all about in the nineties, man, recapturing the glory of the eighties at a discount.”
He spoons more into Robert’s nostril. Bang. Right now Robert is feeling great. His nose is numb; he feels his teeth falling asleep. He’s snorting loudly and grinning. Fuck, this feels good.
“You like those girls, Chief?”
Robert nods. He wants more.
“The one with the mammaries is mine. If you want the little one, you can have her.”
Robert helps himself to another loving spoonful.
“She’s got little boy titties, but what a mouth on her, am I right, Robbie?”
Yeah, whatever. He wants a little on his finger to rub on his gums. Taps his front teeth. Universal sign for coke user.
“Hey, Hoover, you’re suckin’ up all my blow.”
Steve pockets his vial, still with plenty in it for later, and they go back to the table and the girls are there. Robert sees Erin squeeze her nose between her thumb and finger and sniff in. That’s a code signal that means, I’m on coke, are you on coke, too?
Steve shoves Robert down on the opposite side of the banquette next to Erin. Steve snuggles in next to Mammary. Now Robert isn’t depressed. He’s racing. Alive. He orders another martini, but it doesn’t seem to affect him. He’s talking a mile a minute to the cute girl, but he’s concerned he has bad breath. His mouth is cottony and dry and the gin doesn’t seem to be helping. He’s telling Erin about how to move office space. Is she interested in real estate? Possibly. She’s really on the CEO track. She’d like to get placed in a Fortune 500 company. And they talk and talk about bullshit. Meanwhile, Steve and Mammary are sucking on each other’s tongues. Hot, open-mouthed kissing and Steve’s got his hand under the table and is feeling her up big time. Robert looks at his girl, but he’s not that interested in her. She’s cute and she’s got great lips, but still, he’s not in that mode. He doesn’t know if she’s disappointed. And the other thing, Robert’s sinuses, the ones that have been numbed down for the past twenty minutes, are coming back to life, and they’re secreting mucus like crazy. He’s sniffing more and more just to keep it all in. And he’d like some more coke now. Hurry up, please, it’s time. But he doesn’t want to interrupt Hootie and the Blowfish over there to get the vial, and Steve may not even give him any more. That’s the problem with coke. You always want more.
But Erin reads his mind and asks him if he wants to go outside. So they go out, but Erin doesn’t have a jacket so they go and sit in Robert’s car, which is parked in the alley around back. They sit on the backseat because the front has the big console thing and it’s real impersonal, Erin says. They sit in the back and Erin leans on Robert and feeds him spoonful after spoonful of the most delightful powder. Then she kisses him. She has a little tongue and it doesn’t go very far into Robert’s mouth, but as soon as he feels it he pushes her away.
She’s puzzled. He doesn’t know what to say, but he tries to explain to her. Coke is like a truth serum sometimes. It makes you talk and talk. So Robert talks and he tells her about everything. From the beginning. Meeting Jenna, having a kid, losing the kid, losing Jenna. How torn up he is and he doesn’t know what to do because he’s really attracted to Erin right now, but he knows it isn’t the right thing.
She understands. She didn’t really want to do it anyway; she just thought it might be fun. She feels very bad for Robert. He’s been through so much. But she understands, she really does.
Robert is relieved. He’s never talked to anyone like that. Maybe that’s what shrinks do, let you talk and talk. Maybe he should have gone to see someone. Maybe, then, Jenna wouldn’t be gone right now. Maybe it’s all his fault. He decides it’s definitely all his fault.
Erin says she has to go back inside. Stacy has the car and Erin doesn’t want to have to ta
ke a cab home. Robert offers to take her. They drive up Eastlake to the University Bridge and then up Roosevelt to Fifty-third Street. Her apartment is up on the right. Robert pulls over and they sit a minute.
“It was nice being with you tonight,” she says.
“Yeah. Sorry I talked so much.”
“Don’t be.” She takes out a matchbook and writes her number on it. The ubiquitous matchbook. “If you want to talk some more, give me a call.”
“Thanks.”
She hesitates again.
“Do you want some more?”
More? That’s a tough question. She holds up her vial and squints at it. Not much left.
“You can take it.”
She presses it in his hand and looks at him in a meaningful way, and then she gets out of the car and walks away.
Robert pulls around the corner and snorts the rest of the coke. He taps his teeth, the universal sign, and drives home. It would be a long night, he knew. He’d be up for hours, and as the drug wore off, he’d feel like he needed more. He’d become desperate to find some kind of depressant to make his anxiety go away. He would wish Jenna still kept Valium in the house.
Will you look at that, he marvels to himself. A few hours ago he was depressed, so he left his house, met some people, did some coke, and now he’s going to end up back where he started, on the same sofa, drinking the same gin, more depressed because of the coke. Something about that doesn’t seem right. He guesses it’s like Buckaroo Banzai said. No matter where you go, there you are.
Chapter 27
AT AROUND ONE IN THE MORNING OSCAR WOKE JENNA FROM a deep sleep. He paced frantically in a circle, running between the window and the door to the hallway, panting and growling. Jenna climbed out of bed and looked out the window toward her grandmother’s old house, but she could see nothing outside. She couldn’t figure out what was making Oscar so crazy.
When she opened the bedroom door, Oscar ran to the front door of the house and jumped up, looking through the windowpanes. He growled and scratched at the door, the same as he had done the previous night. But this time Jenna was willing to investigate. She found a flashlight under the kitchen sink, pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans, clipped Oscar’s collar to his leash, and opened the door. Oscar pulled her out onto the porch, almost jerking the leash out of her hand.
