by Dave Eggers
What happened?
Got me in the side. Knocked the wind out of me. Then he just dropped his fists and turned around and went back inside to his chair.
Then what?
I left the next day. My grandmother died a few months later. Not even a month after that, my grandpa.
Theo, man, that’s a hell of a story, but, man, we’ve got to go, he said.
We left the coffee shop, walked into the heat, down to the corner, and waited for the pickup.
Henry drove out of there too fast, still drumming on the wheel. There was that kid at the back of the van. He had some kind of infection, his right eye covered over with hardened pus. Henry said, You see that last row of seats, Theo? That’s the bunker. And you know why Jeremy is sitting on the bunker? Because the boy doesn’t take his job seriously. He’s unprofessional. That’s why. That’s why he’s my Bunker Baby and pretty soon I’ll just have to leave him by the side of the road. But you’re not that kind of guy, that’s why you’re sitting up here in front next to Nora.
Nora reached over the seat and crossed her arms around Mattie’s chest.
That night Henry bought Coors Light for everyone else and a case of Beck’s for Nora and Mattie. They drank it on their bed, sitting to gether, backs against the headboard, green bottles in their hands. The rest of us were getting drunk playing quarters around the wide round table. As I drank, I liked watching them there, the way they were so quiet, sitting up straight, side by side, and how they held their green, silver-necked bottles like scepters.
Henry was staying in the adjoining room. For a long time the doors were closed, but later he opened them and came in dragging Bunker Baby behind him on a chair. The kid was tied up, his wrists and ankles bound to the wooden legs with T-shirts rolled into rope. Henry raised his hand, Mattie threw a Beck’s into the air, Henry caught it and returned to the other room.
Later, when I was struggling to keep my balance, I went over to Bunker Boy, kneeled, and looked up into his face. He was slumped forward, head hanging, wrists pulling against his restraints. His eyelashes were gone to that crusted shell. He looked at me with his clear blue eye. I started to untie him, but Mattie called to me from his throne. Theo, he said, quick and hard. I looked back and Nora shook her head. She smiled and raised her eyebrows like I should know better and when I gave up she nodded like she was pleased with me. I fell asleep at his feet.
In the morning I woke holding the thin girl, the two of us wrapped in blankets. Someone had turned the air conditioner to high, and the room was very cold. The girl was warm against me. She smelled of sweat, cigarettes, and beer. The kid was still in the chair, head rising and falling on his chest like a buoy. We were close to him, the girl’s face nearly touching his hand, which hung, swollen with blood. After a while I slipped my arm from beneath her, reached out, and untied the knot. I took his hand in mine and swung it like a piece of meat hanging from a hook. I got up and untied his other wrist and then his ankles. No one was awake. I looked over from time to time at Mattie and Nora, but they were motionless deep beneath the covers. The kid straightened and opened his good eye to look at me. He tried to stand, but his knees were too stiff, or his legs had gone numb. I bent over and he put his arms around my neck. He was shivering and smelled like he’d pissed himself. I got him to his feet and we stood there holding on to each other until he could take his own weight, and then we walked over to the bathroom, where I left him.
I returned to the girl and our blanket. I pulled our shirts up so that our skin would touch and fell asleep again like that.
We slept through the morning and it wasn’t until after one that Henry woke us all up. He put a wide, flat box of Krispy Kremes on the floor, where most of us ate, wrapped up in blankets, pressed together like mice. Nora was still in bed, but Mattie was dressed and at the table with Henry, both of them sipping coffee. Bunker Baby was lying on his side under the television, which was strapped into a rack and hanging from the ceiling. He’d wrapped himself in towels and drawn his knees up to his chest.
Who knows why Jeremy was tied up last night? Henry asked like a math teacher. Who can tell me why Jeremy was tied up last night?
Someone said, Bitch can’t sell, and Henry nodded.
He owes, someone else said.
He nodded again.
That’s right. That’s it exact. Bitch can’t sell. He owes and he owes and he owes deep. So what I want to know is why he’s over there on the floor wrapped up warm in our clean towels.
Who set you free, Bunker Baby? Who set you free? Henry raised his eyebrows, then his chin.
The kid didn’t say anything, just closed his eye.
I was on my back with my head in the girl’s lap. I could hear her stomach growling. She was moving her fingers through my hair. Even then I wasn’t quite sure what she looked like. I didn’t much want to know. I liked that she was warm and that she touched me without either of us having to say anything about it.
When I said, I did it, she slid back from me fast and my head dropped to the carpet.
Henry shook his head and looked at the ceiling. Ah man, T, you just got here.
I rolled my head to the side and saw the kid with his cheek against the floor, looking at me. He needed to see a doctor about that eye. I didn’t want to, but I sat up and said, He’d been there all night, man. I didn’t untie him until this morning.
T-Ready, Henry said, drumming his fingers fast on the tabletop, you want to stay here? He asked me slow, You want to sell or you want to go home?
What I wanted right then was to sleep every night with that girl, and go everywhere with Mattie and Nora.
Then Henry seemed to lose patience with his own speech. One minute he was starting out slow, the next he was standing up and moving across the room fast. He kicked me once hard in the ribs. All my breath was gone. I’d never been kicked like that before.
The pain was worse than all the pain I’d ever imagined.
He stood above me not speaking. Or maybe he was speaking. Then he kicked me again and again and I thought I would die there.
When I came to, everyone was gone, except for Mattie and Nora.
Get up, Mattie said.
He had the toe of his boot under my skull.
Nora was still on the bed, watching me.
I stood. The pain was sharp, like Henry was still there, like he was stabbing me every time I filled my lungs, and when I coughed it dropped me to my knees.
You need to go home, Theo, he said.
I stood in that frigid room looking at him. He’d been there all night, Mattie, I said. Tied up, man.
He took the ring out of his lip and dropped it into his shirt pocket. There was that cold thing on him again. That cold thing like all the rest of them had.
Mattie, Nora said. I looked over at her. When I turned back to him, he hit me hard in the face. The blow spun me around and I bent over holding my eye, but I didn’t go down.
He put his mouth next to my ear and said, That hurt, Theo? You like that, Theo? Mattie, Nora called to him again. He reached beneath my chin, took me by the throat, and pulled me up. He drew his fist back. Henry doesn’t want to see you walk, Theo. He’ll come after you, you know. It doesn’t just end with that guy.
Mateo, Nora called out, this time louder.
He hit me in the eye again—short and sharp—and let me drop.
The pain shot through my face, radiated, was in my skull, was everywhere.
I stayed on the ground and waited with my hand over my eye.
When Nora helped me up, Mattie was gone.
She’d wrapped ice in a washcloth and pressed it to my face. You’re lucky, she said when I winced. You’re lucky he didn’t break your jaw, she whispered. You’re lucky it wasn’t Henry.
We were sitting together beneath the window, our backs to the wall. I held the ice to my eye. I could feel her pushed against me, warm. The air conditioner was still on high. I could hear it whir and rattle.
Henry will come back for you, T
heo. He’ll come back and it’ll be much worse. You can’t imagine how much worse. You need to leave here. You need to leave here.
But I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wanted to sit still and pressed against Nora. That was all I wanted. I was out of fear.
Come on, she said, and slipped her hand beneath my arm. Come on, she said again and pulled. This is lucky, she said. This is lucky. She pushed my duffel into my chest. She kissed my cheek and shoved me into the hall. Go home, Theo, she said. Go home.
I walked along the carpet, past all those doors and out through the lobby and into the parking lot, where the day was hot. The sun burned my eyes. Everything hurt, but the heat, the heat was something else.
I stood on the asphalt in the sun with my eyes closed, trying to work out what to do next. I was very weak and when I opened my eyes I thought I might pass out. Then I saw the van turning into the parking lot and I slid down behind a bank of vending machines. I watched as Henry jumped out of the driver’s side. He left the engine running. The windows were closed. I could see in, see those silhouettes in their seats. I squinted to see through the tint and into the far back. I knew Henry had the air conditioner on high. I drew my knees to my chest and kept myself tight against the wall. The air was hot and dry.
After a while he came back, this time with Mattie and Nora. They got in. I watched as the van returned to the street and disappeared. Then I pulled myself up and returned to the motel.
There was a heavy girl working the front desk.
Listen, I said. I stayed here last night with my family. We checked out just today. They’re waiting for me outside, I said. My little sister lost her bear. She thinks she left it in the room. Do you mind if I run down there and check? It’s room 220. And 222. The kids were in 220, parents were in 222. I’ll be just a few minutes.
She looked at my eye. You all right? What happened to you? She had a short purple scarf tied around her throat like a stewardess might wear.
Oh, I said. Got in a fight at school. I’m fine.
She looked through the window to the parking lot. I don’t see anyone out there, she said and looked back at me.
They’re out there, I said. I promise they’re out there. Little white sedan. Engine’s running.
You don’t seem okay to me, she said. You seem scared.
I’m fine, I said. I’m not scared. I’m just nervous. I have a hard time talking to beautiful women, I said. That’s all it is.
She blushed and smiled. I see, she said, turning away to find the keys. Aren’t you charming? She slid them across the counter to me. Five minutes or I call security, she said.
I found Bunker Baby on the floor of Henry’s room. The chair was on its side and he was tied to it. He was in bad shape, blood all over his face, his eyes swollen.
I set him free and helped him stand. I turned off the air conditioner and cleaned him up with a washcloth soaked in very warm water. He was shivering and shivering.
Jeremy, I said, but he didn’t answer me. You’re all right, I said, moving the warm washcloth over his face and wringing out the blood into the sink.
When I’d done the best I could, I helped him into the hall. He kept his arm around my shoulder and we walked together into the lobby. At the desk, I gave the keys back to the woman.
What the fuck? she said, staring at us.
Thank you, I said. Thank you. And we walked out into the heat. There was a phone booth out front and I drew the glass door open and put him in there. Sit down, I said. Sit here.
It was like an oven. I got in there with him and pulled the door closed and picked up the phone.
I’m going to call my father, I said. I’m going to call my father. I put a quarter into the slot. I put my hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. My father will know what to do, I said.
KYLE MINOR
Seven Stories About Kenel of Koulèv-Ville
FROM The Iowa Review
1. The First Day I Met Kenel
THE KIDS AT THE ORPHANAGE said Kenel is a liar.
The man at the tree place said Kenel is the best translator in Ouest Province. No French in his English.
The missionaries said Kenel is bad news. When he was a child he was always breaking things. You should see the two ladies who raised him. They’re both hunched over. He wore them out.
The Canadian dentist recommended Kenel. He said one day he was up in the mountains doing field dentistry, and this husband and wife came in with vampire teeth. Triangles that came to points. They said their teeth hurt, and Kenel said, “Don’t fix the vampire teeth. Just do the fillings.” But the dentist didn’t listen. He restored the man’s teeth and the woman’s teeth to happy squares. He showed them in the mirror. He thought they’d be so happy. But the woman yelled and the man cried. Kenel listened and did his translating. Kenel said, “Get out the file. They want the vampire teeth back. There’s a thing they do.” The man pulled the neck of his shirt to his shoulder. There were hundreds of little scars, some of them fresh.
I paid Kenel seventy dollars a day. The other translators got fifty, but he said he had a thing for sevens. He said he had seven older brothers. When he was seven days old, seven women begged his fa ther not to give him away to the two lady missionaries. They said seven curses would befall him.
“The first curse was the curse of English,” Kenel said. We were walking the village Barette, taking the census of the rabbits and the chickens. “No Creole allowed. No French. Only English.”
He spoke in English, read in English, wrote in English, watched movies in English, gave tours of the missionary compound to visiting Americans and Danes in English. “They said we’re your mothers now,” he said. “Children speak the language of their mothers.”
The day he turned seventeen, the two missionary ladies drove him up the mountain to his father’s house. They said, “Now you’re grown. We’ve done all we can.” Kenel said, “Aren’t you my mothers?” They cried and drove away. His father came out of the house and cried and embraced him and spoke to him in a language he couldn’t understand. “The second curse was the curse of Creole,” Kenel said. “It took me seven years to speak it well enough to pass for a Haitian.”
Up the hill was the houngan’s house. His wooden roof was painted purple beneath a field of orange stars. I wanted to visit him and convince him to sell it to me to take to Florida. Kenel said, “If the houngan came to my village, we would have to kill him.”
“Why?” I said.
“Because,” Kenel said, “he does not have the love of Christ in his heart.”
Later, I asked the elders of Kenel’s village if they would kill the houngan. They laughed. “Kenel is a liar,” they said. “The houngan is our friend. He goes to the church in Barette sometimes on Sundays when they need a trumpet player. The houngan is a good trumpet player.”
In the village Barette, Kenel told me the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth curses. It was getting dark, and we were walking up out of the village. I asked him what was the seventh curse. “You see these people, all my neighbors? I have to live among them. You and me, we’re not like them.”
He headed up the hill a ways, and I followed him across the mountain to his home. From every house we passed, people called their greetings.
2. Before the Earthquake
This was before the earthquake reduced the Hotel Montana to rubble. We were sitting at the bar drinking Dominican beers, JeanPierre, Kenel, and me. The next morning we had to drive to Jacmel to count some rabbits and chickens. Kenel had a little cocaine, and I gave him a little money, and he gave me the cocaine, and I put it in my pocket for the morning.
We were playing a game called Who’s More Heroic Than The Americans. It was a joke of a game. The first round everyone said: “Everyone who’s not an American.” The second round you had to tell another true story, but this one had to be specific.
“I knew a Catholic priest in Cité Soleil,” Jean-Pierre said. “He was Nigerian. The people were so mean to him. This went on for years. They stole things fro
m his house. Once, he was beaten in the street and no one came to his aid. Still, he lived seven years in a shanty house, even though he could have lived well. He could have lived anywhere. One day a little retarded boy was crossing an open sewer on a lashed-together bridge made of two halves of one tree. The sewer was five feet deep with water and every kind of human waste. People pissed in it, shit in it. The sewer was the color of disease. This little retarded boy couldn’t have been more than five years old. Halfway across the bridge, some older boys came and shook both sides, just to be mean. The little retarded boy fell in. He was flailing around. There was a big crowd. People were watching him go down, but nobody wanted to jump in. Around the time the boy went over, the Nigerian priest came walking by. He didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t take off his clothes or his watch or take out his wallet or anything. He just jumped in, head-first, into the shitwater. He went under and came back up with that kid. That brown sludge was in his mouth, in his teeth, in his eyes.”
“I can beat that,” Kenel said. “I knew a man who took a blowtorch to the side of a shipping container somebody was using for a store in the village Marigot. The store owner caught him red-handed at midnight. His bag was filled up with biswuit, dry goods, Tampico juices, Coca-Colas. The store owner called for his cousins, and his cousins called for their cousins. Soon all the men of the village surrounded this man in the shipping container. They tied him up, and in the morning, they dragged him out into the middle of the road. They brought out all the children to see. The store owner said, ‘See what happens when you steal.’ While the man was still alive, they hacked off his fingers and toes one by one with a machete. They sealed the wounds with a hot iron. Then they hacked off his feet and hands. Then they hacked off his arms at the elbows and his legs at the knees. Then they poured gasoline over his head and set him on fire and watched him dance around while he died.”
