Why the Tree Loves the Axe. Jim Lewis

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СКАЧАТЬ View ran with gossip like blood runs with sugar. But I began to watch old Billy, just out of curiosity; I couldn’t help myself, the rumors were an itch. I hung by his room, playing temptation and waiting to see what he would do. I made excuses to be there: I had his pills, I needed to change his sheets, I wanted to be sure his room was not too warm.

      I tried to get him into one of the games that the other orderlies played with their favorites, brief rituals that meant nothing, fair questions and simple tests. Do you know what day today is?

      Do I know what day today is? Of course I do. Today is the twenty-seventy-seventh of Pestember. I don’t care for a second what day it is.

      What day of the week.

      If it isn’t Sunday, I don’t know. I know it isn’t Sunday.

      Is it Thursday?

      I don’t know.

      It’s Thursday, yeah.

      Well, shit, he said in a tone of utter disgust at my dumbness. What difference does that make?

      Never mind, I said brusquely, and tried to dismiss him with a blank expression. But my cheeks were hot; I was betrayed by my face and Billy noticed it right away. Caroline is angry, he said in a schoolyard singsong voice. I don’t give a shit. Caroline doesn’t think it’s fair that I should be so mean to her, when she’s trying to make nice with an old man. She wants to be all over me, like a mood. She wants to go through my pockets, she wants what I’ve got. And who knows? She may be right, maybe I can help her, maybe I can use her. But—he wagged a finger at me—is she smart enough? Brave enough? Confident enough? Oh, I know I’m not supposed to ask anything like that. Because you people … Take a look at these, he said, holding out a pair of small pale green pills in his palm. They give me these to sleep, so I’ll dream, so I won’t remember what they’ve said to me, so every day we can start all over again at the beginning. Take them, go on, try them, you’ll see.

      Billy, these are yours.

      I don’t want them, he said. I’m giving them to you. You take them.

      I put them in the breast pocket of my uniform, where I found them again a few days later, dissolved into dust and crumbs that clung to my fingertips, and as I hurried to the bathroom to wash my hands I spoke under my breath to an imaginary inquiry. I don’t know what they are, I said. I don’t know where they came from.

      One afternoon I went to invite him to a game of bingo in the cafeteria and found him sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring down at something that was lying in his lap. For a long moment he didn’t move, just watched the thing; then he sighed and lifted it before him and I saw a chrome pistol in his hands, staring steadily back at him like a snake. He turned it, brought it to his face, and peered through the chambers, and as I watched he blew forcefully into one of the holes and then checked it again. Then he reached down to the bed and began to load it from a pile of shiny brass shells, one by one by one. I stood speechless on the floor. Beautiful, he said when he was done, and I began to back out the door, but before I could get away he spoke up. Go on and tell. Go on and be a snitch, be another disappointment. It won’t help you sleep one bit.—Only then did he look up at me. Because you didn’t sleep last night, did you? I know. Poor little princess. You got out of bed at about two in the morning and went to sit at your kitchen table, buck naked, but you didn’t care. You made tea and read magazines, and wondered what your next man is going to look like.

      He was exactly right about that, and at first I thought he’d been spying on me; but he couldn’t have been, my shades had been down against the streetlights, and anyway, he hadn’t left Eden View in years. It was just that he’d suddenly laid me open, and he was watching my thoughts right through my forehead. I felt him where he shouldn’t have been and I panicked; but in a moment I’d collected myself and concentrated on a hell I conceived for him. Can you hear me now? I thought. Just mind your own business. I turned on my heel, walked out of the room, and carefully shut his door behind me; but I never told a soul about the gun.

      

      At last I had a free night and a little self-possession, and I took a bus out to visit Bonnie at her bar. I found her watching over an empty room; it took her a moment to recognize me. Caroline? she said. That’s you, right? She laughed with delight, and I was delighted to hear her. I’m so glad you made it, finally. No one’s coming out: they’re all at home with their families. Behind her the bottles stood, with their cool glass, caramel colors, and invocations of the country, each one topped by a plastic spout. Come on, keep me company. Let me make you one of those fancy drinks, I never get a chance to make them.

      We started talking and we didn’t stop. We went on, the girl and I, gently and carelessly, drinking our drinks and mentioning this and that. This trip down to Padre Island, that neighbor’s barking dog in the backyard. I can’t sleep, said Bonnie. Or if I do, all I dream about is dogs. Does that ever happen to you? When you dream the same thing over and over again?

      Only when I’m awake, I said, and she laughed before I did.

      Another drink, a sound in my ears. Slowly the world was reducing to just we two, our faces, our small questions and confessions. I lied to my doctor, I said to her. I lied to him, I don’t even know why. He asked me if I’d ever been hospitalized before, and I said, Yes, once, for pneumonia. Which I never was. But I didn’t want him to think I was … inexperienced.

      Of course not, said Bonnie. Because otherwise he wouldn’t respect you.

      Was there another drink? Some time later I stood, stretched, and looked around the room. I’ll be right back, I said. The bathroom was cold, and I was quick. When I was finished I studied my face in the dark mirror under the dim blue junkie lights, my skin perfectly clear, smooth and glowing, my eyes hidden in shadows.

      Do you have any brothers or sisters? asked Bonnie when I returned.

      Not really, I said. I was the only baby born to my mother alive: she had one miscarriage before me, and another after, so there I was. She didn’t talk about it, but there I was.—I held my hands out on the table as if I were cupping an invisible infant.

      She sipped and stared at the bartop. I have some stepbrothers somewhere, she said, but I never see them. My mother’s dead, and my father could be anywhere, you know, so I don’t know a soul except for you. Even though I’m sort of very social. Sociable. But just to a point. I don’t really know a single person, except for the people that I see in here, and I only see them here. And you. Does that make you uncomfortable?

      I said, No, not at all. I was playing brave and everclear, but in fact the moment was painful; the debut of a friend was so great a moment that I could hardly stand to consider its consequences. No new lover with his hand on my naked ass could have gotten close to me so quickly.

      She was embarrassed, she looked down and nodded. Looked up. Without flinching she rose from the table and went to make us each another drink, and I walked over to the jukebox, played five songs, and forgot right away what they were. We met at the table again. We were too good for anybody.—Boo! to the bosses, to the rude ones and the tattletales. I like that shirt, said Bonnie. It was loose and black. I like the buttons.

      Later, she talked a little bit about mothers who ran their boys in gangs, and I answered her with a brief elegy on child brides, rooming-house whores, and after-hours abortionists. She told me a story that began with a description of a piece of one-hundred-year-old lace, and another that ended with the sentence, I had to change all the locks on my fucking doors, which cost me about two hundred dollars that I didn’t have. I told her a few things I had learned about landlords, which led me to a remark on the СКАЧАТЬ