River (Pt. XIII)

Streaks of sweat wash away silicone and castor oil. Jonah continues:

The boy grew. Lupe and Máximo were wise, in the fashion of the day, and they raised young Eligius to be hard-working, pious, and noble.  A bond of love knit the little family together. 

Máximo was often away in the early years of Eligius life. Much time was spent traveling to Caracas and Havana to find brokers for the indigo or in San Juan haggling with the garrison's procurement agent on a price for Máximo's salt pork. But when he beheld Eligius playing in the courtyard, or laughing in the nursery, Máximo knew no burden. The boy gave him new strength and hardened his determination.

For Lupe, Eligius was irrefutable proof of the goodness of God. By then she knew that her womb would never flower and she loved the boy with a fierceness that stilled her own spirit. She tutored him in good Castillian Spanish and taught him his letters in the evenings before supper. The question of the boy's natural parents no longer troubled her. The wise do not find fault with the Lord's redemption. 

Dolores adapted well to life in la Casa Fuente. In no time at all, she replaced old Ingrid as Lupe's closest confidant and her dedication to Eligius could not be denied. When the boy was hungry, Dolores was ready with beans and bacon; when cold, a blanket and coffee. She knew of the boys complaints before he could give them voice. 

Their shared dedication drew the two women together. In each heart, it became difficult to remember the time that came before Eligius. 

On a chilly autumn evening in Eligius fourth year, Dolores bathed the boy in a tub before the hearth. Lupe sat nearby, reading from the Bible by firelight. Máximo had not yet returned from the fields.

As Dolores squeezed the sponge over his head, Eligius watched the soapy water slide down over his body. Suds passed over the mermaid on his breast and the boy laughed. "See how she splashes in the waves, tía?" he asked. 

Dolores face grew long at the sight and it seemed for a moment that she were in a sad and faraway time.

"What is it, tía?" Eligius asked, concern heavy in his voice.

The boy's tone caused Lupe to look up from her reading. Misunderstanding, she pointed to the birthmark. "It is a gift from the Father," she said, "that He might know you when you come before Him."

But Dolores shook her head. "His father knows him already," she murmured.

A silence descended on the room, broken only by the crackling of the fire. The two women locked eyes and a silent conversation passed between them while the boy stood naked and wet in the tub.

"Let us speak no more of this," Lupe said at last.

To be continued...

Read Part I here. 
Read Part II here. 
Read Part III here. 
Read Part IV here.
Read Part V here. 
Read Part VI here. 
Read Part VII here. 
Read Part VIII here. 
Read Part IX here.  
Read Part X here. 
Read Part XI here. 
Read Part XII here.  
Read Part XIII here. 
Read Part XIV here. 
Read Part XV here.  
Read Part XVI here. 
Read Part XVII here. 
Read Part XVIII here.

River (Pt. XII)

Most anyone would say Driftwood got lucky.

How else could one describe his present circumstances? What brought Driftwood and the car together in the early morning hours at that freeway rest stop out in the middle of nowhere in California? A car that would never be listed as stolen on any police reports? A car delivered to him by two lost and hapless souls that no one would ever miss? In the very moment of his need?

But Driftwood did not believe in luck.

He sat on a box by a dumpster, chewing the burrito Flo had left in the car, and eying the pickup truck parked across the alley. The rubber hose and the empty gas can, his siphoning kit, were tucked behind him in a filthy recess between dark brick walls.

The little nook in which he lurked, part of the city's stinking underside, had seen use. The close-set walls and the on-ramp to the Hawthorne Bridge overhead afforded shelter from sun and rain. Rotted cardboard covered the concrete at his feet. Vagrants had used the place as a temporary resting place. Somewhere to sleep when the homeless current stalled. It suited Driftwood's purposes perfectly. He could remain there, unnoticed, until dusk approached. Then he could make his move. But that was hours away. All there was for him to do at the moment was to wait.

The truck was parked nose-in to a graffiti-spattered brick wall. Near the truck's front bumper, a shabby door opened into a brick wall, a cut-to-fit plywood sheet blanking out a square of window. Windows peaked out from the floors above, revealing dirty white walls and bare light bulbs. An apartment building. But there was no movement nor signs of activity in any of them. It was as good a setting as Driftwood might hope to find. More false evidence of luck.

His one worry was that someone might come for the truck before Driftwood was ready. In that case, he would have to act quickly. But he didn't think that would happen. He had a feel for these things.

His hand dropped to his shin and he felt the knife in its sheathe. The hardness of the finger guard reassured and brought to mind how it had been with Nanna. He recalled how the grip felt when he thrust the blade up and into her, when he saw her eyes widen with realization. That had always been her problem. She never had any idea what was coming.

His plan was to follow the river north. The state line with Washington was not far, but he had no real destination. Just north. In his mind, he saw long stretches of empty highway. A frozen landscape where everything was held in stasis. Seclusion.

The girl would come with him, he knew. Having her along would help avoid suspicion. When the time was right, he could cast her off.

The boy would be a problem. Eddie was lonely and desperate and that made him dangerous. But, like Driftwood, Eddie was running, too. Driftwood had no fear that the boy would speak with anyone who might interfere. As he mused on it a vision came to him: blood leaking into murky water.

 "Whacha lookin' for?"

A voice injected itself into Driftwood's reverie. He snapped his mind to the here and now. Someone had stepped around the dumpster. A young woman. She wore a loose-fitting, sheer blouse and tight shorts, cut high on her thighs. Her hair, dyed an impossible red, was tucked behind ears peppered with piercings. A sleeve of vivid tattoo flowed from wrist to elbow on one arm. Her hip was slung to the side, a hand with painted nails resting on it. She looked at Driftwood with amused disdain.

"I'm waiting for someone," he said.

She sneered. "That's what they all say," she said.

"Get lost," he said.

She shrugged. "Okay, fine," she said. "But if you work up some courage, I'm in that room up there." She pointed to a window on the second floor of the apartment building. "When the music is playing, it means I'm busy. No music means you can come on up." She turned around with an exaggerated swing of her hips and sauntered across the alley. She paused at the door and cast a look back at him. He stared her down without moving a muscle. She turned away with a shrug of her shoulder and disappeared behind the door.

Driftwood thought it over. That was the problem with staying in one place. Still water became stagnant. He thought again about Eddie. If something happened to the boy, how long would it be before someone made the connection between him and Driftwood? How many people had seen Driftwood? How many would see Eddie? How many would see the two of them together?

Even as his mind churned on these thoughts, the woman appeared in the second floor window above. Her shoulders were bare and she stood in the exact center of the window frame, staring down at Driftwood with apparent disinterest. After a moment she bent down out of sight, then rose up again, holding a boom box stereo. She placed it on the sill, speakers facing out into the alley. Then she turned away. The boom box sat on the edge of the sill, mute.

Driftwood shifted further back in the shadows. Besides gas, he would need money. Not much. Just enough keep him in fuel and road food. And damn Nanna for not having the money! If the old cow had been even half of what everyone said about her, Driftwood would be well on his way to Alaska. But he couldn't afford to waste his energy raging about that now. He peeked from behind the dumpster at the pickup again. How much gas was in the tank?

As he watched, a middle-aged man, dressed in slacks and a polo shirt stole down the alley from up the way. His movements suggested he was trying to be discreet, but the bright, clean clothes he wore stood out amid the darkness and drab of the alley.

Driftwood watched as the man, apparently unaware of Driftwood's presence, stopped near the pickup and glanced about carefully. He looked up toward the window where Driftwood had seen the young woman and stood still, listening. Then he opened the door and disappeared into the building.

Driftwood waited.

After a minute, the woman on the upper floor reappeared at the window. She hit the switch on the boom box. Music blared out into the alley; a local radio station. She turned and was swallowed by the vacancy beyond the window.

Music will at least help pass the time, Driftwood thought. He raised an imaginary glass to the window. Here's to business. He settled back and continued to wait.

To be continued...

Read Part I here.Read Part II here. 
Read Part III here. 
Read Part IV here.
Read Part V here. 
Read Part VI here. 
Read Part VII here. 
Read Part VIII here. 
Read Part IX here.  
Read Part X here. 
Read Part XI here. 
Read Part XII here.  
Read Part XIII here. 
Read Part XIV here. 
Read Part XV here.  
Read Part XVI here. 
Read Part XVII here. 
Read Part XVIII here.

River (Pt. XI)

The day he met his father, Eddie awoke to the sound of Carlotta speaking with a man who was not Darrel outside his door. The tones were calm. Or at least not enraged. Eddie lay on the smelly mattress on the floor and listened. The words were indistinct. Something about money. Something about a complicated situation.

Eddie sat up and rubbed his eyes. Carlotta's voice began to take on the sharp edge that Eddie knew so well. He stood up, walked to the door, opened it and stepped out into the hallway.

Carlotta's silhouette was sharp against the morning light, framed by the door at the end of the hall. She stood with her back to him, facing the world outside the dingy apartment. Someone was on the doorstep beyond her. A man Eddie did not know.

Carlotta glanced back over her shoulder. "Shit! He's awake now," she said.

"Is that him?" the man beyond her asked. His voice was subdued. 

Carlotta shrugged. She turned away from the man to speak to Eddie. "Well, kid, look what washed up at the door. You always wondered, but it looks like today is your day to find out. This here is your father."

She stepped aside. Eddie, bathed in unfiltered sunlight, felt suddenly naked and self-conscious. He smoothed down his sleep-mussed hair and squinted.

The man, whoever he was, seemed to be afraid of Carlotta. Eddie couldn't blame him for that. The man stood with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped. His face was bent toward his feet, but he peered up from under at Eddie. For a dreamy moment, Eddie imagined he stood before a mirror that revealed himself twenty years in the future.

"How ya doin', kid?" the man said.

"You're my dad?" Eddie asked.

The man shrugged, but said nothing.

Carlotta filled the void. "Yep. That's him alright. Biggest mistake of my life. I haven't seen him since the day I told him you were coming. Well, here he is, twelve years later."

The man didn't seem to hear. He was looking at Eddie.

Carlotta kept going. "I don't imagine you're here to take him off my hands, are ya?"

"Carlotta, give it a rest," the man said. "I told you. I got troubles of my own."

"Oh, life is real hard up there in Oregon, ain't it?" Carlotta mocked. "Why did you come here?"

Eddie's father shrugged. He hadn't taken his eyes off of Eddie. "I came to see my son," he said.

"Well, take a good look and be on your way," she said. "Darrel will be home soon, and you won't wanna be here."

He spoke to Eddie. "Yeah, kid, I'm your dad. If I ever doubted it, now that I've seen you I know it's true." He took a step across the threshold and stuck out his hand. "If your mom didn't tell you, my name's Adam."

Eddie looked from Adam's face to the extended hand. It was a small hand, very clean, with short, round fingers.  Eddie held out his own hand. Adam seemed relieved as he took it..

"Kid, you wanna go get some breakfast?" Adam asked.

Eddie glanced at Carlotta.

She rolled her eyes. "If you're not gonna take him home with ya, yeah, get him out of my hair for the morning at least," she said.

Adam smiled. "Come on, Eddie. Let's go get some pancakes."

Adam had a car parked on the street. They drove to a breakfast joint not far from the apartment. Adam chose a booth in a corner by the window. The waitress brought menus and left to fetch coffee.

"Get whatever you want, kid," Adam said.

Eddie didn't need to look at the menu. "Chocolate chip pancakes," he said.

Adam smiled. "Been here before?" he asked.

"Carlotta brought me here on my birthday. Darrel slept late that day and we snuck out before he got up."

"This Darrel sounds like a hell of a guy," Adam said.

Eddie shrugged.

"So, you play sports, kid?"

Eddie shook his head. "Just go to school. I don't really hang out with anybody there."

Adam nodded. He dropped his eyes to the table. "Listen, kid, I wanted to tell you--"

The waitress arrived with coffee and a glass of milk. Adam ordered an omelet for himself and bacon and pancakes for Eddie.

Eddie gulped his milk. He took a good look at Adam over the rim of his glass. Adam wasn't exactly what Eddie pictured when he thought of his father. Everything Eddie knew about his father, he'd had to piece together from the tidbits, usually delivered in the form of sneers or insults, that Carlotta had let slip as Eddie grew up. She'd never had anything good to say about him, but Eddie had reserved judgement. In his own mind, he'd imagined his father to be kind and noble and strong, with broad shoulders and a generous smile.

The diminutive, uncertain man Eddie saw before him now was hardly that. But he seemed nice.

Adam poured cream into the steaming cup. It roiled within, keeping its own cloudy identity, until he stirred it. At that point, everything changed to pale mud.

"What do you do for fun?" Adam asked.

"Mostly I just hang out," Eddie said. "Goof around outside. I don't like to stay at home."

Adam nodded. "So, you should know you've got a baby sister up in Oregon. I live in a town called Gresham. I got a wife up there and a little baby girl." His eyes were fixed on Eddie's face.

Eddie slurped his milk.

Adam spoke again. Slowly, as if he chose every word with care. "I got something here for you," he said. He fished in his pocket and produced a key chain attached to a small plastic figure. "In case you ever get a car and want to come up to Oregon."

Eddie took the key chain and looked at it closely. The figure was a mermaid. Her tail was painted green with two red dots on each flesh-colored breast. He could feel Adam's eyes on him as he looked at it and knew somehow that the man's heart was in his throat. So Eddie smiled. "Thanks," he said. When Adam smiled, Eddie felt happy.

"You got anything you wanna ask me, kid?"

Eddie didn't need long to think about it. "Can I call you Dad?" he asked.

To be continued...

Read Part I here.Read Part II here. 
Read Part III here. 
Read Part IV here.
Read Part V here. 
Read Part VI here. 
Read Part VII here. 
Read Part VIII here. 
Read Part IX here.  
Read Part X here. 
Read Part XI here. 
Read Part XII here.  
Read Part XIII here. 
Read Part XIV here. 
Read Part XV here.  
Read Part XVI here. 
Read Part XVII here. 
Read Part XVIII here.