A Hole in the Universe (32 page)

“Pick him up! Get him offa there!” she cried. “He’s filthy!”

“It’s in here somewhere.” Cootie was emptying his pockets onto the counter. “Neil wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget.” He opened various wads of paper, unable to find the right one. “He said two-thirty. Yeah, I know he did. One thing I never forget is time, tell me a time and I never forget. Okay, okay, here, here we go, I got it.” He shook out the scrap, reading at arm’s length. “Two-thirty! I told you!” He showed Gordon. “See?”

“Yes, but right now it’s five forty-five,” Gordon told him. “This says two-thirty A.M.”

“It does? Well, what day is it, then?” Cootie asked.

“Thursday,” Gordon said.

The old man looked about to cry. “Where’d Wednesday go? What the hell happened? Are you sure?”

“Yes, positive.”

“I fucked up,” the old man cried. “I missed it!”

“That’s it,” Serena declared. She locked her register and hurried toward the office. “You won’t leave, so I’m calling the cops.”

“No, no, no, no—we’re going, we’re going. See, here we go, c’mon now, little doggie, c’mon, we gotta figure out what we’re gonna do,” he muttered, scooping up the dog and limping toward the door.

After he was gone, Gordon picked up the paper the old man had dropped. “Halefield Dairy” was printed at the top. There was a Halefield Dairy pad in Neil’s office, but why would he want the old man here at that time?

At six, it got busy again, with the steady run of suppertime shoppers lasting until seven. “God, my feet are killing me.” Serena sat on a milk crate, wincing as she rubbed one instep, then the other.

“Go home,” he said. “Go ahead, I can finish.”

“You sure?” She got up quickly and put on her shoes. “Thanks again,” she said as he unlocked the front door for her. “I really appreciate this. And don’t forget, we’re three carts short,” she called on her way out.

He watched until she turned the corner, then continued wetmopping the front of the store. Pieces of the old rubber tiles kept breaking off in the mop strands. He had gone from that first unaccustomed anger with his brother to feeling hurt. He dumped the black mop water down the double sink in the storeroom and felt the anger churning again. He hadn’t done anything wrong. But somehow Dennis had made it seem that way. He’d only wanted to help, but Dennis made it all sound so desperate and perverted. Was his brother that cruel and self-centered? Or like their mother when feeling cornered, quick to turn their strong bright lights on everyone else’s flaws, missteps, and ineptitudes? He hated the way he felt right now. For all these years he had managed to control his feelings, to rise above cruelty and perversion. But how could he now? He couldn’t just look away, isolate himself. This was his brother. His insides felt as if something had broken loose and was clanking around between his head and gut. The best remedy was work. He had to keep busy. If Dennis was willing to risk everything for some woman, then that was his problem and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. He had to stay focused. In control. No one could harm him unless he let them. Like the girl Jada. He had let her get too close. He had gotten careless, had followed his feelings instead of his head.

After one last check, he locked up for good. Halfway down the street, he remembered the missing carts. They were probably in the strip of woods behind the store. Last week there had been a brush fire in there. Right before the fire trucks arrived, a pack of boys had darted out of the smoky scrub, each in a different direction. He’d look first thing tomorrow. A night in the woods wasn’t going to do any more damage to those rusting old carts.

He wasn’t too far from the Market when he spotted a cart in an alley so narrow, it ran like a crease between two tenements. He had to lean in sideways to pull it out.

“Hey, mister!” A round little woman with green-streaked hair chased after him. “What’re you doing? That’s mine! You got my cart! You can’t just take my cart!”

“It belongs to the Market. The Nash Street Market.” He gestured ahead.

“Like hell it does! I got that cart. It’s mine,” she said, pulling on it.

“I’m sorry, but it’s not.”

“Yes, it is, because I got that cart. It’s from Shop and Save. See!” She pointed.

“Where? Where does it say that?” The plastic store strip had broken off the handle. It belonged to the Market, he repeated as he pushed it away.

“Please, mister!” she implored, hurrying alongside. “Okay! You’re right, it is your cart, but the thing is I need it. I got nine-month-old babies, two twins, and last week they stole my stroller right outta my hallway, and the babies, they’re too big, I can’t carry them both at the same time plus go get food and formula all the time, not to mention Pampers. I go through these, like, humongous packages, and I just want to use it, that’s all. Just borrow it. A week. Just a couple days.” Breathless, she tried to keep pace. “My girlfriend Wanda, she works in the Goodwill. She’s tryna find me one. Please!”

“I’m sorry.” The cart’s rattle over the cracked pavement vibrated up his arms. He felt terrible, thick and obdurate. But how could he give what didn’t belong to him? And if he did, what if she was accused of stealing it? Then, of course, she would say he had given it to her, and that might be it, the stupid mistake, the one moment of weakness that would bring everything to a wrenching stop.

“Please, mister! A few days, that’s all, and then I’ll bring it back. I swear. Please! I need it! Please!” she shouted after him. “You no good son of a . . .”

The minute he turned the corner he saw a funnel of black smoke rising behind the store. Papery cinders drifted past like black snowflakes. He left the cart by the doors and ran out back. Flames licked up to the roof. The mountain of boxes Neil had piled against the building was ablaze. Fragments of fiery cardboard floated up through the smoke.

He ran around the loading dock and uncoiled the hose from its hanger. As he reached under the stairs to turn on the faucet, he heard a
whoosh
and then flames erupted in a pile of boxes that hadn’t been under there this morning. He aimed the high-powered nozzle directly into the smaller fire, dousing it immediately. He struggled to pull the taut hose around the dock. It wasn’t long enough, so he had to duck down to bring it under the smoky platform. As he crawled out the other side, he saw the old man disappear into the woods, his dog skittering after him. His heart sank as the first blast of water only seemed to feed the fire. Burning strips of siding curled away from the building. Moving closer, he aimed the water into the core of the blaze until there was only thick black smoke. Coughing, he sprayed the fiery siding, waving the hose back and forth between the loading dock and the building. Streams of black muck puddled around his feet. The blast of water was all he could hear. Someone jostled his arm. Startled, he jumped. He kept trying to hand the shouting fireman the hose until he realized they had their own. They wanted him out of their way.

The police had located Neil at the Dearborn Country Club. The cleats of his white golf shoes clicked on the asphalt as he ran to the back of the Market.

“It looks a lot worse than it is,” the fire lieutenant said. He continued writing his report as he talked to Neil. “You’re lucky your man here came back when he did.”

Gordon shrugged and tried to smile. Poor Neil, he could use some breaks.

“He called you?” Neil asked.

“He put it out,” the lieutenant said. “With the hose there. It must’ve just started.”

“How’d it start?” Neil asked.

“Probably set. All that cardboard there,” the lieutenant said, snapping shut the thin metal cover of his report. The fire marshal’s office would be investigating, he added, then told Neil they had to check inside now.

Why? What were they looking for? Neil wanted to know. Did they think someone might be in there?

No, they had to make sure the wiring was all right.

While Neil went through the building with the lieutenant and two other firemen, the rest of the crew waited by their trucks, drinking bottled water and arguing about some new player the Red Sox had just traded for. Gordon lingered by the Dumpster. He folded his arms, unfolded them, paced back and forth, then decided to look in the woods for the missing carts. The first one lay on its side in the dry streambed. Nearby was the second one, jammed into a snarl of brush. It was filled with empties and covered with a tattered brown blanket. Cootie’s stash, he realized, dragging them from the woods. With the ruckus of cans and bottles clinking in the rattling carts, the firemen stopped talking. They knew who he was. He took a deep breath. What if they thought he had set the fire?

Satisfied there had been no electrical or structural damage, the lieutenant was leaving.

“It’s those goddamn kids. I don’t know what more I can do,” Neil called through the closing door. He locked it. Gordon had been filling a trash bag with the cans and bottles. He and Neil watched the smaller truck pull into the street, where it held back traffic so the hook and ladder could turn out of the lot.

“Neil, it was the old man. Cootie, he’s the one who set the fire. I saw him.”

“You saw him? You saw him set it?”

“Well, no, not setting it. But he was right there. I was trying to get the hose around and I saw him. He was running into the woods.”

“Did you tell them that?”

“No. I thought I should tell you first.”

“Well, that’s good. That’s really fucking good,” Neil said with a deep sigh.

“It’s a mess out there, huh? But it shouldn’t take too long to clean up. I can get started first thing in the morning.”

Neil looked out at the street.

“At least you don’t have to shut down, that’s one good thing,” Gordon continued.

Neil turned, face twisted, his eyes red and wet. “Forget about Cootie. You didn’t see him. He wasn’t there. He had nothing to do with this, all right? You got that straight?”

Gordon nodded.

“You’re not as thick as you want me to think, are you, Gloomis?” That slow smile leaked from Neil’s mouth. “You want something, don’t you. What? What is it? How much?”

“I don’t want anything,” he said, drawing back.

“Then why the fuck didn’t you let it burn?”

 

 

He didn’t understand men like his brother and Neil, he thought as he walked home. Didn’t they know how close to the edge they walked? Couldn’t they feel the frenzy, like particles of mad, fatal energy charging the very air they breathed?

The next day, Eddie Chapman was sitting in his truck outside the Market. One of his laborers was with him, a burly young fellow with a thin ponytail halfway down his back.

Probably here to clean the mess out back,
Gordon thought as he reached to open the door.

“Hey! Hey, Loomis!” Eddie called, climbing down from the truck. He and the laborer walked toward him.

“How’re you doing, Eddie?” He smiled and held the door open for them.

“Shut the door,” Eddie said.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“You’re through. You’re done. You don’t need to go in there,” Eddie said.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re fired, plain and simple.”

“I don’t understand.”

Serena and June watched from their registers, arms folded and tense.

“What’s to understand? You don’t work here anymore.”

“But why? I mean . . . why?”

“Jesus! I gotta spell it out for you? It’s like one thing after another.”

Gordon opened the door, and Eddie’s arm blocked him. “I want to talk to Neil,” he said, pushing past. He hurried to the back of the store, past Leo, who continued splitting chicken breasts with his cleaver. With the men right behind, he knocked on the door and Neil opened it, startled to see him.

“What? What’re you doing here? What do you want?”

“Why are you firing me, Neil? What did I do?”

“People are nervous. They don’t feel safe anymore.” Neil peered around him at his brother-in-law.

“Why? What did I do?”

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie growled. “You almost burned the whole fucking place down.”

“No! It wasn’t me. Neil, you know—”

“All I know is I don’t want any trouble. And you don’t, either, do you, Gloom? Besides, it’s not like I even hired you in the first place. And Eddie, he didn’t know, so, What the hell, I said to myself, we’ll give it a go, see what happens. But after last night, Christ, I mean, this is a whole new ball game. And it’s not just my employees, I got customers to think of here. Public safety, you know? Here. Take it.” He stuffed a wad of bills into Gordon’s hand. “Tide you over, okay?”

 

 

Dullness prevailed. His appetite was gone. Even his vision was off. Everything seemed murky, as if he were peering through a soiled curtain. Sunshine swelled in the windows, but the little house stayed cold and gray inside. Where once he had found peace in this stillness, now there was a constant watery rush in the air. The phone rang unanswered. He opened the front door just wide enough to get the mail. The roses were dropping leaves. Mrs. Jukas went back and forth to appointments in a MediVan. Loose papers and fast-food detritus littered both their lawns. Is that all that would be left? Who in the end would care? His sleep was riddled with distorted faces and frantic prison voices. In last night’s dream he sat naked on Mrs. Jukas’s porch, masturbating while women and children ran off screaming. Janine Walters was the only one who stayed. She watched with an indulgent smile, then began to pant with him, moaning as he pushed away from her bed, then looked down at her cold, staring eyes and her open mouth’s blunted scream.

The phone rang, and once again the machine clicked on. “Gordon! If you’re there, will you please pick up?” Delores said, and he cringed. “Please! I’m so worried about you. All right, that’s it. I’m coming—”

He picked up the phone and told her he wasn’t feeling too well, that was all. She wanted to come right over. She’d stop at the deli for some chicken soup. Was there anything else he wanted or needed? She’d be going right by the drugstore. No, no, he tried to explain. It wasn’t that he was sick. He just hadn’t felt like going anywhere. Or seeing anyone.