Callisto (27 page)

But Sunday in Callisto was okay by me. I woke up on the sofa where I fell asleep drunk out of my mind with the TV hissing at me. I worked my way through to the kitchen and drunk some water then followed with aspirin for a breakfast appetizer then went back and lay on the sofa again.

I napped awhile waiting for my head to quit thumping like that, then got up a second time and made myself waffles and hash browns brung up from the freezer which has still got
plenty of food in there. It's surprising how much is left after a body has been removed from a freezer, but she was not a big woman.

Along about lunchtime I'm feeling better and thinking maybe I should call up Lorraine and see if there's anything I can do for her, maybe take a sixpack over to her place for lunch or something. She has never invited me over to see if it's a house or an apartment or whatever, and you don't truly know a person good enough to be called a friend without you have been invited over to see what kind of place, so this is not a good sign and I'm beginning to wonder about that, if she cares for me at all or what.

Then I heard a car coming up to the house, but I knew even before I got to the door it isn't her because of the engine sound, too big so I'm not surprised to see it's Chet come back to visit. I was happy to see him because it's Chet and Preacher Bob had the goodness of their heart to buy me that cell I am so crazy about. He waved at me and come up on the porch where I invited him in but he said it's so nice of a day why don't we sit on the rocker, so we did. I didn't wait, I brung the new phone out right there to show him and explain all the things it can do.

“That's a nice one, Odell. I'm pleased for you. Now you have to advertise the number so new customers can call you up and get their lawn mowed.”

“I'll take care of that Monday,” I said. “No, wait … I have to cut into my lawn schedule Monday to go to the funeral service for Aunt Bree. I don't even know what time yet. So I'll take care of it Tuesday.”

“It's a nice gesture,” he says, “you going along for the service.
Miss Lowry must be appreciative of that. You and she have gotten to be fairly close because of all this.”

“It's a terrible way to be introduced to someone, but there you go. Lorraine's needing someone to lean on about all this.”

“And you're providing a sturdy shoulder. That's good, Odell. That's a Christian thing to do. You're a fine example of the faith.”

He must have seen me looking uncomfortable about a compliment like that which I don't deserve, because then he says, “You
are
a Christian aren't you?”

Well, it would not have been a good thing to lie to him, a man that gave me cash money to buy a phone that I really like, but at the same time I hated to disappoint a churchgoing type like Chet by telling him I don't believe all that about God watching over us like they say. If God was watching over us, all those little kids in Africa with raggedy clothes would not be carrying around AK-47s and dying from AIDS, if you want my opinion. So I wriggled around trying to think what to say, and Chet being a smart man saw what kind of trouble I'm in and says, “Just speak your natural mind, Odell. The truth is what the truth is according to the mind that gives it voice.”

So I gave it to him in a plain brown wrapper. “Not really.”

Chet patted me on the arm like some old uncle setting my mind at ease. “No need to sound that way about it, Odell. Not everyone chooses to let the light shine upon them, and there are those who come to the light later than others. It's never too late to open your eyes to the special radiance that comes from the presence of the Lord.”

“Okay.”

We both sat quiet for a little while, then he says, “Odell,
would you say that, taking everything into consideration, you might one day become a Christian?”

Chet was worried about my soul, which was very decent and caring of him but a waste of time frankly, because there's no way I would ever change my mind about what I think in regard to this hard question about Believing or Not Believing. I wanted to tell him I would, just to make him feel better about things, but then he might want us to get down on our knees and pray together to make that happen sooner, which I did not want anything so embarrassing to happen so I told him, “Not really.”

I felt ashamed to give him that answer, and Chet, he just nodded slow and careful, not looking at me, then he said, “Things are the way they are for a reason, we sometimes just can't see what that reason might be.”

That sounded very wise so I agreed with him to smooth things over.

He says, “I believe I need a glass of water, Odell, would you mind?”

“With ice?”

“Just as it comes from the tap. The prophets of old didn't have any ice water to cool their thirst out there in the desert.”

I got him the prophet kind of water and he drunk it down, then he stood up and shook my hand. “I'm going back to Topeka tomorrow, so this will be goodbye, Odell. It's a shame about Dean being the way he is, but that's no fault of yours, you didn't know.”

“I sure didn't.”

“Life is a mystery,” he says, “or it appears so to mortal eyes.”

“Uhuh.”

He gave my hand one last firm Christian shake and then went down the steps to his car. He got in and started driving away, leaving me with a sad feeling. He was a good man that saw things different to me so there could not be that special connection which is friendship. Watching his Cadillac drive away slow I asked myself who I ever had the special friendship connection with, and after kind of running everyone I ever knew through my head I had to admit it never really happened yet, I don't know why, but then I'm young still and so have got plenty of time. I had high hopes for Lorraine regarding this. Maybe tomorrow at the funeral I'd get the chance to tell her what's on my mind. Then again, a funeral day is something sad that you shouldn't talk about your own problems in, just the relatives of the dead person, their problems are up for discussing instead, so maybe all of that about telling her how I feel will have to wait awhile yet.

Looking out from the porch at all that Kansas emptiness made me anxious to be doing something, only I couldn't figure out what that certain thing might be, which I know sounds peculiar but that's how it was, kind of like having a plan and then getting knocked on the head and you lose your memory of the plan, but you remember that there
was
a plan, which now is running around in circles like a record inside your head wanting to get made into reality, only you can't do it because you forgot what it is. It made me restive and unhappy to be that way, but what can you do about that – nothing.

And then I knew what it was I wanted to do. It was just as plain as plain can be. I wanted to tell someone I killed Dean accidental and he won't be sneaking up on Senator Ketchum with a gun to kill him like everyone expects. The whole
country is in an uproar about Dean because I have not told what I know, and the Big Secret is weighing me down like a hundred pound sack of flour set across my shoulders. I wanted to tell Condoleezza Rice the whole truth. I would not want to tell anyone else. I only trust my friend Condi to understand what happened and be forgiving about it, knowing none of it was intended to happen that way. And now that I knew what it was that I'd been wanting to do all along, nothing could stop me now from going ahead and doing it.

I went through the house till I found a pen and some paper and a box of envelopes that had one of those little rolls of stamps inside of it, then I sat down at the kitchen table with a shot glass of the Captain to steady me I'm so excited about this. And I wrote her a letter, which this is it here.

I checked it two times looking for mistakes but there aren't any, so I put it in the envelope and sealed her down with a lick, then the same for a postage stamp up in the corner and Condi's name,
The White House, Washington DC
. I left off the zip-code not knowing it, but the Post Office knows where Washington DC is, they are not idiots. Then I put the envelope all stiff and flat up on the mantelshelf between the brass Indian chief head and the seashell ashtray Souvenir of Florida. Then I sat on the sofa and stared at the letter like it's a famous picture hung on the wall. I wanted to mail it right away, but it's Sunday so there's no point, it wouldn't get emptied out of the mailbox until Monday anyway. What I would do, I would mail it after I went to the funeral.

It was so much of a relief knowing I have done the right thing at last. I think one reason I didn't do it yet is because I would have to get interviewed by Chief Webb who I do not like and he doesn't like me, which would be a bad experience
to happen. This way it's Condi Rice who gets told the truth and she is a gentle person even if sometimes she has got to be very firm with those leaders of other countries that don't think like we do, but very fair-minded above all so I have done the smart thing here telling her and not Chief Webb. Condi will invite the top guys from the FBI and Homeland Security and Senator Ketchum around to her place for coffee and cake and explain to them that I did not mean it about Dean and not to throw me in jail. I felt like crying I am so happy about this relief I gave myself.

The kitchen phone rang and it's Lorraine! This shows how today was a day different to all the rest with so many good things happening. The first thing she says to me, “The service is at eleven, so you need to be at the suit rental place at nine to get rigged out. It's at 2389 Kerwin Street, that's downtown. It's called Tux deLuxe and they've got suits for big guys, it's in their ad in the phone book. But they don't rent shirts and shoes and neckties. Have you got that stuff? It has to be suitable.”

“Uh, no, only some boots and sneakers.”

“Are the boots okay, I mean, are they black?”

“Uhuh.”

“And not all wore down at the heels?”

“No, they're in good shape.”

“Okay, just polish them up so they look respectable, and get yourself down to Target first thing to get a shirt and tie, no stripes and no patterns, nothing bright, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And while you're at Target get yourself some slacks and a few polo shirts, neat casual wear for your interview with
Cole, plus a sport jacket. When you don't look like a lawn-mower guy you look like a cowboy, which is not the right look for success, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Got enough money for all that?”

“Yeah.”

She gave a big sigh then said, “I'll be so glad when this is all over, I don't just mean about Bree, I mean about Dean. He hasn't called you, has he?”

“No.”

“Well, if he does, you tell him to give himself up but to keep his mouth shut about the deal with the Tuesday package. There's no point in him telling about that, it just gets me in trouble and doesn't help him out with his own situation at all, you make sure he understands that. In fact, if he calls, tell him to call me and I'll give him the message. I'd be the one he calls anyway, being his sister.”

“Uhuh.”

“I just want this to be over and done with, one way or another. It's eating me up with nervousness this business, the waiting, wondering if Dean's gonna spill the beans about Donnie D and all of that. You do understand you're part of it now, just passing the package along, so if I go down, you go down. Dean has got us both in the palm of his hand about this.”

“Right.”

“You don't sound like you give a shit. This is serious, Odell. The Tuesday arrangement will get us serious cell time if Dean blabs his mouth. I just hope he's gone so far underground with those terrorists he won't ever show up again except in
the headlines, you know, Suicide Bomber Explodes Himself, that kind of a deal.”

“You want Dean to explode himself?”

“Hey, that way he'd die happy like these fanatical religious freaks like to do. Dean was never happy his whole life, so I'd like to think at least he died happy, that'd be something at least. You're not saying much today, Odell.”

“No, but I've been thinking plenty.”

She laughed. “Yeah? About what, deep shit?”

“I'm not in deep shit.”

“No, I mean deep thinking. If I meant big trouble I'd say deep doo-doo, there's a difference.”

“Oh.”

“So what kinda deep shit have you been thinking?”