Jewelweed (66 page)

Blake was driving downhill, occasionally engine-braking, and thinking about Ivan. He knew little about him, far less than his consuming concern for the boy's future would seem to imply. But what Ivan was becoming was of more immediate consequence than what he already was, in any case. And why did he have to repeat fifth grade, anyway? Blake decided that before school started in the fall, he would go talk to Ivan's teachers. Maybe there was some other way. And even if there wasn't, he would be sure they knew who he was.

This train of thought surprised him. Normally too uncomfortable with himself even to go into the public library in Grange and check out a book, Blake was now contemplating going into school to talk with public officials, perhaps even some of the teachers who had once taught him. It seemed out of character, and yet he could feel almost all of himself wanting to do it. Even his interior choir of dissidents, who consistently demonstrated a principled disrespect for anything outside his established traditions, seemed in favor of going. Once again, he was beginning to sense the possibility of a new life already begun.

The road began to descend more rapidly, and every so often he touched
the truck's brakes, keeping under the speed limit. He was hungry, and he thought about stopping to get something to eat at the brick restaurant under the viaduct. Eleven years ago, he and Dart had gone there after competing in Dickeyville hill climbs. They ordered full-dress cheeseburgers, sat inside a red booth, and Dart complained that the ground beef had come from round instead of chuck, the cheddar was too gooey sweet, the lettuce wilted, and the tomato slice was without any taste at all. He fondly remembered the sound of her voice, and the way her eyes looked when she was annoyed by something she considered truly blameworthy. But before he could adequately savor this affection he was assaulted by the deathless grief that surrounded all his memories of her. He pushed the recollection aside.

He saw a sign for a farmers' market in the city square and decided to go there instead. That way he could also look for something to take back to his father.

Without the trailer it was easy to find a place to park the Kenworth, and when he arrived at the square in front of city hall, he was glad he had come. There were fifteen or twenty booths, each displaying colorful vegetables and fruit, local meat in coolers, honey, homemade breads, cookies, and a wide variety of chutneys and relishes in polished glass jars with pieces of ruffled cloth screwed tight between the sealed lid and screw top. Shoppers with bags of produce went from booth to booth, and standing among them, Blake closed his eyes and imagined his father's face, felt his love for such scenes. Then he opened his eyes and began searching for the right foods to bring home, talking to vendors as if they were old friends, delighting in the colors, sounds, and smells.

One booth offered boxes of assorted caramels made by a Trappist order of sisters called Our Lady of the Mississippi Abbey. Blake bit into a sample and exclaimed, “This is fantastic. How do you get that chewy, smooth richness? And the buttery flavor? I've never tasted anything like it. How do you do it?”

The sister behind the table confessed she didn't know. She was not part of the team that made the candy, and it was only yesterday that she had volunteered to work the booth. Blake bought a box for Ivan, and then asked on a whim if she'd ever heard of Spinoza.

“Of course,” she said. “Spinoza was the first modern philosopher.”

Blake was overjoyed. It seemed so improbable to meet someone familiar with Spinoza. The size of the universe shrank to walking distances in all directions.

“Look at this,” he said, turning around and showing the knife hole in the back of his leather jacket. “I did that in honor of Spinoza.”

“Very clever,” said the sister.

“Spinoza wanted to remind himself how dangerous new ideas were,” said Blake.

“And did you know he gave away his family fortune?” asked the sister.

“Yes,” said Blake, his excitement rising. “I knew that.” It felt as if the world had opened a small space in which he could be comfortable, where he could feel at home the way he was.

“He lived a life of voluntary poverty, just as I do,” said the sister.

“Excellent!” shouted Blake, taking the plastic rosary out of his pocket to give to her. But just then he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye a woman with no helmet and wild hair pull her motorcycle in front of the parked Kenworth, climb off, and dash across the street into the square, coming in his direction.

Something in her urgent manner ignited his attention. He excused himself from the conversation he was having with the sister and turned away from the booth.

Just as he turned, Dart stopped and they stared at each other across the square. Her face glowed from the wind and Blake held the box of caramels under his right arm. The plastic rosary dangled from his left hand. Then they ran toward each other, meeting in front of a pile of ripe muskmelons.

“They're after you,” said Dart, breathing through her mouth and talking at the same time. “They're looking for your truck. We'll have to leave it here and find another way across the river. We need to call your father. He's worried, and Winnie and Jacob are too. We'll tell them where the truck is. They can come get it. How could you leave the state without telling your release agent? How could you risk it? Why would you do that to me? You brought August and Ivan down here with you, did you know that? They were in the back of the trailer, and they almost got killed at the packing plant. They were locked in, and it's your fault. Are you crazy, Blake? You need to think and you never do. Your life belongs to other people now. How could you have left me and Ivan alone all those
years? Didn't you know I was pregnant? Didn't you know how lonely I would be? Do you have any idea how hard it is to raise a child alone? Didn't you ever think about that? None of this had to happen. All those years we could have been together. We could have had something nice. Ivan would have had a father. What were you thinking?”

Blake was still falling into her unexpected presence. Her mouth, her darting eyes, how the wind held her black hair away from her tight brown face—it was more than he could comprehend. She'd lived as a static treasure in his mind for so many years, and now that she was real he had a hard time making the adjustment.

“What?” he said.

“Aren't you listening to me, Blake Bookchester? Aren't you? Stop looking at me like that. Stop it. We don't have time to look at each other like that. We've got to get out of here. The police are everywhere, like bugs on rotten fruit. They aren't far behind. Is there anything you need in the truck?”

“I loved you the first time I saw you,” said Blake triumphantly, as if he were completing a sentence at the end of a marathon.

“That's just dumb, Blake. The first time you saw me you didn't know anything. We have to get out of here.”

“Can you smell those ripe muskmelons? Let's get a couple to take home.”

“Are you crazy? We've got to get you back into Wisconsin. Your release officer is about to put you back in jail. I told you, stop looking at me like that.”

They ran to the motorcycle. Blake got on and started the engine. Dart climbed on behind, hugging him firmly between her thighs like a grasshopper on a blade of grass.

“This seat is terrible,” she said.

“I know,” he replied. “Would you rather drive?”

“No. My hands are still vibrating; I can hardly feel them. But you really need to do something about this seat.”

They sped away from the truck, looking for someone with a boat to take them across the river.

“Blake, how are we ever going to put all this behind us?” shouted Dart into his ear. “How are we ever going to get over all this?”

“We will!” shouted Blake.

“What?”

“We will!”

“I can't trust you again, not with Ivan and not with me!” she shouted into a third-gear wind.

“What?”

“I can't trust you again.”

“Yes you can.”

“What?”

“Yes you can!”

“I'm no good at trusting people. I can't help it.”

“That's okay. Think whatever you want!” shouted Blake. “It won't change anything. I'll always be here.”

“People never really get over the bad things that happen to them.”

“We will!” shouted Blake. “We'll rise together out of the past like two rooted trees.”

“Like what?” shouted Dart.

“Like two rooted trees!”

“That's just stupid, Blake. Why would you say something like that? Are you trying to make me mad on purpose?”

“What?”

“God, this is an uncomfortable seat. If you don't do a better job of missing those bumps in the road there won't be anything left of my ass. And neither of us would be happy about that.”

“What?”

“Never mind!”

O
n Sunday, Dart made a late brunch of Belgian waffles, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, sausage, toast, and fruit jam. The entire Roebuck household enjoyed it. When they had finished, Wally carried his second cup of coffee down to the pond and sat on the bank looking into the water. Several minutes later, Kevin and his father joined him, followed by Ivan, Dart, Amy, Flo, and Kevin's nurse.

Buck took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pant legs, and waded in. He lifted the metal cage out of the pond and carried it onto the grassy bank.

Everyone stared at the enormous turtle inside. The turtle stared back, its eyes round, small, and bright. Ivan called August on Dart's new cell phone and told him everything.

“Are you sure about this, Kev?” asked Buck.

“Yes,” said Kevin.

“Maybe you'd like to think on it a little longer,” said Wally.

“I don't need to,” said Kevin. “I've made up my mind.”

“The DNR would be more than happy to take him south,” said Amy.

“No,” said Kevin. “He came here. This is his pond. It's where he wants to be. If he decides to leave he can go on his own.”

“Good point,” said Wally.

“And you won't worry about him coming after you again?” asked Dart. “I mean, what if he does?”

“He knows where he can find me,” said Kevin. “Turn him loose, Dad.”

Buck unsnapped the wire fasteners and pivoted the top and sides of the cage away from the heavy wire on the bottom.

The turtle stuck out its neck, turned its head, and looked at them, then
slowly crawled into the water. His broad encrusted back remained for a short time above the surface, then moved forward again and disappeared into the pond.

“He's going deeper and fading away,” said Ivan into the phone. “He's gone now.”

“It's done,” said Kevin.

“Good man, Kev,” said Wally, writing something in his notebook.

While the others went back to the house, Flo asked Buck if he would help her walk all the way around the pond.

“Sure,” said Buck. He sat down on the bank to put his shoes and socks back on.

“From my room I look out over the water every day,” said Flo. “Just once I want to see it from the other end.”

“I can understand that,” said Buck. Flo took hold of his arm and they inched along the grassy slope.

About halfway around, Flo spoke again. “I'm afraid I have another favor to ask.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to drive to Luster and talk to that release agent. I think his name is Jack Station.”

“Why?”

“Blake Bookchester can't be sent back to prison, Buck.”

“Did something happen?”

“Not yet, but it will. Blake's impulsive, and all he has to do is go into a tavern or show up late for a drug test. Seventy-one percent of all recidivism results not from new crimes, but simply from breaking the rules.”

“What do you want me to do, Florence?”

“I don't know exactly,” replied Flo, “but you need to go over and talk to that release agent. It would break Dart's heart if she lost him again. I know she's tough, but people have their limits.”

“I suppose that's true.”

They took a few more steps and then Flo went on, “You know my husband was a teacher.”

“I remember, a professor.”

“He said every so often a student would come along who wanted more than just the credit and degree. Every once in a great while, he said,
a student came along who wasn't looking for a way to succeed in society, but was desperately seeking a way out of it. Those students, he always said, were like canaries in a coal mine. If they couldn't survive, the rest of us were doomed. The success of democracy depended on them.”

“Is Blake really our responsibility?”

“Yes he is.”

“I'll go over and talk to Station then,” said Buck.