Richmond Noir (8 page)

I’m staring at Benny, lying on her side in the turbine—and I can’t help but remember her all bulked up in her jackets, a layer of long johns underneath. She’d just gotten another coat, three sizes too big for her, pulled it out from the lost-and-found at some church. Made her look like a little girl wearing her daddy’s jacket, her hands swallowed up by the sleeves. Now she’s naked. I’m noticing all the bruises I’ve never seen before, the abrasions. All the liver spots and melanomas that were hidden from me. Her wrinkles are full of mud, as if the river has tried washing the years away. I’ve never seen her face so smooth. I can almost imagine what she looked like when she was a girl, like in that photograph. The mud in her hair has dyed the white right out, back to natural brown. Chestnut eyes to match her new brunette curls.

I see the expression in her eyes, glassed over—those last few thoughts that passed through her mind as she wrestled with the river, fighting for dry land.

Afraid
. She looks like she was afraid.

I’m imagining her numb hands thrashing through the water, reaching for anything that’s going to save her. She’s wearing some sort of ID bracelet, orange plastic snapped into place. Her arms are so thin, nothing but skin and bones. The bracelet slides all the way up to her elbow.

Have her listed as DOE, JANE. Bastards even took her name away.

She’d been complaining about a cough all week. Hacking up phlegm in her sleep. Sounded awfully deep. Whatever it was, it was rooted within her chest, beginning to block her breathing. The air couldn’t reach her lungs without sounding wet.

Jesus, Benny. You sound terrible. Think you better have that looked at
.

You my doctor now? Where am
I
gonna go?

How about a hospital?
I asked, pressing the back of my hand against her forehead.

Hospital? Nah. Need to sleep it off is all
.

It was easy to feel the fever burning through. Felt so warm, I couldn’t help but keep my hand there a little longer than I needed to. Hold onto that heat for a while. Couldn’t help but think about all those soldiers, sitting in the cold. Sickest prisoners were always taken to the hospital just on the other side of the island. They were made to stand and wait until their names were taken. Could’ve been hours before they got called up. If they survived that long, they were led to a ward already cluttered with dozens of others. Sheets were never cleaned. Beds full of vermin. These doctors would rush through the ward like it was a race, seeing who could finish first. I never blamed Benny for distrusting doctors. But there she was, sounding like she was drowning from the inside out. Running her finger along the anchor tattooed on my arm, only sinking deeper into her own lungs.

I’ll go to the hospital if you let me ask you something
.

Okay
, I said.

Why’d we really come here?

I didn’t say anything.

What’s so important about this place?

I made something up. Something about Civil War relics buried somewhere around here. If we found them, we wouldn’t have to worry over nothing ever again.

Hope you find them
, she said, not buying it one bit, something pink making its way to her lips.
Whatever’s buried here
.

Fell asleep first. I was always falling asleep before Benny did. Closed my eyes and found a familiar flame, this burning yellow one-piece, slipping off into the water without me.

Don’t
go too far out, hon
, I’d said.
Only up to your ankles
.

We’d spread a blanket out across our rock. Lunch was behind us. All we had to do for the remainder of the day was rest next to the river. Take in the sun amongst all the other families. And swim.

But
I
want to go out there, Daddy
.

Too dangerous, sweetie. You’ve got to be careful about the currents
.

The what?

The currents!

Can’t say how long I’d been sleeping. I didn’t come to until I heard the family from the neighboring rock start shouting. I sat up, squinting from the sun. Couldn’t focus at first, watching this flash of yellow disappear into the river.

Her body had turned blue by the time I reached her. I dropped to my knees. Pressed my lips against hers and breathed. I tried pushing the air into her lungs. Her chest would expand. Her rib cage was a pair of ambulance doors fanning open. But the air only seeped out, her chest sinking back down again.

The air wouldn’t stay inside my daughter.

Benny didn’t wake me up the following morning. Didn’t ease me up from my dream like she usually does. I had to snap myself back. Woke up and found her just next to me, barely breathing. Her eyes were wide open, staring up at nothing.

Benny? What’s wrong?

I carried her across the underpass, back to the mainland. Hefted her the whole way to the hospital, just praying we’d make it. Lost the feeling in my arms fast, but I held onto her the whole time.

We’re almost there, Benny
, I said.
Almost there
.

The sliding glass doors parted, welcoming Benny inside. I rushed her right to the front desk, all out of breath. The nurse took one look at us and froze. Stared at me like I was holding up the place.

You’ve got to help her
, I begged.
She’s sick with something
.

What’s her name? Do you know her name?

Benny, all right? Now just do something!

Spent fifteen minutes in the waiting room. I quickly started to feel like I didn’t belong. Looking over all the wounded, the sick. Everyone waiting for a doctor to call out a name. This little girl sitting next to me was as anxious as I was to get the hell out of there, scuffing her heels along the carpet. Her mom took one look at me and moved her daughter a couple rows over Most folks were giving me a wide berth by then, sitting as far away from me as humanly possible. Then I caught sight of a couple of security guards coming my way. The nurse from the front desk was following right behind them, pointing at me. Panic set into my system, telling me I better act quick. But Benny wouldn’t know where to go. She’d think I left her there, just up and abandoned her. The guards picked up their pace as soon as I stood. I cut them off at the sliding glass doors.

They followed me as far as the parking lot before giving up. All the while, I just kept saying to myself,
Belle Isle, Benny. Just meet me back at Belle Isle
.

Three days I wandered around. Took every nature path I could find, weaving in and out of the woods. I read every marker I stumbled upon until there wasn’t a corner on the island where I didn’t know exactly what had happened. Class was in session. Time for my history lesson. Get up on my Richmond. Wait for Benny to come home.

The dead were buried on the western slope of the island. That’s what the sign said. Over a hundred prisoners of war dumped into the dirt. Nothing but burlap wrapped around their bones—the lice wriggling free, trying to hop out before the earth got shoveled over. The bodies remained on Belle Isle until 1864—not long at all. Just a few years in the ground before they were dug back up and reinterred on the mainland. Their bones were taken away, while their ghosts got left behind.

Corporal Edwin Bissel from Iowa. Company D, fifth infantry
.

Captain Spencer Deaton. Company B, Tennessee infantry
.

Lieutenant J.T. Ketchum. Company
M,
Richmond artillery
.

And now Benny. Couldn’t tell you where she was from. Couldn’t say if she had any family around here or not. Never mentioned any kids of her own to me. But Benny was my friend. She’s the only one buried on Belle Isle anymore, her grave unmarked, her body resting inside the vacant spot of some dug-up soldier. Only person who knows she’s out there is me.

I stuffed her photographs into my pockets, layering up. Every jacket was padded with pictures, a Kevlar vest of Benny’s memories to protect me. Hadn’t left Belle Isle for over a week. The footbridge felt like it was about to snap, rocking under the weight of the traffic passing overhead. I was a bit wobbly at first, setting foot back onto the mainland, as if I’d been at sea all this time. First place I went was Monroe. Make an appearance for the police. Send a message that I was looking for them. When you’re after the brass, it’s better to let them come to you. So I just rested myself on a bench along the northern portion of the park, right under a magnolia tree. Couldn’t have closed my eyes for more than an hour before I got my wake-up call. Nothing but a wooden baton in the ribs, two boys-in-blue encouraging me to move merrily along my way.

Time to get up
, one of them said.
Sleep somewhere else
.

I’m looking for my friend
.

Who’s your friend?

Benny
.

He loiter around here too?

If I was going to find out what happened to Benny I would have to go through it myself. Couldn’t just waltz into the hospital and ask for a lollipop, expecting them to tell me what the doctors did to her. The only way I was slipping past those sliding glass doors was with an emergency. And for that I needed a little help from my friends. So me and the boys-in-blue did a little Civil War reenactment of our own right there in the heart of Monroe Park. Sure were looking like soldiers to me, more and more, anyhow. Their cadet-blue uniforms. Their Jefferson boots. One stripe on their shoulder for every five years of faithful service. I went ahead and shoved my elbow into the stomach of the closest artilleryman. He buckled over, leaving me and the other soldier to share a few fists back and forth. Got a baton straight across the face. Busted my nose right open. Wasn’t long before the other soldier got his breath back, swinging right along. Some swift hits to the stomach came my way. Then the chest. Before I knew it, I was on my knees, this heat swelling up in my gut.

We catch you in the park again
—
next time, we’re arresting you
.

Where’s Benny?

Fed a few loose teeth to the pigeons, spitting them to the ground like bloody bread crumbs. Watched the birds scurry up, pecking away. Must’ve been hungrier than me.

Not gonna tell you again
.

What’d you do to her?

I blacked out after that. It gets a little patchy from here on. Memories begin to blend together; it was pretty difficult to tell whose history was whose anymore. I woke up in a waiting room. Could’ve been there for hours, staring up at the ceiling. Hum of fluorescents might as well have been flies buzzing about my body. Felt this fire inside my stomach. An oil lamp had busted open in my belly, kerosene leaking from my spleen. Nurses hovering over my head. None of them liked the smell of me.

One of them said, Got
another homeless here
.

Speaking like I don’t understand English.

Humana? Unicare?

Acting like they couldn’t hear me.
Where’s Benny?

Blue Cross?

What’d you do with Benny?

Kept hearing the same word, over and over—
Insurance? Insurance?

All I had was an eagle and an anchor.

Another asked,
Name?

I answered right back:
Lieutenant J.T. Ketchum. Company
M,
Richmond artillery
.

She called out,
This one’s a vet
, I
guess
.

Damn right I’m a vet. I served my country. I fought at the Battle of Belle Isle. I have defended this city my whole life. I have given Richmond everything. My daughter. My best friend. I’ve got nothing now. What’s left of me to give?

My colon, apparently. Had something hooked up to my side—I could feel it. A plastic bag. Reminded me of one of Benny’s bags with all her junk. One of Benny’s bags was attached to my abdomen, itching like a son of a bitch. Every time I tried scratching, some nurse slapped my hand away.

Just trying to help
, I said.

Help yourself is more like it
, she shot back, easing a needle into my arm. Suddenly the room went all soft. My tattoos felt fuzzy. The eagle on my forearm sank deeper into my skin, its talons dragging the earth down with it.

Just when you think you’ve got nothing left to give, there’s always something more for this city to take away. Even your history. I’m back at the prison camp. Gangrene’s lingering in the air. Rotten cheese. Got to keep the flies off—otherwise, they’ll lay their eggs in my wounds. Neglected men everywhere, suffering from exposure. Fingers and feet lost to frostbite. Typhoid fever. Dysentery. My miserable comrades are dying all around me as the morning shift takes over, new nurses asking the same questions—
Anthem?

What’d you do to Benny?

Carefirst?

What’d you do to my friend?

Clothes are gone. My shoes are gone. Got me in this green paper gown now.

Green paper gown.
Green paper gown
.

I’m in a wheelchair, rolled out into the parking lot. It’s morning. Sun’s just rising. An ambulance pulls up in front of me. I’m told to hold my colostomy bag as it drops into my lap. Feels soft inside. The guy behind the wheel’s asking for an address.

Where you want to go? You got to give me an address, pal
.

Only address that’s coming to mind is Freedom House. On Belvidere.

There’s no shelter on Belvidere anymore
, he says as we drive off.
Shut that one down a long time ago
.

The ambulance stops. Back doors fan open. I’m met with the winter sun. I can see my breath fog up before me. I see the James.

I see the river.

Richmond could’ve cared less about Benny. She was just another blip of banal city bureaucracy. They dumped her along the river—up and dumped her as far away from themselves as they could, hoping the currents would carry her the rest of the way. What happened to her must happen in that hospital all the time. Because here it is, happening to me.

The driver won’t let me keep the wheelchair. All I get is my colostomy bag. He tosses a Ziploc next to me, full of photographs. None of these faces look familiar. Can’t tell if they’re my family or not. I slip the edge of the pouch between my teeth, carrying it in my mouth as I crawl across the rocks. My green paper gown softens in the water, adhering itself to my body like a second layer of skin. The river’s cold—but before long, all feeling is gone. I know I’m moving, I know I’m on my back. I can see my arms pushing through the water. My colostomy bag must be keeping me afloat, bobbing along the surface. Everything I own is inside.