Savior (15 page)

They sat on the cushions lining the wall of the bus. Vargas sat down beside Arden and played his fingers up and down the window, drawing figures in the condensation.

Suddenly, claustrophobia got the better of Ricky. The brownies had been a bad idea. He thought about getting up.

You welcome to stay here, said Vargas.

Thanks, said Lianne.

What he got in that
backpack? Is that all you got with you?

Yeah.

What you got in there, Ricky? Show them, said Lianne. He's not answering right now.

They were talking to him but his mind was far away, thinking of
his father and mother and how he'd once thought their world would never end. It must have been his tenth birthday when he realized that people grew up and got older and nothing stayed the same. Even after that, for a few years, his memories seemed surrounded in a gauzy glow that must have been his mind's visual representation of contentment. This here, on the bus, was the opposite. People were striving to stay above the lip of total despair; and the arrangements, the buses pulled around the house with the crude paneling and the wood stoves, had no pull on them. It was all temporary and provisional and he realized this was the way most humans lived all the time and only ten year-olds could have any other impression of how things worked. There was so much for him to work out and no time at all to do it. What was the point of this? Where were they going, the people on the buses? And if he thought of the impossibility of ever finding Al buried in the bowels of Fort McMurray in the far North, it was enough to send him down into a well of self-pity and helplessness from which he would never be able to dig out. He pulled out the tablet and held it to his head for comfort. The cold stone soothed him. He thought he could hear his mother's voice. The words were inaudible, but if he listened hard enough he could hear something. He could almost swear on it. Then Vargas pulled it slowly out of his hand in a way that was almost imperceptible, undoing Ricky’s fingers as if they were vines.

Yeah, he said slowly, studying it. This is some wild. Here lies the end of the world. This here the Rain King coming to get his children and shit.

It's for his mother. But she's dead. We need to find his father. He's a prisoner in Canada.

Aren't you looking for your mother? asked Arden. That's their deal. They're looking for their mother and father.

Yes. She's on the radio sometimes. You might have heard her. Barbi Belleview. She's a country singer. Do you have a radio?

Vargas
layed the tablet in Ricky’s lap and got a radio down from above the wood stove for Lianne to play with. It was an old black boom box. The batteries were still good. Lianne twirled the knob for the stations, stopping when she heard a woman's voice singing some gospel music on an evangelical station, 104.9 broadcasting out of Nashville. She listened intently.

You an orphan, too? Vargas was talking to him.

Ricky shook his head. I'm going to find him.

Well, first, we going to take you over now to the big house.

She's out there, but I can't hear it right now. Her voice is always unmistakable, said Lianne, snapping off the radio. Lianne sounded unnecessarily bright and cheery, but Ricky appreciated that was how she made herself feel better about things, the sound of her own voice in conversation with other people. The only consolation he had was knowing that he was supposed to find his father, no matter how impossible it felt. Maybe that was the right way to look at it. Al would approve. For the first time in his life he had a certainty about what he was supposed to do.

Aunt Peggy and Scissorhands walked ahead of them to the house. Arden took them
all around the back in the dark. Inside, Vargas served himself some food from the pots on the range. Ricky and Lianne followed his lead. There were many more people in the house now and spilling out onto the porch. Arden took Ricky and sat him down somewhere quiet where he could eat. Vargas was mingling with the people and introducing Lianne around. The old man, Ned, came in from the porch followed by a big group of community members. Everyone sat around him as he began to talk. The people were involved in a project to build farm-to-school links in New Orleans and New York City, and Ned talked about Mahayana, the vehicle for world change and how they were all preparing for the same thing, which was for a transformation into a new world order and a new consciousness. This new consciousness, he said, which was arising as a result of the seeds of peace they were sowing, was about collaboration and not competition and how they had to get all their heads together and pray no matter what you believed in. Vargas continued to circulate around the back of the room while Ned droned on and on. Ricky followed Vargas’ movements as he went around the room. Lianne was with him. Grill and Fuzz Tone were nowhere to be seen.

At some point the house emptied out. It was just Aunt Peggy and Scissorhands and some old guy and Ricky. Then Scissorhands and the old guy left together, and Aunt Peggy was talking to herself, sitting in a rocking chair made out of bent willow branches. Ricky wandered around the room, looking at the photographs and books on the shelves, picking up the steel guitar and plucking the strings. It was actually nice with all the people gone. Aunt Peggy noticed he was there.

Are you a musician?

No, not really.

The way life changes people. It's cruel. I started out as a musician. Berklee College of Music. Ever hear of it?

No.

Now I wouldn't pick up a tin whistle. Never. Once your heart's been broken. Have you had your heart broken?

I don't know.

Don't recommend it. Stick around here long enough. De rigueur, my young friend. How old are you?

Fifteen.

Absolutely splendid. What's the distance between your ears? Infinite, they say. But don't believe it. There are limits. Once your heart's been broken, nothing else fits in there. There's no room. The heart is a black hole, sucking down and bending the light. Where's your friend? Out listening to the music. She's a musician. Come sit here with me. At my feet. I'll tell your future.

He stood next to her and studied her face. She was halfway between old and young, he could see now close up. Her smile still seemed warm with the good humor of youth despite her strange words, and he thought that probably she had once been pretty. Her blonde, graying hair was pulled back on her head.

Where'd they go? asked Ricky.

The way of all flesh, young man. All flesh. She took his hand and pulled on it, and he complied uneasily. Leaning forward, she pretended to study his palm in the dim light of the lamp stand next to her.

Your future. Do you know what it is?

No.

You don't want to know. Nobody really wants to know. What do you want?

I don't know.

No, you don't. Of course not. Have you thought about the military?

Yes.

Well, that might be a good option for you.

What about the possibility of dying?

Well, everyone has to die. The odds are anyway.

Not many adults would ever have suggested the military as an option for him. This woman was sort of all right, he decided. He liked her honest and blunt manner, but he couldn't tell if she was serious or joking.

I'm not sure I'm up for that. And anyway, there's already a war on. Haven't you heard?

No, I haven't heard anything about that. A war? Where?

Everywhere. The
Santos Muertos.
You've probably heard about them.

I don't pay attention to the news, young man.

Is everyone in this place like you?

Not everyone. One thing I like about you, young man?

What's that?

You're very calm, even when you're deeply confused. That's a great strength. Things always work out for the best. Do you believe that?

Most of the time.

Good. Let's go and join the dance.

She led him out of the house, through the front door, and around the front steps. There were people all over the yard, sitting inside their cars and out by the large bonfire. Around the fire, the people were dancing to a drumming circle. Ricky wandered away from Aunt Peggy. She seemed to want to let him go ahead, so he did. He weaved through the crowd, averting his gaze when anyone looked his way for longer than a second. He didn't see Grill or Fuzz Tone. Then he caught sight of Lianne dancing.

The people
she was dancing with were older hippies and younger acolytes, with some hardier types in work boots and tee shirts also among them doing a crazed break. Ricky turned to watch the drummers. Some of them knew what they were doing. Vargas took a turn on one of the hand drums, spelling a young man with a beard that stuck straight out from his chin like a horn. Someone tapped on Ricky’s shoulder. It was Lianne. They danced. Ricky lost himself in the music, closed his eyes. Lianne was still there, dancing alongside him and the drummer who had let Vargas take his place. There were some guitars playing and some woman singing without words, just wailing, almost crying. Lianne was glowing in full metal attraction from the firelight. When they stopped, he realized with a sense of guilt that he wanted to keep dancing, forget about Canada and the
Santos Muertos
. He realized he'd put the backpack down on the grass and the tablet was unattended. What was he thinking? He found the pack and Lianne followed him out to the edge of the yard. He took the tablet out and looked at it in the light of the bonfire.

That damned thing. It looks horrible, Ricky. I don't care if your Mom would have liked it.

This is the only thing that matters any more, Lianne. He stuffed it back in the pack.

Lianne looked at him and a worried expression crossed over her face.

I'm losing you, Ricky.

The drummer with the chin hair invited them down to the river where some people were swimming. He said his name was D
on. He talked about himself and his life. He was from Mississippi and had traveled down from Alaska where he'd spent the last year living outside of Ketchikan and working on a fishing boat in the summer. He asked Lianne if she'd heard the music of some band; it sounded like Grayshit. Lianne said she had.

That's my band. We started that in Alaska.

Wow, I like that band. I swear I've heard that on the radio.

I'll give you the website. You can download as many songs as you like for free.

Thank you.

Yeah.

The riverbank was full of people who had stripped down to almost no clothes. Others were naked in the water, standing up on some rocks in the distance and diving off, their legs and arms just barely visible, glowing in the starlight. Ricky stood a way off. Lianne stopped and turned, and Don waited.

What's wrong? asked Lianne.

Nothing, said Ricky.

Hey, have some of this, said Don, calling them over. He was standing by a cooler. There were some extra cups that people had already used.

What is it? asked Lianne.

Mushroom brew. Farm specialty.

Lianne shared some of it from Don's cup.

No thanks, said Ricky. I don't need that.

Hey, you and Neil Young, man. That's cool. I can appreciate where your head's at. No juice in the bucket. That's okay, man.

Don was stripping down to his underwear. Lianne watched him and laughed. Ricky smiled. A competitive urge flashed in him. He took off his shirt and shoes and pants and folded it all beside the pack.

Lianne looked at him.

Feeling okay, Ricky?

Don was already in the water. His high-legged run and headlong splash had turned everyone's head.

You never heard of Grayshit, Lianne.

What?

The band. You never heard of it in your life.

Oh, Ricky. How would you even know?

You bullshitter.

Ricky. Lianne sounded disappointed.

Ricky gave her a disparaging look and took off on a run himself towards the water. He gave a mighty dive and belly flopped, smacking the water with his hands for acoustic effect. The cold of the water that ran through his body, however, shook out any lingering doubts about what he had to do. He stroked and kicked to the middle of the river, feeling the current pick up and begin to take him downstream. The rocks that people were standing on were just ahead. He swam hard and tried to stand. His toes barely scraped the gravel bottom. He got his hand around one of the rocks and pulled against it, making it to a ledge of sorts that he could stand up on. The other people on the rocks were laughing and falling in. One fat boy fell over and pushed against him as he was getting up. He stood up and balanced on the edge of the rock. The others were clambering upstream and using the rocks as a bridge to get back to the bank. The fat boy asked him for a hand up. Ricky helped pull him up on the ledge.

Where'd they go?

I don't know, said Ricky. He couldn't decide which was more pathetic, the boy for being so lost or himself for feeling sorry for him. He dove back into the water and swam for the shore the way he'd come. Lianne was standing by the pack and the clothes and Don was walking back along the bank. There were more people coming down the path from the fields.