The Cage Keeper (12 page)

D Block had been mine. And moving through it, I memorized the faces, the cells, the clean tile, and gray brick. Some of the guys slapped me on the back or punched me light in the arm.

“Do it, motherfucker.”

“Taste it, Fork.”

And when I got to the passage at C, I fought it and didn’t turn around. I was walking pretty fast, breathing real easy, and I was halfway through C before I noticed. Nobody was around. Even slow Joe Fernandez was up and outta his cell. But there was more. Something else. And I did what I always did when I felt that way in the joint, I reached around and checked my shank. I felt my belt and my skin through my shirt. Then I remember and I’m running. The first part of B is empty, too. Then I see them, all crowded around, a bunch a blue-shirts, and I plow into them. Watch it, motherfucker! I’m pushing to the center and I feel the way I used to get with Marty jumping the bridge for the bay; you’re free-falling and you want to hurry up and hit ’cause the weight of your whole body has moved up to your head, but at the same time you don’t want to stop moving. Then I see his feet and I scream “No, motherfucker! No!” And she’s outta bed and she’s holding me and I swing away from her and slam my head into her wall and it ain’t brick, the fucking wall ain’t brick! Then I’m up and reeling. I’m in the cell and the first guard is still cutting Johnny’s hands loose and I scream “No, motherfucker! No, motherfucker! No!” And his face is blue and gray, like candle wax, and his eyes are bulged out like a fucking fish, and I’m swinging and she’s saying “Shut up! My kids!” And the guards’re holding me and I pull away and wrap my arms around little Johnny and he smells the way he did when I hugged him in the hall, when I said the words and he fucking said them back! Like a boy! Then the other smell hits me and I know if the motherfuckers could write it’d be: To Forky, Best Wishes, Leroy and Wallace. And I want to die. And I want them dead. And I want them dead through me, and the guards’re holding me and the Doc’s putting it in my arm, and I scream “No! No!” And she’s dressed and she’s pulling me, the door’s shut and I reach for the curtain, but the water’s beating down on me cold and I think how they must’ve done it right after lights out. He’s so cold, so fucking cold.

“Johnny, you sonuvabitch. You’re almost as short as me, you sonuvabitch. Johnny. You sonuvabitch.”

She’s with me. All wet. And she’s got eye makeup on her cheeks. She ain’t dressed anymore, and I just keep crying. I see the letter about Marty. I kept it for almost a year and I thought I’d cry, but I never did. And I feel the weight of the hole, ninety days and still not a tear. I was ten and it was hot out. You had to have shoes on in the street and you couldn’t lean against the cars without a shirt. And I kept bringing the bucket back into the kitchen, filling it up, then back outside and I’d throw half on my friend and he’d dump half on me, then I did it again and again. And Ma was sick and she came out smelling funny and her hair was all messed up and her face was white and she slapped my face and said, “I hate you!” I ran outside and it came out of me like a flood.

MOUNTAINS

I lie next to him and feel his breathing, so shallow and light, and I pray he’s not dreaming about that place again. Last night he woke me up. He had his hand on my shoulder, squeezing real hard, and he said, “Charlie’s out there. This place is fuckin’ crawling with Charlie.” I touched his hand and he let go. Then I turned towards him and smelled his sweat.

“Everything’s fine, babe. I’m here. Everything’s fine,” I said. I kissed his cheek and tasted the salt. Then he put his arms around me and curled up his legs, said into my breasts, “Fuck ’em.”

I get up first, go to the bathroom and pee. I finish, then flush, and I know he’ll wake up with just that little sound. I pull my hair back and hold it with one hand while I brush my teeth. Then I rinse out my mouth and avoid the mirror as I put the towel to my face.

I turn on the radio in the kitchen, keep it low because it’s rock and because I want to hear him when he gets up. It was bad last night and I don’t know if he’s going to wake up numb, if he’ll come into his day feeling nothing about everything, looking at me with the eyes you use on a stranger.

I break the eggs into the bowl of milk, beat them with a fork, then melt the butter and get the bread, dip two slices and lay them flat and sizzling into the skillet. I turn off the heat under the water and pour it into the pot, letting the coffee smell steam up into my face. I pour myself a cup, take it out to the porch.

Lumpy is curled up in her box next to Rick’s gear, her little gray paw covering her face. Her bowl is still full, and I look through the screen at the mountains. They’re always so blue just before the sun comes up, their peaks pointing white like shark’s teeth against the sky. I remember the drive up from Pueblo last August. It was sunny and bright and we drove along the foothills all the way. When we went through Colorado Springs I kept my eyes on Pike’s Peak, so tall and blocky-looking, and I didn’t feel small looking at it, but big, because I was with Rick. And when I couldn’t see it anymore I looked at him then wrapped my arms around his neck, kissed him on his ear and cheek. He turned his face a little to me, smiling, and I said, “This is going to be so good, Ricky!” Then we kissed until the wheels started bumping and he had to break away to steer.

I sip my coffee and smell leather and cat pee, Rex’s feed. I turn and go back into the kitchen. He’s pouring himself a cup, his back to me, and I look at his messed-up hair, his shirttail hanging out over his jeans. I move behind him and turn over the French toast.

“What time is it?”

“Close to six.” I look into his face. He turns away, looks over the table and out the window. He sips from his coffee.

“Rick. I know it was bad last night.” I go to him, put my hands on his chest, pull myself in close. “I love you, Ricky.”

“It’s getting worse.” He turns and puts his cup on the counter, pushes me a little with his arm.

“Call Reuben again.”

“I can’t talk to that motherfucker, you know that.”

I get him a plate, flip the bread slices out of the skillet, and set it on the table.

“Sit down. Eat.”

He finishes the rest of his coffee and lights a cigarette. “I’m not hungry.” He walks past me to the porch and I feel myself hold it in.

“Get out of here, cat!”

Lumpy comes around through the door, rubs up against my shin. I squat down and run my fingers over her ears. Then he’s at the door, the tack and saddle over his shoulder, his hat in his hand. He looks at me like he’s about to say something but then turns around quick and walks out the door and down the steps. I look down at Lumpy and my eyes fill up, then I watch him through the screen door on his way to the truck, see him look real quick from side to side, looking for them, waiting, and I try and remember some of his stories; I see the little girl out in the paddy, the morning mist covering her feet, all that dynamite strapped to her chest, and I see him, my age, army sleeves rolled up, put his gun down and reach out to her saying “Honey, honey.” He steps forward and his jacket isn’t buttoned and he says, “Sweetie. Don’t move.” She smiles and he sees her white teeth, her dark brown eyes, and he wants to hold her face in his hands, kiss her on the cheeks. Then he sees it before he hears it, watches her break apart then spread out with that awful noise. He’s on the ground, his hands over his head and he smells her blowing over him, hears bits of her come down in the trees like rain. I watch him as he throws his gear in the back of the truck, and I try to be him as he climbs in, starts the engine, and backs out fast. I try to feel the shivers that come up my back and neck because I just know the barn is full of gooks, and when I get on the highway I floor it because the faster I move the harder it is for everything and everyone to catch up with me, and even when I slow down to turn off the dirt road to the ranch, I won’t be breathing easy enough to know that I’ve hurt someone at home who loves me.

CHUCK’S STANDING BEHIND the bar, cutting the limes into little wedges, looking up at the TV every few cuts. He’s got a good body and it stands out nice in the white short-sleeve shirts Randy makes all the bartenders wear.

“Mornin’, Chuck!”

“Hey Sal, how ya doin’?”

“Okay. Is there coffee made up?”

“Nope. I was waiting for you.”

“Figures.” I walk past the bar into the kitchen and hang up my coat. Jimmy’s whistling in the back. “Hi, Jim!”

He sticks his head around the corner. “Oh, good morning there, uh, Sally.” He’s got his white apron on, stained around the belly from rubbing up against the counter all the time when he’s marinating the London broils, making up dips, whipping up the bloody mary mix, and it makes him look skinnier than he is because you expect somebody fat to have that kind of stain across his gut. “We got the punch clock fixed,” he says.

“It’s about time,” I punch in, then make up two pots of coffee, bring one out to the bar. “Where do you want it, Chuck?”

“We got a new hot plate for the coffee drinks. Over there.”

I have to walk around to the other side where the customers come in from the parking lot. The bar’s long and shaped like a rectangle with the bartenders in the middle. On Saturday nights, when I see everybody dancing so close and crowded up near the band, I wonder why Randy decided to build this huge bar over the old dance floor, and when the bar’s full, people standing three deep on all four sides, when Marcie and me have to elbow our way through to shout out our orders, trying not to knock over the empties and dirty glasses on our trays, then I really wonder about having a bar so big. I put the coffeepot down on the hot plate and pour myself some in one of the big clear glasses they use for Irishes. I light a cigarette, then lay it in one of the ashtrays Chuck’s got spread out on the bar.

I start on the parking-lot side then move to the street side, flipping the high-backed wooden chairs off the tables, wiping off bits of popcorn and cigarette ash Elaine and Julie always leave behind on their night shifts. I finish the tables just as Jimmy comes from out back with his dirty apron on. He’s carrying the green chalkboard we hang in the hallway with the day’s specials written on it. “Ready for me yet, Sally?”

“Sure, just a minute,” I walk around the bar and get my coffee and cigarette, then come back. He hands me the chalk. “Okay. What’re we sellin’?” I ask him.

“Uh, the chicken Maui for four seventy-five. The knockwurst special for two twenty-five . . .”

I write in big clear letters as he talks, putting the food on one side then leaving a space and writing the price on the other. I look at him after each line, see him squint a little as he matches the right price with the right food in his head, then telling me, watching me write it down letter by letter, looking at me while I do it, the way he does whenever we make up the menu together, and it makes me feel special even though I know he does it because I can read and write and he can’t.

We finish and I hang up the menu board in the entryway, go back to my coffee, take a big sip, then a drag from my cigarette. I look out the window at the cars going by in the street, the sun getting brighter on them, lunch hour getting close, and I see Rick, standing on the porch in the morning cool, the world gray and brown through the screen behind him: “It’s not you babe, it’s not you,” and my body gives a little, like when you’re in an elevator that starts up too fast, and I’m ready just to go lay someplace dark and think, to breathe deep and quiet, to think, and as soon as I let myself begin to feel that, I know the rest of my day’s going to be shit, that I won’t be able to go through it and believe in it as much, because I’ve let myself feel something more.

“Hey, Sally, it’s after eleven already, babe,” Chuck says from the register.

He finishes counting the ones, slapping them into the drawer, closing it, then testing the total button a couple of times quick with his thumb, the drawer sliding out fast and loud and ringing. I put out my cigarette and carry my cup and ashtray out back.

I SHOULD BE ON the bus right now, riding high through the streets, looking out at the city moving by, at all the people dressed in nice clothes standing on the street corners, at the drunk old men curled up against the buildings, their clothes dirtier than the sidewalk, at the old ladies with wrinkled faces that sag into their mouths because they haven’t got any teeth, living out of shopping carts filled with old clothes and bags of trash, at the cars that move so close I always think they’re going to get sucked under our wheels. Then I would be on the highway looking out at the prairie, at the mountains that sit out there looking so dirty through the haze that comes from all those plants by the tracks, and I’d lay my head back and close my eyes, breathe in that old plastic bus smell, everybody’s perfume and cigarette smoke, somebody’s gum—and I’d feel my body sink into itself, my arms and legs get heavy with the nap that’d be settling in, then I’d be up with my heart beating, my face feeling thick, heading to the fast air sound of the door, stepping down and out into the air where I’d take a deep breath and start walking up the road where the houses are two and three blocks apart, walk until I’m between being awake and tired again, then onto the porch where I’d smell Lumpy before I saw her, where I’d turn and look out at the mountains before I went in, feeling them behind me like something I can lean against, then into the kitchen where I’d open the refrigerator and look in, feel myself go into a stare, the house quiet, waiting for me to cook in it, waiting for Rick. And when I call Chuck over for my second Seabreeze I know I won’t try and catch the four-thirty either, that I’m going to sit here tired from a medium lunch, my body clammy under my skirt, to smoke and drink, to listen to whatever Chuck puts on the system, hoping that it’ll be something slow and jazzy, something I can curl up in, like in a dark and quiet place, a place where I can think.

It was our second time together and I woke up first. His room was cool and smelled like old blankets and I could feel his warmth under the covers. I got up and went to the bathroom and I stared at the American flag while I peed. It was old and kind of dirty and he had it nailed to the back of the door. When I got back to the room he was up.

“Get dressed. I’m taking you someplace secret.”

We drove up through Rainfall Canyon until we were so high I could see the plains stretched out behind us. I lit us each a cigarette and handed him his as he turned down a dirt road I’d never seen before. He stopped the car and we got out, walked up a narrow muddy trail with brown pine needles on it. I was breathing real hard and I saw him put out his cigarette in his hand, then put it in his jacket pocket. I flicked mine into the woods. We walked until I felt hungry and a little weak, until I wanted a shower before I got close to him again. And I didn’t say anything because he was so quiet, his head bent down low all the time except whenever a little animal moved off a branch or something, then he would jerk his head in the direction of the sound, then back again just as quick, like he hadn’t meant to look. We came out onto a big flat rock in the sunlight. I stopped and bent over a little, resting my hands on my knees, and he walked ahead of me. I could feel my heart beating in my head and I straightened up, followed him to the edge of the rock.

“Look,” he said.

I looked out at the valley, so deep and green, covered with thousands of little trees, the mountains rising up out of it on both sides.

“Do you see it?”

“What?”

“My place.”

“What? Where?”

“Look.”

I got closer to him and looked down his arm to where he was pointing. I saw trees standing against a short white cliff. “I don’t see anything.”

He kept his arm pointed straight. “To the left a little.”

Then I saw it, a slanted wooden spot that looked kind of gray in the sun.

“What’s that?”

“My place.” He lowered his arm and looked at me. “You’re the only one I’ve ever showed it to. Even the Rangers don’t know anything about it. Least they haven’t done anything about it.”

“But it looks so lonely. Why out here?”

He looked back out at the valley, at his cabin, then up at the mountains. We could hear the wind blowing through all those trees. He looked down. “I was selling shoes in town, making some good money. One day this gook family comes in, and they weren’t Chinese or Korean either, they were gooks, I know. As soon as I saw them I went back to the coffee room. My supervisor was there and I told him that I needed a break and would he please handle the family out front. He told me he was busy and that I could have a break later. The sonuvabitch was having coffee, Sal. Jesus, I don’t know what happened, I told him to go fuck himself. He asked me who the hell I thought I was talking to and he got up and shoved me and I knocked him down. I grabbed my jacket and he was calling me a sonuvabitch and I remember seeing blood on my knuckles before I took a deep breath and opened the door, went out front. There was four of them; a man and woman were standing there, so fucking humble-looking, and there was a pretty girl holding her brother’s hands so he wouldn’t mess with the shoe polish rack. The man smiled and looked like he was about to ask me something, then I could hardly breathe. I saw them all dead. I saw the man and woman’s throats cut. I saw the little boy’s head lying on his brains in the dirt. His mouth and eyes were still open and his sister was lying next to him, her clothes blown off; her legs were open wide apart and I saw her intestines hanging out all wet and shiny. I got by them and I remember knocking the girl’s shoulder. She let out a little shriek and I saw the street outside, the cars moving, the people walking by, and I dove, came down on the sidewalk with all that glass shattering down around me.” He stopped and looked at me, looked kind of pale, and I could feel his paleness in me. “When I got out of the hospital I drove me and Rex up here, covered the Buick and trailer with pine, then saddled him up and rode out into that valley. We stayed three months.”