The Secrets of a Fire King (13 page)

“Have you noticed?” he asked. “Howard doesn’t sweat.” I laughed. It was true, Howard’s white clothes were as crisp now as when we had started.

“You know what else, Kate?” Stephen went on, breaking a sandwich and giving half to me. “I’ve never fl own either.”

“You’re kidding?” I said. He was gazing out over the fi elds.

“No, I’m not.” His hands were clasped calmly around his knees. “Do you think we’ll make it?”

“Yes,” I said, but even then I couldn’t imagine myself taking that step into open space. “Of course,” I added, “we don’t have to do this.”

“You don’t,” said Stephen, throwing his head back to drain his soda. He brushed crumbs out of his beard. “For me it’s my personal integrity at stake, remember?”

“But you don’t have to worry,” I said. “You’re so good at this. You did all the procedures perfectly, and you weren’t even nervous.”

“Hell,” Stephen said. He shook his head. “What’s to be nervous? The free fall is my natural state of mind.” He tapped the shirt pocket where his Valium was hidden.

“Want one?” he asked. “For the fl ight?” I shook my head. “No,” I said. “Thanks.”
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He shrugged. “Up to you.”

He pulled the bottle out of his pocket and flipped it open.

There was only one pill left.

“Damn,” he said. He took the cotton out and shook it again, then threw the empty bottle angrily into the fi eld.

We finished eating in silence. I had made up my mind not to go through with it, but when Howard called us back to practice landing maneuvers, I stood up, brushing off the straw that clung to my legs. There seemed to be nothing else to do.

I was going to jump first, so I was crouched closest to the opening in the side of the plane. There was no door, just a wide gaping hole. All I could see was brittle grass, blurring then growing fl uid as we sped across the field and rose into the sky. The force of the ascent pushed me against the hot metal wall of the plane, and I gripped a ring in the fl oor to keep my balance. I closed my eyes, took deep breaths, and tried not to envision myself suspended on a piece of metal in the midst of all that air. The jumpmaster tugged at my arm. The plane had leveled and he motioned to the doorway.

I crept forward and got into position. My legs hung out the opening and the wind pulled at my feet. The jumpmaster was tugging at my parachute and attaching the static line to the fl oor of the plane. I turned to watch, but the helmet blocked my view. I felt Stephen’s light touch on my arm. Then the plane turned, straightened itself. The jumpmaster’s hand pressed into my back.

“Go!” he said.

I couldn’t move. The ground was tiny, an aerial map, rich in detail, and the wind tugged at my feet. What were the commands?

Arch,
I whispered.
Arch arch arch.
That was all I could remember.

I stood up, gripping the side of the opening, my feet balanced on the metal bar beneath the doorway, resisting the steady rush of wind. The jumpmaster shouted again. I felt the pressure of his fingers. And then I was gone. I left the plane behind me and fell into the air.

I didn’t shout. The commands flew from my mind, as distant as the faint drone of the receding plane. I knew I must be falling, but the earth stayed the same abstract distance away. I was suspended, caught in a slow turn as the air rushed around me. Three
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seconds yet? I couldn’t tell. My parachute didn’t open but the earth came no closer, and I kept my eyes wide open, too terrifi ed to scream.

I felt the tug. It seemed too light after the heavy falls in the hanger, but when I looked up the parachute was unfolding above me, its army green mellowing beneath the sun. Far off I heard the plane as it banked again. Then it faded and the silence grew full, became complete. I leaned back in the straps and looked around.

Four lakes curled around the horizon, jagged deep blue fi ngers.

All summer I had felt myself slipping in the quick rush of the world, but here, in clear and steady descent, nothing seemed to move. It was knowledge to marvel at, and I tugged at the steering toggles, turning slowly in a circle. Cornfields unfolded, marked off by trees and fences. And still the silence; the only sound was the whisper of my parachute. I pulled the toggle again and saw someone on the ground, a tiny figure, trying to tell me something. All I could do was laugh, drifting, my voice clear and sharp in all that air. Gradually, the horizon settled into a tree line a quarter of a mile away, and I was falling, I realized, falling fast. I tensed, then remembered and forced myself to relax, to fix my gaze on that row of trees. My left foot hit the ground and turned and then, it seemed a long time later, my right foot touched. Inch by inch I rolled onto the ground. The corn all around me tunneled my vision, and the parachute dragged me slightly, then deflated. I lay there, smiling, gazing at the blue patch of sky.

After a long time I heard my name in the distance.

“Kate?” It was Stephen. “Kate, are you okay?”

“I’m over here.” I sat up and took off my helmet.

“Where?” he said. “Don’t be an idiot. I can’t see anything in all this corn.”

We found each other by calling and moving awkwardly through the coarse, rustling leaves. Stephen hugged me when he saw me.

“Wasn’t it wonderful?” I said. “Wasn’t it amazing?”

“Yeah,” he said, helping me untangle the parachute and wad it up. “It was unbelievable.”

“How did you get down before me?” I asked.

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“Some of us landed on target,” he said as we walked back to the hangar. “Others picked a cornfield.” I laughed, giddy with the solidity of earth beneath my feet.

Stephen waited in the car while I went for my things. I hesitated in the cool, dim hangar, letting my eyes adjust. When I could see, I slipped off the jumpsuit and black boots, brushed off my clothes. Howard came out of the offi ce.

“How did I do?” I asked.

“Not bad. You kind of flapped around out there, but not bad, for a fi rst time. You earned this, anyway,” he said, handing me a certificate with my name, and his, and the ink still drying.

“Which is more than your friend did,” he added. He shook his head at my look of surprise. “I can’t figure it out either. Best in the class, and he didn’t even make it to the door.” I didn’t say anything to Stephen when I got into the car. I didn’t know what to say, and by then, anyway, my ankle was swelling, turning an odd, tarnished shade of green. We went to the hospital.

They took me into a consulting room and I waited a long time for the X-ray results, which showed no breaks, and for the doctor, who lectured me on my foolishness as he bandaged my sprained ankle. When I came out, precarious on new crutches, Stephen was joking around with one of the nurses.

It wasn’t until halfway home, when he was talking nonstop about this being the greatest high he’d ever had, that I fi nally spoke.

“Look,” I said. “I know you didn’t jump. Howard told me.” Stephen got quiet and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “I wanted to,” he said. His nervous fingers worried me, and I didn’t answer.

“I don’t know what happened, Kate. I stood right in that doorway, and the only thing I could imagine was my chute in a streamer.” His hands gripped the wheel tightly. “Crazy, huh?” he said. “I saw you falling, Kate. You disappeared so fast.”

“Falling?” I repeated. It was the word he kept using, and it was the wrong one. I remembered the pull of the steering toggle, the slow turn in the air. I shook my head. “That’s the funny thing,” I told him. “There was no sense of descent. It was more like fl oat-84

The Secrets of a Fire King

ing. You know, I was scared too, fiercely scared.” I touched the place above the bandage where my ankle was swelling. “But I made it,” I added softly, still full of wonder.

We drove through the rolling fields that smelled of dust and ripening leaves. After a minute, Stephen spoke. “Just don’t tell anyone, okay, Kate? Right? It’s important.”

“I’m not going to lie,” I said, even though I could imagine his friends, who would be unmerciful when they found out. I closed my eyes. The adrenaline had worn off, my ankle ached, and all I wanted to do was sleep.

I knew the road, so when I felt the car swing left, I looked up.

Stephen had turned off on a country lane and he was stepping hard on the gas, sending bands of dust up behind us.

“Stephen,” I said. “What the hell are you doing?” He looked at me, and that’s when I got scared. A different fear than in the plane, because now I had no choice about what was going to happen. Stephen’s eyes, green, were wild and glittering.

“Look,” I said, less certainly. “Stephen. Let’s just go home, okay?”

He held the wheel with one hand and yanked the camera out of my lap. We swerved around on the road as he pulled out the film. He unrolled it, a narrow brown banner in the wind, and threw it into a field. Then he pressed the accelerator again.

“Isn’t it a shame,” he said, “that you ruined all the fi lm, Kate?” The land blurred; then he slammed the brakes and pulled to the side of the deserted road. Dusk was settling into the cornfi elds like fine gray mist. The air was cooling on my skin, but the leather of the seat was warm and damp beneath my palms.

Stephen’s breathing was loud against the rising sound of crickets. He looked at me, eyes glittering, and smiled his crazy smile. He reached over and rested his hand on my shoulder, close to my neck.

“I could do anything I wanted to you,” he said. His thumb traced a line on my throat. His touch was almost gentle, but I could feel the tension in his flesh. I thought of running, then remembered the crutches and nearly laughed out loud from nerves and panic at the comic strip image I had, me hobbling across the uneven fields, Stephen in hot pursuit.

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“What’s so funny?” Stephen asked. His hand slid down and seized my shoulder, hard enough to fix bruises there, delicate, shaped like a fan.

“Nothing,” I said, biting my lip. “I just want to go home.”

“I could take you home,” he said. “If you didn’t tell.”

“Just drive,” I said. “I won’t tell.”

He stared at me. “You promise?”

“Yes,” I said. “I promise.”

He was quiet for a long time. Bit by bit his fi ngers relaxed against my skin. His breathing slowed, and some of his wild energy seemed to diffuse into the steadily descending night. Watching him I thought of my father, all his stubborn silence, all the uneasiness and pain. It made me angry suddenly, a sharp illumination that ended a summer’s panic. The sound of crickets grew, and the trees stood black against the last dark shade of blue. Finally Stephen started the car.

When we reached my house he turned and touched me lightly on the shoulder. His fingers rested gently where the bruises were already surfacing, and he traced his finger around them. His voice was soft and calm.

“Look,” he said. There was a gentle tone in his voice, and I knew it was as close to an apology as he would ever come. “I have a bad temper, Kate. You shouldn’t provoke me, you know.” And then, more quietly, even apprehensively, he asked if I’d come over that night.

I pulled my crutches out of the back seat, feeling oddly sad. I was too angry to ever forgive him, and I was his only real friend.

“You can go to hell,” I said. “And if you ever bother me again, I’ll tell the entire town that you didn’t jump out of that plane.” He leaned across the seat and gazed at me for a second. I didn’t know what he would do, but it was my parents’ driveway and I knew I was safe.

“Kate,” he said then, breaking into the charming smile I knew so well. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“No,” I said. “I think you’re afraid, just like everybody else.” I was quiet with the door, but my mother sat up right away from where she was dozing on the couch. Her long hair, which reached the middle of her back, was streaked with gray and silver.

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I had a story ready to tell her, about falling down a hill, but in the end it seemed easier to offer her the truth. I left out the part about Stephen. She followed me as I hobbled into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

I didn’t expect her to be so angry. She stood by the counter, drumming her fingers against the Formica.

“I don’t believe this,” she said. “All I’ve got to contend with, and you throw yourself out of a plane.” She gestured at the crutches.

“How do you expect to work this week? How do you expect to pay for this?”

“Give me a break,” I said, shaking my head. Stephen was home by now. I didn’t think he would bother me, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Working is the least of my problems,” I said. “Compared to other things, the money aspect is a piece of cake.” And at that my eyes, and hers, fell on the counter, where the remains of yesterday’s fiasco were still piled high, the thick dark chocolate edged with creamy frosting. My mother gazed at it for a minute. She picked up a hunk and held it out to me.

“Piece of cake?” she repeated, deadpan.

My mouth quivered. I started laughing, then she did. We were both hysterical with laughter, clutching our sides in pain. And then my mother was shaking me. She was still laughing, unable to speak, but there were tears running down her face too, and when she hugged me to her I got quiet.

“Kate,” she said. “My God, Katie, you could have been killed.”

I held her and patted awkwardly at her back.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Mom, it’s okay. Next week, I’ll be as good as new.”

She stepped back, one hand on my shoulder, and brushed at her damp eyes with the other hand.

“I don’t know what’s with me,” she said. She sat down in one of the chairs and leaned her forehead against her hand. “It’s too much, I guess. All of this, and with your father. I just, I don’t know what to do about it all.”

“You’re doing fine,” I said, thinking about all her hours spent on wedding cakes, building confections as fragile and unsubstan-The Way It Felt to Be Falling