The Waking (6 page)

“
Emmanuel Malik? Where are you, Emmanuel?”

The little boy doesn’t answer. His bed is full of pee and tears. They will be so mad at him. But now that it is dark, maybe they won’t see.

“
There he is, thank the Lord Jesus!” he hears Auntie June shout.

Rough white hands slide under him and take the bottom sheet, the top sheet, and the blanket from his bed. “You’re okay now, little man,” the white man says.

“
Give him to me,” Auntie June cries, and he sees Auntie June’s face through the little hole in the blanket. “Oh, Emmanuel, Emmanuel, Emmanuel, my poor little boy!”

“
I peed the bed, Auntie June. I’m sorry.”

“
Oh, you poor little boy!”

“
She’s … Oh Lord, help me, Jesus …”

This time when I wake, I’m staring into a copper sunset, angry black clouds scooting all around it, gashes of light stinging my eyes. While steam rises from all the containers of coal, islands float by, houses on hills better clothed than I am stare down with thousands of glinting eyes, iron bridges fly by as do sandbars anchored by trees and enough driftwood to build a town or two. Low clouds hug the hills while I hold my shivering self, and if I’m past the Mason-Dixon Line, my right hand is the land of freedom, and my left hand is the land of slavery.

I’m in between again, a drifter on a river that never stops.

I feel stiff, hungry, and thirsty. I keep waiting for the withdrawal to start, and I’ve heard that everything lets loose, but so far, I’m not hurting too bad, not hurting too bad at all. Now if I could just—

“
Hey you!”

I turn my head to the right and left and see no one. Maybe he’s not talking to me.

“
Hey!” he yells again.

I push with my legs, pop further through the tarp, and look behind me at a black man the size of several mountains, his head blocking the sunset entirely.

“
Hey,” I say feebly, my mouth full of parched cotton.

“
How’d you get there?” he shouts.

“
I jumped,” I say, and now my throat feels like it has gravel in it.

“
Wait right there,” he says, like I can go anywhere, and in a few seconds, he’s towering over me. The man is darker than the coal at my feet with the widest face and flattest nose I’ve ever seen. “I asked you how you got there.”

“
I jumped,” I say, almost in a whisper, and my head starts to spin. Is this the beginning of withdrawal?

“
You jumped?”

I nod, and even that hurts. “Just trying to get right.”

“
Get what?”

I try to swallow, but it hurts too much. “Get right.” I peel back my right sleeve, and though it’s getting even darker, he has to be able to see my scars.

“
Oh,” he says. “That kind of getting right. When’d you get on?”

“
Last night.” I think.

“
Where you from?”

“
The Hill.”

“
Where?”

Nowhere. “Pittsburgh.”

He smiles. “No kidding. You jumped on in Pittsburgh.”

I nod. “I could use some water.”

He laughs. “Boy, you’re lucky to be alive. Pittsburgh was two days ago.” He looks out over the water. “And now you gotta go.”

“
What?”

“
You gotta get off now.”

I struggle to get out of my hole, but I can’t move. Maybe the coal shifted and surrounded my body. “I’m stuck.”

“
Look, you don’t get off, you’re gonna be left here in Weirton.”

“
Weirton?”

“
Weirton, West Virginia.”

I want to ask where Weirton is, but I can’t afford to waste words with no spit in my mouth.

“
We’re dropping most of this coal off and picking up another load, so you got to get off.”

“
I can’t.”

He reaches down a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt and yanks me right through the tarp to the edge of the container. “Can you stand?”

“
No.”

“
Just as well,” he says, and he slings me over his shoulder, bounding to the next container, and the next, and the next until I feel like a sack of potatoes, my forehead bouncing off his massive back. “You been riding a horse?” he asks, and at first I don’t get it. “The horse with no name?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Had a cousin go through that. How long since your last, um …”

“
Had one a few hours before I jumped.”

“
Man, you’re already going through it, and there ain’t much I can do for you. Memco barges are drug-free.”

“
So am I.”

He laughs. “That ain’t exactly true.”

He stops and turns side to side, giving me a view that I’ll never forget. All but a few coal containers remain behind us. Where did they go so fast? That’s when I realize that we aren’t moving anymore and are docked next to this huge metal machine.

The next thing I remember is him saying “… got to jump into the water.”

“
Huh?” I must have blacked out again.

“
You got to jump,” he says directly to my face, “into the water.”

“
I can’t swim.”

“
You can’t swim?”

“
No.”

“
Then what can you do?”

I take a long breath. “I can mess things up.”

He laughs a long time at that one. “Okay, okay. I’m gonna drop you in the water.”

“
No!” I shout, but it still comes out in the hoarsest little whisper.

“
I’ll save you, man. Just try to keep your head up and don’t get smashed between the cars.”

“
But—”

Moments later, I’m falling into the river, the top layer warm, but the water around my legs bone chilling. I’m trying to stand, trying to hold on to anything I can, but I can’t grasp anything but bubbling water. After bobbing for a second or two, I start to sink and think I’m through. Some crazy man just threw me into the Ohio for no good reason, and I’m gonna drown when I’m at least a full day into the cure.

The next thing I know, I’m flying up out of the depths into the air, and though it smells like diesel and oil, dirt and sludge, the air tastes delicious.

I smile and almost pass out as the man slings me over his back and drapes my arms around his neck. “Hold on,” he says, “and act hurt.”

That won’t be a problem.

“
But not too hurt, understand?” he whispers.

“
Is he okay?” a voice high above us shouts.

“
Yes, Cap’n,” my savior replies.

“
What happened, Slade?”

We’ve reached a ladder going up into a tugboat. “Think we hit his canoe. I found him squeezed between four and five. He’s pretty banged up.”

“
I’ll call for an ambulance.”

Oh no! If they put me in hospital, I’ll have to tell them who I am. After that, they’ll send me back to Pittsburgh for breaking probation. Back to hell.

We stand in front of the captain, a white man about my height with gray sideburns and an old-fashioned handlebar moustache, every stitch of his tan clothing ironed and creased.

“
Well, Cap’n, he, um, he’s lost everything. No ID, no wallet.” He flops one of my legs forward. “He even lost a boot. I don’t think there’s anything seriously wrong with him that a few days of bed rest wouldn’t cure, and you know the police would investigate, maybe put us further behind schedule, so …”

“
You’re right, Slade. Put him in thirteen.”

“
Yes sir, Cap’n, sir.”

He carries me past the captain up a narrow set of stairs. “You are now the guest of the towboat
Boonesboro
.”

“
The what?”

“
The towboat
Boonesboro.
”

“
It’s not a tugboat?”

“
No. Tugboats pull, towboats push.”

“
Oh.” Which makes
no
sense at all. “I have to let you know something.”

“
What?”

“
I’m breaking probation.”

“
I figured as much.” He stops at a door, the number thirteen staring at me.

What a lucky place to go through withdrawal.

“
But you won’t be thanking me in a little while,” Slade says. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“
Emmanuel Mann.”

“
Emmanuel, huh?”

“
Yeah. Most folks call me Manny.”

“
Manny Mann, they call me Slade, just Slade.” He opens the door and carries me inside, setting me on a bunk barely longer than my body. “Can I get you something?”

“
A Big Mac and a super-sized Coke.”

He shuts the door. “None of that here, and none of that for you. You’re getting nothing but water and soup from now on.” He puts a blanket over me. “I’d clean you up, but then I’d have to clean you up again, you know?”

“
You’ve done this before?”

“
Told you I had a cousin, right?”

“
Yeah.”

“
I
had
a cousin, you understand?”

I nod. His cousin got the
other
cure. “Yeah.”

“
I got duties, you know, can’t lose this job or my old lady will kill me, but I’ll check in on you from time to time.” He points to a small door. “Head’s in there, which is where I suspect you’ll be spending most of your time for a few days. And don’t worry about calling out or shouting. This berth is nearest to the engines. Got nearly three thousand horsepower just behind your walls, which is why no one ever wants to set up in thirteen. Be back in a second.”

After Slade leaves, I take stock of my body. I am one large bruise, my elbow is one large scab, the back of my head is on fire, and my tongue has shriveled into a little bit of flesh.

But I’m in one piece.

For now.

I wish I could just sleep through all this.

Slade returns with several milk jugs filled with water and a first aid kit. He props two little pillows behind me and helps me sit up. He holds the jug while I drink until I feel strong enough to hold what’s left. Then he bandages my elbow.

“
Thank you.”

“
You’re welcome.”

A knock on the door later, the captain walks in. “How’s he doing?”

“
I’m okay,” I say. “A little woozy.”

The captain turns to Slade. “Let me know how he’s doing.”

“
Yes sir, Cap’n, sir.”

The captain leaves and Slade rolls his eyes. “Cap’n thinks he’s still in the Navy sometimes, so we all, you know, get with the program. He’s a good guy, a decent boss, and he hates to be behind schedule, so you’ll be on here until you get better. You’re a lucky man, Manny Mann.”

“
But I’m in room thirteen.”

“
From now on, thirteen will be your lucky number, Manny. You see, there was a hand who
used
to live in here, name of Sikes.”

“
Used to?” Please don’t say he died in here. I got too many ghosts in my head as it is.

“
Yeah. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have a cabin all to yourself. Sikes jumped ship just two days ago, most likely near Pittsburgh, and here you are jumping
on
the ship. In Pittsburgh. You know anything about boats?”

“
Not a thing.”

“
Neither did Sikes. He was just looking for a free ride, I suspect.”

I take another long swig. I just can’t seem to quench my thirst, and this jug’s almost empty. I’ve had a gallon of water? “I ain’t looking for a free ride.”

“
You got that right. Won’t be nothing free about this trip, Manny Mann. It’s gonna cost you.”

“
I know.”

And to prove it, I throw up a gallon of water, most of it landing on the floor, some of it spattering on Slade’s pants. “It’s already costing me.”

“
It’ll be worth it,” Slade said, wiping off his pants legs. “I don’t know your reasons for doing this, but it don’t matter. You’re trying, and that’s all that matters.” He checks my bandage. “I gotta get back to work. Keep drinking that water, and, um, I’ll be praying for you, all right? You ain’t Baptist, are you?”

I feel like it, as wet as I am. “No.”

“
You never know. You might be. Well, I’m out. I’ll lock the door so no one disturbs you.”

“
Okay.”

“
And if you need anything, just turn on your light. I’ll be able to see it wherever I am.” He turns off the light. “Try to get some sleep, man.”

“
I will.”

Five minutes later, with three thousand horsepower roaring to life all around me, I turn on the light because my body is on fire and no amount of water will put it out.

4: On the
Boonesboro