When I Found You (21 page)

“Yeah,” Nat said. “That’s me. I’m a strange boy.”

“I’ll say.”

A long silence. Feathers licked Little Manny’s wrist.

Then Nat said, “What happened to Jack?”

Another silence.

“Jack’s dead.”

“Yeah, I heard that much. But why? How? How did he die?”

Nat heard only a long sigh. He thought Little Manny was never going to answer him. Then, “Let’s just call it a series of unfortunate choices and leave it at that.”

“Oh,” Nat said. “I guess I can relate to bad choices.”

“At least you’re still here.”

“Yeah. Great. I’m still here. What terrific news, huh? What good does that do me?”

“What’s so bad about not being dead? I mean, when you weigh the alternatives.”

Nat wondered if he could explain. It made him tired to even consider it. But it was Little Manny asking. So he had to at least try.

“I don’t know. It’s like … The whole time I was inside, that whole three years, all I thought about was getting back here. I figured I’d walk in the door, and there Jack would be. Sparring with some old guy in the ring. I pictured it a million times. Really saw it in my head. I figured he’d walk over and ask me where I’d been so long. And I’d tell him. And he’d nod like he totally understood. ‘Cause he understood stuff like that. And then he’d say something like, ‘Well, come on, kid. We wasted three years as it is. Let’s not waste any more. Put on a pair of gloves and we’ll make up for lost time.’”

“Yup. That’s probably about what he would’ve said all right.”

“Now who’s going to teach me to box?”

“Well …” Little Manny said. Then he paused for a time. As if trying to decide whether to finish the thought.

“What? You know somebody? You got an idea?”

“Well …”

“I’m pretty desperate here. In case you didn’t notice. If you got something, I’d really appreciate hearing it.”

“I’m the one trained Jack in the first place.”

“
You
trained Jack?”

“Yup. Taught him everything he knows. I mean, knew. I had the savvy and all. You know, the instincts. I knew how to fight, but I wasn’t worth much in the ring. Just not built for it. They got weight classes but not height classes. You know? Where could I hit except below the belt? I couldn’t reach much higher. You know the old saying. Those who can’t do something, well, then, they just teach it.”

“Teach
me
.”

“I don’t know, kid.”

“Please?”

“It’s been a long time since I trained anybody.”

“You’re my only hope.”

“Aw, don’t lay that on me, kid. I couldn’t take it. I’m too old and broke-down to be anybody’s last hope.”

“You’re younger and less broke-down than anybody else who’s gonna be willing to train me to fight.”

“Yeah, I guess I see your point about that.” A long sigh. A long pause.

Nat watched their breath puff out in great clouds of vapor. All three of them. He knew Little Manny would say yes. Because he had to. It just couldn’t go any other way. It was too important.

“Aw, hell. Come on upstairs, I guess. Might as well. What better have I got to do? I got a couple bags up there in my room. We’ll see if you remember anything at all.”

•  •  •

Nat arrived home a little after five.

The old man was sitting in the living room, watching the evening news.

He looked up and smiled at Nat, then rose and crossed the room to turn down the volume on the TV set.

“How about you don’t even bring Feathers in? Maybe just put him straight into his run and then get cleaned up for dinner?”

Nat stood frozen in the foyer, still holding the dog’s leash. Not crossing the threshold into the living room.

“Yeah. OK. I mean, good idea.”

“You must have had a successful day.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you were gone all day, so I figured you must have found something.”

Oh, yeah. I found something, Nat thought. I finally found something. Finally. Maybe even two somethings. “Oh. You mean work?”

“Yes. I thought you might have found a job.”

“Oh. No. I didn’t find anything.”

“Well, then, what did you do all day?”

“Oh. Well. I was looking.”

A brief, tense moment. Was it tense? It seemed so to Nat. But maybe the tension was only on the inside of Nat. Maybe the old man couldn’t see it or hear it at all.

Then the old guy said, “Maybe you’ll have better luck tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Nat said. “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe so.”

•  •  •

Nat borrowed an alarm clock from the old man, who seemed more than pleased to lend it.

He set it for six
A.M.

6 October 1978   

Nat arrived at the breakfast table before seven. Showered. Dressed. His hair neatly combed.

He was the third and last to arrive.

The old man was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the morning paper and eating ham and scrambled eggs. Eleanor was standing at the stove, scrambling more. For him? Nat wondered. He hoped so. He had a big day in front of him. He’d need his strength.

Nat glanced at the headline of the paper. For some weird reason it flashed him back, all the way to age twelve. A big, sudden memory that hit him hard. He could almost see the headline of the paper dated just two days after his birth. In his head. Behind his eyes. It seemed to be printed there, but he hadn’t known it. It wasn’t the actual headline of today’s paper itself that set things off. That was nothing. It just said, “SPECIAL ELECTION: MEASURE D GOES DOWN TO OVERWHELMING DEFEAT.” Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t seen the morning paper for years. Or maybe because of whose hands held it.

Nat could almost feel the hard, cold boards of his grandmother’s bedroom floor against his knees.

He wondered what his grandmother was doing this morning.

He wondered if the old man had sat in this same kitchen eighteen years ago and read the morning paper, just like he was doing now. If he saw that headline and thought, right, I know. You don’t have to tell
me
. I was there. I was the hunter whose name they never bothered to mention.

He shook the thoughts away again, but they left a disquieting hangover.

Eleanor set a cup of coffee and a pitcher of cream in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said.

The old guy folded up his paper and set it on the table. “Nice to see you up and around so early. You look very nice, too. Very professional.”

“Thought I’d get a jump on the old job search.”

“It just so happens that I have a pleasant surprise for you on that score. I called a friend of mine half an hour ago, on your behalf. Marvin LaPlante. He owns a big, thriving dairy on the outskirts of town. Out on the old Hunt Road. I’ve been doing his books and taxes for years now. Maybe twenty years. And I got you an interview for this morning.”

Nat felt his face go slack and cold. And, he hoped, blank. He tried desperately not to let it fall. He wasn’t sure if he’d succeeded.

“An interview?”

“Yes. Marvin said he can always use another able-bodied young man on the loading docks.”

“Loading docks?”

“Yes, you know, loading the milk on to the delivery trucks.”

“Oh. Right. Well … Good. Well … that’s good, then. An interview. This morning. That’s great.”

“I thought you’d be pleased. Especially after pounding the pavement all day yesterday and coming up empty-handed.”

“Um. Right. So … What time am I supposed to be there?”

“He said anytime this morning would be fine.”

“How do I get out there?”

“The Number 12 bus goes out there. But for this morning, it’s really only about fifteen minutes out of my way. Since you’re up so early, anyway. If you’d slept in, I was going to leave you bus fare. But you’re up and ready. And I have to go out as far as Ellis for my first appointment. So why don’t I drop you? And then I’ll lend you some bus fare to get home. And if you come home with the job, I’ll lend you bus fare for the coming week and the rest of this one, and you can pay me back out of your first paycheck.”

Silence, as Nat’s thoughts spun in circles. He didn’t have Little Manny’s phone number. In fact, he didn’t even know if Little Manny had a phone. And even if he did have a phone, and even if he was listed, Nat wouldn’t have any change left over for a phone call. He would just have to be late. Really late. Hours late. He had no choice.

Maybe Little Manny would give up on him.

He could take the bus straight to the little apartment over the gym. Straight from the job interview. And then walk home. But maybe Little Manny wouldn’t be there by then. Or maybe he would tell Nat to go shove it, if he couldn’t do better than hours late. If he didn’t care about a valuable offer of free training any more than that.

Eleanor set a plate of scrambled eggs and ham slices in front of him, with a separate small plate of toast and grape jelly.

“Thank you. Very much,” he said to her. Then, to the old man, “Does he know about my … uh . . ?”

“Yes. I told him you had just been released from a three-year incarceration. I thought honesty was the best policy in a case like that.”

“And he still wants to interview me?”

“So he says. Better hurry up and eat your breakfast. We have to go in less than fifteen minutes.”

•  •  •

“I’m a big believer in frankness,” Mr. LaPlante said. “So I’m going to lay it right on the line.”

Nat hadn’t so much as opened his mouth to say a word yet. He hadn’t had time. He had just shaken the man’s hand. Taken a seat in his office as directed. And now this.

Frankness. On the line.

“You wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t owe a lot to Nathan McCann. I like to lay everything on the table, so I’m being honest with you right up front.”

Then he allowed a pause. It took Nat a moment to gather it was his turn to talk.

LaPlante wore his hair parted in the middle, which Nat found amusing. So he tried not to look. Because when he looked, it was hard not to crack a smile. Over LaPlante’s head was a framed poster of a winged cartoon cow. Wearing a halo. Flying over a cartoon cloud.

The silence extended a beat too long.

“Well, I definitely appreciate your honesty,” Nat said. Hoping it didn’t sound like a lie. Because it was.

“Generally, I figure I can tell a lot about a prospective employee from his background. They say the past is the best predictor of the future. But I have a great deal of respect for Nathan McCann, and he asked me to give you a chance. And I would give that man just about anything he asked of me. Within reason. But there’s going to be something of a trial period for you. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I’ve made up my mind that you won’t make it here. We’re not set against you. Nobody’s going to judge you unfairly, and if they do they’ll answer to me. You’ll get the same shot as anybody gets. I guess what I’m saying is, you’ll get
one
shot. Is that acceptable to you?”

“Yes, sir. It is. Absolutely. I appreciate the shot. When do you want me to start work?”

“I’ll take you out on the loading dock and you can start right now.”

“Now?” Nat asked, reminding himself to close his mouth afterward.

“Someplace you’d rather be?”

“Um. No. No, sir. Now is fine. Now is perfect.”

•  •  •

Nat stood on the loading dock, staring at stack after stack of wooden crates, each containing sixteen milk bottles. Awaiting further instructions.

The foreman, an old but muscular guy named Mr. Merino, came around and clapped him on the back. Then he set a printed form on top of the stack right in front of Nat’s belt.

“LaPlante wants you to fill this out.”

“What is it?”

“Instructions for withholding. You know, from your paycheck.”

“I can’t fill that out here.”

“Why the hell can’t you?”

“Because I promised Nathan McCann I’d bring it home and get his advice on it first.”

“I’ll have to see what LaPlante thinks about that.”

“He’ll think it’s fine. Because Nathan McCann said so.”

“OK. Well, I’ll just double-check that.”

“Yes, sir. That’s fine. Should I be doing something while I’m waiting?”

“Yeah. I’d say so. I’d say you should be picking up those crates that are right under your nose. And loading them into that truck. That’s also right under your nose.”

“OK. I just thought maybe there would be instructions.”

Merino stood with hands on hips, his chin raised high. As if to be taller while looking down on the new guy. The one with the huge black mark against him. “You’re unclear on how to pick things up and then put them down again?”

“No, sir. I’m not. Not at all. I can handle that. I’ll just get started.”

“Glad to hear it,” Merino said. And turned his back to walk away.

“Mr. Merino? What time is quitting?”

Merino whirled back. “Excuse me?”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“You haven’t so much as lifted your first crate, and you already want to know what time you can stop?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Not at all. Just that it’s a weird work day, you know. Not a regular one. Because I started late. And I just have to take the bus home, is all. And I just wanted to be sure it wouldn’t be after the buses stopped running.”