Canada: A Novel Part 7

A voice was alive in the house when I woke up. I a.s.sumed it was the police-talking to Berner, beginning to search for the money. My heart had quieted. But it immediately began pounding. The kitchen drawer would be the first place to look.

I opened my bedroom door abruptly, intending to startle whoever was there, possibly make them run away. But it was Berner, in the hallway speaking into the telephone receiver, standing by the little receptacle outside our parents' bedroom. She was wearing her pajamas with blue elephants. She was barefoot, looping then unlooping the phone cord around her thumb, pus.h.i.+ng a finger into her thick hair and smiling at something she was hearing. Her voice was deeper. She'd put on makeup again and lipstick. "Oh, yes," she was saying. "I don't know. That's a good idea." Her voice sounded like my mother's. I didn't know who she was talking to, but I a.s.sumed it was Rudy Patterson. He was the only person I knew she knew, and she had told me what they did.

I was relieved it wasn't the police. I had a strong feeling, however, they'd soon be back. The older detective had said so. I went to the front window and looked out. Our street and the park were empty in the dappled sunlight. The Lutheran church was locked up. Shade fell across our lawn in a pretty way. In the park, the fat young deaf boy from up the street who I'd seen before was throwing a stick for a black Labrador dog. It ran, picked up the stick, then brought it back and dropped it at the boy's feet. He petted the dog's head and said something to it. No police cars were there. Occasionally the boy would turn almost secretly and look at our house.

I walked to the kitchen window and looked out to where our father's car was. But it was gone. The s.p.a.ce it had occupied beside the garage was like a box of air the Chevrolet had been in a moment before, then vanished from. I instantly opened the silverware drawer and expected to find nothing. But there were the two stacks of twenties under the plastic tray, which let me know I wasn't dreaming and these goings-on were really happening.

I picked up the pieces of the broken dish my mother had dropped earlier and put them in the trash under the sink. They were all large pieces and didn't require a broom. In a little while Berner came in the kitchen. She seemed-in her elephant pajamas-unfazed, as if being in the house this way was better, and she'd been waiting for this time and intended to make the most of it.

"They pulled his car away. A big wrecker truck came," she said and looked out the front window. "Nice big ole doggy." She watched the boy throwing his stick in the park. I wanted to move the money. I didn't want to have anything to do with it. "I don't think anybody's coming," Berner said. She scratched her behind below her pajama-bottom waist, while she stared out at the boy with his dog. Her hair was bushy and disheveled from sleeping on it. "That means we can do whatever we want to."

"Why?" I said.

Her lips made a mean smile, and she squinted at me and breathed out the way she did when she was acting superior. "I'll do whatever I want," she said. "Whatever you do will be what you want." She pointed her finger at her ear and made a circle, then pointed it at me. "You're loony," she said. She often said that.

"What're you going to do?"

"I don't know." She opened the refrigerator door, looked inside and closed it back. "It won't be nothing. I've done nothing enough. Rudy wants to get married."

"You can't," I said. I knew you couldn't do that. We were fifteen. She'd already told me she didn't want to get married. She'd said it yesterday.

"Some places they'll let you. We'll go to Salt Lake City, Utah. It's better than here. Though he's not in the church now."

I was disgusted to hear this. It made everything about me and everything I thought feel flimsy. Standing in our kitchen in her pajamas, talking about getting married to Rudy, she cast a shadow on me and whatever I thought-as if my fate had to be like hers, and you could tear my plans apart like wet tissue and watch them disappear.

Only, I didn't feel that way about myself and my plans. I could feel my own outline now. I would be myself no matter what else happened. My heart went calm then, which I thought was a positive sign. If I'd really felt all was lost and my life was over because I was tied to my sister, I don't know what I would've done. Except I'd have had very little chance of going on from that moment.

"I won't be getting married right off the bat," Berner said. She turned and peered out the window again. Suddenly she whipped around with a big distorted smile. "Mother told me I have to take care of you." Tears all at once sprang from her eyes. It's possible I was starting to cry, too. We both had reasons to. But she cut hers off. "I hate their G.o.dd.a.m.n guts," she said.

"You don't have to run away," I said. It was an awful feeling we had.

"Yes, I do," she said. "I . . ." I wanted to put my arms around her. It seemed like the most natural thing to do if I was going to be in control of everything. The telephone started ringing in the hall-loud, jangling miserable rings that destroyed the quiet in the house. And that's how the moment pa.s.sed-Berner and me almost holding on to each other, the phone ringing, and nothing else taking notice of us.

Chapter 33.

What was left of Sunday is a part that's not very clear. I remember everything feeling free inside the house and the house feeling comfortable with just the two of us in it. We ate some food out of the refrigerator-cold spaghetti and an apple. We ate looking out the front window at the park in the late afternoon shade. Cars drove by. One or two slowed and people inside leaned into the windows and looked at Berner and me standing there. One person waved and we both waved back. I didn't understand what anybody could possibly know about us. It was forward thinking of our mother to discourage us from a.s.similating, since if anybody-someone from the chess club-had come to gawk at us, I'd have been humiliated. And worse, because I hadn't done anything personally to feel humiliated about except have parents.

Before it got dark, Berner and I took a walk around the block, against our mother's instruction that we not leave the house. We did it because we could. No one noticed us. All the neighbors' houses were silent and shut up looking on Sunday afternoon. The neighborhood seemed nicer than I'd always thought it was.

We came back and sat on the front steps and watched the sky turn purple and the moon come up and a few lights p.r.i.c.kle on in our neighbors' windows. I noticed a paper kite that had been caught high up in the tree limbs in the park. I wondered how you'd get it down. We expected any moment for a car to drive up and strangers to tell us we had to go with them someplace. But no one came.

We didn't talk much about our parents. We both a.s.sumed, as we sat on the steps watching bats flit around the darkening trees in front of the humped moon, and pale stars showed up in the eastern sky, that they'd done what they were accused of doing. It had been too dramatic not to be true. They had gone away overnight-which they'd never done before. The pistol had disappeared. There was the money, and the Indians calling us and driving by. I may even have briefly wanted it to be true-whether I could've said so or not-as if by robbing a bank our father had supplied himself with something he'd been lacking. What it meant about our mother was a more difficult question. It could also be true that Berner and I, for that afternoon, may have lost the part of our minds that makes you fully aware of what's happening to you when it's happening. Why else would we have become calm, and taken a walk? Why else would I have thought my father was more substantial because he'd robbed a bank and broken our lives apart? It doesn't make much sense. Neither one of us thought to ask why had they robbed a bank, why had that ever seemed like a good idea. To us, it had just become a fact of life.

When we finally went in, it was full dark. Mosquitoes were in the air. Moths fluttered at the windows, and the cicadas were humming. Sunday night traffic on Central had all but stopped. We locked the doors and pulled the curtains and turned off the porch light. No matter what Berner thought, I believed someone would come and get us-the police or the juvenile officials, and that the police would search the house. We decided we'd let no one in-as if we were the man and the wife who lived there.

I went to the kitchen and got the money and told Berner where it'd come from. I didn't know if she'd seen it the day before, but she said she hadn't. She said she thought it was money our parents had stolen and we should hide it or else put it down the toilet. We counted it out at the dining room table and it was five hundred dollars. Berner then changed her mind and said we should divide it and each decide what to do with our half. We'd be accused anyway, because we had it, so we should keep it. She said there might even be more hidden in the house, and we should find it before the police came. We went in our parents' bedroom and looked in our mother's purse, inside their drawers and under their mattresses, in their clothes closet, inside their shoes, and up on the closet shelves where there were older shoes and sweaters and my father's Air Force hat. We found no more packets of money, though our mother had thirty dollars folded in her change purse. We also found what she had called her "Jewish book," which I'd seen but didn't know anything about. It was small and had what she'd said was Hebrew writing in it and was in her bottom dresser drawer with some baby pictures of us and a View-Master with a Taj Mahal card and her eyegla.s.s prescriptions and some artists' pencils and her poems and her journal, which we still wouldn't have dared to read. The book had a name I couldn't p.r.o.nounce when she'd said it and began with an "H." I'd never asked more about it. It occurred to me there was no place in a house a person could hide anything where no one would find it, and that the police were professional at finding things. Our house had no cellar, and again I was unwilling to go in the attic on account of it being hot and the home of snakes and hornets. We couldn't guess where more money was, and we eventually stopped looking.

In our father's monogrammed "P" leather jewelry case, however-which smelled like him-I found his high school ring, bulky and gold with a square blue stone and engraved with a tiny "D" for Demopolis, and two tiny rearing horses on each side, for the Mustangs. He'd said Demopolis meant "where the people lived" in Greek, and he liked it because it signified everyone there was equal. I put the ring on-it only fit my thumb-and decided I'd wear it, since now I wasn't likely to have one of my own. His gold captain's bars were in there and his wrist.w.a.tch, and his blue-and-white Parsons name tag, and his metal dog tags and a paper box containing his war ribbons. Farther back in the closet was his heavy Air Force uniform, cleaned and pressed and ready to put on, though without the ribbons and bars. I put the jacket on. It was much too large for me and too hot to wear in the house. I'd had it on other times, and it was important feeling and I liked it. No money was in the pockets. When our father had put it on in the mornings and left the house for the base, he'd always been in a good humor. That had only been a few months ago. That time was gone now, no matter how not long ago it was.

Berner took out a pair of our mother's dark wool trousers she only wore in the winter, and held these up for display in front of the door mirror as if they were funny. They were too small for her to put on, though she tried. So she found a pair of flat black cloth shoes our mother had sent away for and squeezed her large bony foot inside and clopped around their bedroom with them half on, heels slapping, saying our mother lacked a sense of style, which wasn't true. She had a style of her own. We must've known our parents wouldn't be back. We wouldn't have put on their clothes and laughed and imitated them if life had a chance to be normal again.

Just after nine o'clock, a knock sounded at the front door. Of course, we thought it was the police and turned off the light in the bedroom. I crawled down the hall on my hands and knees-in my father's tunic-then crawled around to the kitchen. No one could see me through the front door gla.s.s. I got to the kitchen window and looked over the sill into the dark front yard, where the moon hung above the canopy of leaves and limbs, and the empty basketball backboard across the street cast shadows in the street lights. Rudy Patterson was standing on the front walk, tall and long armed and looking up at the sky, smoking a cigarette and holding a paper sack, waiting to be let in. He was talking to someone I couldn't see. I thought he might be singing. The porch light wasn't turned on.

I knew he was coming to take Berner away with him-that it was all planned. I'd be left in the house alone to face whatever happened and fend for myself. They were on their way to Salt Lake or San Francisco. That's what she'd decided. I didn't know what to do, but I didn't intend to let him in. I wanted the door locked and to stay in the house with Berner. I didn't think it would be better for her to run away. The same was true for me.

She had come to the hallway door and looked around the corner, as if she didn't care who saw her. "Who's that?" she said.

I said, "It's Rudy. He can't come in. Mother said no one could come in."

"I forgot about him," she said and moved out of the hallway. "I told him to come. He can come in. Don't be stupid. He and I are in love." She went straight to the front door and let Rudy Patterson into our house.

No matter how I'd felt when I saw Rudy standing out on the moonlit walk, when he came in our house he-at least for a time-changed everything. He was not the sort of boy you'd expect to have a good effect. But when he came in the door, time stopped and our lives stopped with it. Everything outside disappeared, as if the future and the past had come to their ends at once and it was just the three of us.

Rudy was immediately loud when he got inside. He walked around our living room, smoking his cigarette and inspecting things. The same things I'd taken a tally of earlier that day. The piano. The pictures on the wall. My father's discharge. My mother's suitcase and my pillowcase with my possessions inside. He seemed older and bigger than the last time I saw him, when we'd shot baskets in the park and Berner sat and watched us. He was only sixteen and had wild, curly red hair and long, red-freckled arms and big hands with hair already on the backs, and his little mustache that Berner didn't like. He had veins in his biceps below his T-s.h.i.+rt sleeves, and scratched, scuffed-up knuckles, as if he'd been crawling on rocks or possibly fighting. He wore dirty tight black dungarees with a wide belt and a bra.s.s buckle and a little scabbard knife on the side and thick black ankle boots-the kind men wore at the air base or where his father worked at the refinery. He bore little resemblance to the boy my sister had been friendly with in the summer and who I'd liked because he was nice to me. Something unusual had happened to him since the last time I saw him. I had no idea what.

But I still liked him and saw now, how my sister might decide to run away with him. He seemed mysterious and dangerous. I considered it might be a good idea to run away with them myself, and not face tomorrow and all it would probably contain.

As he was roaming the room, Rudy carried on talking. He'd never been inside our house. Possibly it made him nervous and act in an exaggerated way. He'd been drinking, too. In his paper sack he had three bottles of Pabst beer, plus a cellophane bag of peanuts in-the-hull, which he ate and left the hulls on our father's Niagara Falls puzzle. He also had a half pint of Evan Williams whiskey in his back pocket, which he referred to as "the pete." He made a considerable presence in our house, which was already in a strange state.

Rudy knew about our parents being in jail and us being alone. It was Rudy Berner had been talking to when I woke up, and she had told him. He said his own father and stepmother didn't get along at all and that Mormons were crazy, anyway. He didn't believe what they believed. Mormons had invented a secret language, he said, that they only spoke to each other. They planned to enslave Catholics and Jews, and Negroes were to be sent to Africa or else executed. Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., would be burned to the ground. If you left the Mormon Church, they hunted you down and brought you back in chains. He took "the pete" out, pulled a drink off of it, smacked his lips, then shockingly handed it to Berner, who pulled a drink, then handed it to me and I pulled one. I swallowed mine down all at once and had to clench my teeth to keep from choking. It made my throat constrict and burn all the way to my stomach, and hurt more there. Berner took another drink. She'd done it before. She didn't scowl, and afterward she patted her lips with her fingers as if she'd liked it. Rudy then gave her a cigarette, which he lighted and she smoked and held away from herself between her thumb and middle finger. This was in the living room of our house! Twelve hours ago our parents had been there. Their rules had governed our behavior and determined everything we did. Now they were gone, and so were their rules. It was a dizzying feeling. I felt I had a rough idea, then, about what the rest of my life would be.

Berner sat down in one of the living room chairs and just watched Rudy. His behavior was a kind of performance. He walked around the room saying his parents had threatened him with becoming a ward of the state, and that was the most terrible thing that could happen. It meant you were sent to a big orphanage in Miles City and strangers could adopt you and make you their private property. At his age n.o.body would adopt him, so he'd be a prisoner left in the foul company of mean ranch boys whose parents had died or had abandoned them, or filthy Indian kids whose parents were perverted. Your life was ruined even if you survived it. This eventuality, I thought, was what our mother was fearful of and why she'd been definite about Berner and me not leaving with anyone but Miss Remlinger.

The living room soon smelled like Rudy's cigarettes and whiskey and beer. It had been clean not long before. We would have to clean it up again tomorrow. I went and turned on the attic fan, which began its clatter-racket and drew some smoke away. All the doors and windows were locked shut from when I'd locked them earlier.

I still was wearing my father's Air Force tunic, and Rudy said he'd like to try it on. I took it off, and he put it on, and it fit him better than it fit me. It also had an instant effect on him. He walked around our living room some more with his cigarette and his beer, but as if he was an officer, and our house was a staging area for a war he would soon be fighting.

"I'm ready to shoot down a lot of Commies now," he said in a made-up official voice as he strutted about. Berner said she was, too. He was drunk, of course. I thought he looked a little silly. Part of his large presence had already begun to fade-though I still liked him. Possibly I was a little drunk myself.

"Do you have any music we can play?" Rudy said, admiring himself in the smoky gla.s.s mirror that hung over the davenport and had been in the house when we got there.

"He's got some records," Berner said, referring to our father.

"I'd like to hear one," Rudy said. He set his hands on his hips like pictures of General Patton I'd seen in the World Book.

Berner went to the phonograph and got out one of our father's 78s from the cabinet and put it on the turntable-things I'd only seen him do.

Right away, Glenn Miller's band started playing one of our father's favorites. "The Little Brown Jug." Our father had great respect for Glenn Miller, because he'd died in the service of his country.

Rudy instantly started dancing around by himself. He swooped and slid across the living room, smiling and dipping his knees and raising and lowering his arms and turning circles-his beer in one hand, his cigarette in the other.

"You have to dance with me." He said this to me. He danced over, put his arms around me and pulled me up where I was sitting on the piano bench. He danced me backward, twirled me around, fluttered his fingers, pushed me and pulled me, stepped on my feet with his big black boots, smiling and smelling like whiskey and cigarettes, his scuffed hands now and then clutching my shoulder and the middle of my back. I'd never danced before. I didn't think I was really dancing now. Our mother and father had danced in my memory, but not recently. Their size difference didn't make that easy. My mother liked Russian ballet and hated "middlebrow ballroom tastes," which was what my father was accomplished at.

Berner was frowning at me with her cigarette in her mouth while Rudy and I were whirling around. I enjoyed it. "Quit dancing with your boyfriend," she said, "and dance with your girlfriend."

"I've given Dell-boy his big thrill now," Rudy said, out of breath but smiling wildly. He turned loose of me and began dancing the same way with Berner, who couldn't dance any better than I could. My head was spinning and I felt a little sick to my stomach. I sat down in the chair where Berner'd been sitting, while they danced around in front of me.

After "The Little Brown Jug," the next song was "Stardust," which was one my father regularly played. Berner and Rudy danced stiffly at arm's length at first. He maintained a serious expression as if he was concentrating on his footwork. Berner seemed bored. Then they moved in closer, and it was clear they'd been that close before. Berner's face appeared over Rudy's shoulder and she had her eyes closed. They were almost the same height and in many ways looked alike-more alike than she and I did. They both had freckles and large bones. Berner's white tennis shoes slipped around on the rug in clumsy step with Rudy's boots, both of them holding their cigarettes, Rudy holding his beer. I took another drink out of the Evan Williams bottle, which was on the floor, and again suffered the stomach burning, but the aftermath wasn't as bad and instantly calmed me, though I hadn't realized I wasn't calm. I sat back in the green armchair and watched Berner and Rudy dance together-Rudy in my father's Air Force tunic, Berner clinging on his neck. I had the feeling someone was almost certainly about to bash in the front door and find us smoking and drinking and carrying on in these ways we shouldn't be. But I didn't care. I was happy. I was happy Berner was happy. It was always hard to please her. Just for that moment it was as if I was watching our parents dance, and everything was back the way it was supposed to be.

After they'd danced to another Glenn Miller song, Rudy's face got red. He was sweating with my father's tunic on. He suddenly quit dancing, skinned off the coat and threw it on a chair, and resumed walking around saying he wouldn't be staying long. Berner stood in the middle of the floor watching him. He said he had a plan to get some money that night, but it'd be best if he didn't tell us how. (It was stealing, I a.s.sumed.) He said he could go to Deer Lodge prison if he got caught in a crime, because he was seventeen. People were watching him, whereas in California there were so many people he wouldn't stand out the way he did in Great Falls, which he said was a "h.e.l.l hole," and he hated it.

He asked Berner if anything was in the house to eat. All he'd had were his peanuts he'd "lifted" from the Italian's, and the beer and the whiskey he'd bought from an Indian with money out of his father's wallet. Berner said there were frozen steaks in the ice box-steaks our father had brought from the base. She could cook one. He said that would be wonderful.

Rudy and I sat for a time then in the dining room under the overhead light and with the front curtains closed so no one outside could see us. Our family had sat there two days ago. Rudy smoked and alternated his beer and his whiskey. Berner put a frozen steak straight into a frying pan to cook it on the Westinghouse-which was what our father called it. I'd never seen her cook anything and didn't believe she knew how. I didn't know how. Rudy had picked up a book of our mother's off the shelf in the living room-her Arthur Rimbaud poems-from which he read a line or two. "In spicy and drenched lands-at the service of the most monstrous exploitation, industrial and sultry. . . ." I've remembered that. Rudy still seemed friendly and mysterious to me. His tangled red hair and veiny arms worked in favor of him seeming out of the ordinary. I didn't think he was smarter than I was. He didn't play chess-that I knew about. He didn't know anything about other places on the globe-which I did. He had no plans to go to college, but was planning to run away. I was fairly sure he'd never read Time or Life or National Geographic. Which didn't mean he lacked his own intelligence-including wearing a knife on his belt and steel-toe boots and drinking and smoking and having schemes to get his own money and knowing about Mormons, and whatever he and Berner did in his father's car up by the munic.i.p.al airport. That amounted to something.

At the table Rudy said he looked forward to winter in a new climate-which would be California, where his real mother lived. He said his father'd told him he-Rudy-probably should never even have been born, or at least should've been born to someone else who had a lot of patience. He put his cigarette into his beer bottle and lit another one (there were no ashtrays in our house), and predicted he'd end up in jail. He didn't seem to remember that our parents were in jail at that minute and we might be feeling raw about it. He said the whole time he'd lived in Great Falls he'd made no friends, and something was wrong with a town where you didn't make friends. This had been Berner's and my experience, also, but I'd believed it had to do with our mother's fear of fitting in. He looked hard across the table at me, then suddenly did remember the terrible situation Berner and I were facing, and said we hadn't done anything that he knew of to deserve our predicament. Which was nothing I'd thought anyway. I felt already that if our parents had robbed a bank-no matter what reasons they had for it-the fault was theirs. That was clear enough. Rudy didn't mention joining the Marines or marrying Berner-which had been talked about before.

Berner came from the kitchen with Rudy's steak on a white plate she set down in front of him. A knife and fork were laid across it. It was just the steak. Nothing else. It looked hard as a s.h.i.+ngle and was curled up at the burned edges where it was fat. It didn't look good to eat. Berner set her hands on her waist, pushed her hip to the side and frowned at the steak as if she disliked how it looked. "I never cooked anything but soup before," she said. She pulled a chair out and sat across from Rudy and kept frowning at the steak. Even with the attic fan running, the house was hot. Moisture was standing on Berner's upper lip. Rudy was also sweating. The burnt-steak odor moved in the air around us.

"This looks great," Rudy said. He still had his cigarette in his mouth. I thought he was going to eat and smoke at the same time. He cut right into the steak, but wasn't able to cut very far. We both sat watching him. He put his table knife down, took his little red-handled scabbard knife out of its sheath and cut right into the steak with ease.

"It's perfect," he said and ate a chunk that I could see was still frozen inside. He chewed vigorously, laying his cigarette on the edge of his plate. Smoke funneled out his nose as he was chewing. He drank a swig of his beer. Then he cut another piece, but turned in his chair before he ate it and looked around the room behind him, where we'd been dancing and drinking whiskey. My father's tunic was on the chair, the jigsaw puzzle of Niagara Falls was on the card table top littered with peanut hulls. My pillowcase with my belongings and my mother's suitcase from the morning were where they'd been all day, ever since the police came. Rudy seemed to want to check that everything was the same.

He turned back to his steak with Berner and me watching him and cut his piece in half. His boots scuffed the floor, as if eating involved effort. He took another drag on his cigarette, raised his chin, delivered a French inhale, then forked the small wedge of steak into his mouth and chewed, smiling as he did it. "I believe"-he cleared his throat and swallowed-"that we could do just as good by ourselves out on the tramp. That's my view." I didn't know what his mind was on about. I didn't know what "on the tramp" was.

"Where do your parents think you are, right now," Berner said. "Do they think you ran away?"

"Probably," Rudy said, chewing forcefully. "If somebody fished me out of the Missouri River, they wouldn't even come down to see my body." These words seemed to excite him, and he got up from his chair, his hunting knife in one fist and his cigarette in the other, and executed three or four thrusts in the air over the table. Each time he stabbed the empty air he went, "Ah! Ah! Ah!" and his eyes squinted as if he was striking someone he hated. It wasn't very impressive.

He sat back down, cut another piece of his steak and ate it, breathing audibly. He looked at me and grinned. He had a warm smile. "Do you want some of this, Dell? It's really good." He pushed his plate toward me, the knife and fork still on it. He kept his hunting knife in front of him in case he might need to stab some things again.

"I'm not hungry," I said. Though I was.

He turned to reinsert his knife into its little sheath without wiping the meat grease off. "I've had my fill-up now," he said. He'd had two pieces and a half. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then stubbed his cigarette on the sole of his boot, licked the stub and put it in his s.h.i.+rt pocket. He coughed to cover up a belch. "I could go right to sleep," he said. He covered his mouth again. "I gotta go get some money, though."

"Where're you going to get that?" Berner said. She hadn't said much. We'd been watching Rudy like he was an animal in a cage.

"If I told you, you'd be my accomplices, and you'd go to jail." He stood up and walked back into the living room, patting his belly as if he'd eaten a three-course meal instead of a piece of frozen steak. He put a fresh cigarette to his lips and lit it from a paper matchbook out of the same pocket. He seemed to be looking around for something. He reminded me of my father when he came back from his business trip. Berner and I were still sitting at the table, watching him like spectators. Probably Rudy had a decent heart and had suffered because his parents didn't love him. He wouldn't have hurt anybody. But he seemed undependable and erratic. His mouth, when he wasn't smiling, sank in toward his little teeth and made him look deceitful, like somebody we shouldn't know, even if we weren't his accomplices. Rudy was a person I could imagine being a ward of the state, being imprisoned in some empty, windswept landscape where there'd be barbed wire and terrible things would happen to him, and escape would be impossible. I still had on my father's cla.s.s ring. Two rearing gold mustangs. I wished it could be magic and make my father appear and take control of things that were happening to Berner and me. Of course, he was the cause of all of it.

"Do you want to stay here tonight, or not?" Berner said in a brazen voice-which was an outlandish thing. Not a thing you could say.

"That's not a good idea," I said.

"I don't think it is either." Rudy was still inspecting things in the living room, not giving Berner's invitation any credit. He was for sure looking for something he could sell at some p.a.w.n shop out by the base. But there wasn't anything in our house to sell. My father's tunic. The Glenn Miller records. The metronome, which he wouldn't have recognized. He could've been looking for the money we had. Only he wouldn't have known about it. "Somebody might come looking for me. It wouldn't be good if I was here." He frowned at me as if we agreed, and put his thumbs under his belt.

"You're here now," Berner said, irritably. "What's the difference?"

"The difference is n.o.body's come." He was again studying my father's Air Force discharge, framed beside President Roosevelt-which the policeman had also done. If he wanted them, he could take them. I just wanted him to leave before somebody did come.

"My old man hates Roosevelt," Rudy said. He p.r.o.nounced it "Roo" to rhyme with "zoo." He looked around at me as if he wanted my opinion. "He sold the country down a muddy river, he thinks. His wife's a Commie and feels sorry for everybody, especially n.i.g.g.e.rs." I hadn't heard that word spoken much. A boy at school whose father was a doctor said it. Our father had never said it. He didn't hate people, and neither did we.

"Are you staying here or are you going?" Berner said sharply. She stood up at the table and picked up Rudy's plate.

"I'm on the night s.h.i.+ft tonight," he said, as if he wanted to be casual about things. I thought he might take down the picture of President Roosevelt and carry it away. He walked over to the table at the end of the couch, picked up his paper sack of remaining beers and walked to the front door. A car pa.s.sed our house and sounded its horn. It was after eleven. Somebody shouted out in the warm summer night. "Yoo-hoo-hoo. Jailbirds. You jailbirds. Jailbirds. Yoo-hoo-hoo." The car honked again. Someone laughed. Then the car accelerated and noisily whooshed away.

"We'll never see you again. Is that it?" Berner frowned, holding Rudy's plate. "That'd be all right with me."

"I'll be back and you know it," Rudy said. He wanted to seem like a grown man to us. Like I said, his red hair and his cigarettes and his scuffed-up arms and knuckles worked in his favor. "You and me'll get out of here for good. I'm a man of my word."

"You're not a man," Berner said. "You're sixteen."

"I won't be next week. You won't have to wait long to know all about that." Rudy lost his big smile. He stood holding the gla.s.s doork.n.o.b, as if he was apologizing, and we were pa.s.sing judgment on him. Which we were. "You just have to be patient." He pulled the door back.

Berner said, "This is where it's got me so far." She turned and walked into the kitchen.

"Don't let anybody else in here, Dell," Rudy said, ignoring her. "They'll come get you if they can."

"My mother already told us that," I said.

Rudy removed his cigarette from his mouth, cleared his throat, blew smoke into the room, took a quick, almost surprised look around at whatever he'd decided not to take. Then he stepped out the door and closed it hard. Berner had already begun was.h.i.+ng dishes in the sink. I expected this would be the last I'd see of Rudy Patterson, and I was glad. He hadn't helped anything. And although there was no way I could know it, that is what turned out to be true.

Chapter 34.

That night, Sunday night, Berner and I straightened the house, washed the dishes, emptied the b.u.t.ts and peanut hulls and beer bottles, and the mud from when the police had been there-all that had made the house feel c.r.a.ppy. We put away the Niagara Falls puzzle and the card table and placed my globe back on my dresser, hung our father's Air Force jacket back in the closet and put our mother's suitcase and Berner's back where they belonged, and my pillowcase in my room.

We didn't talk very much. Berner concluded she'd never see Rudy again, that people like him luckily exited your life-at least in her experience (which was nothing). He didn't love her, and she wasn't in love with him for that matter. I said I liked him well enough, but she'd be better off not running away and staying here until our parents came back. I was trying to a.s.sert myself as the man in the house, taking charge of things no one could control.

My room had grown chilly with the sun gone from the roof. I turned off the attic fan and lay in the broken moonlight and concentrated on my parents. I wanted to make my heart be calm. It'd been beating hard all that day, as if I'd been running around and around a track.

Our parents were changing again in my thinking, sliding together, not as if they'd found their love again, but as if they were only one person and had relinquished their distinguis.h.i.+ng details. This wasn't true; they were whoever they were. And if the day had been shocking and confusing to me, it had been much worse for them. Still, feeling this way-that they were less distinct in my mind-was a relief. As I said, I may have lost part of my mind for that day. Losing your mind is probably never what you think it'll be.

What we were supposed to do the next morning, or all the next day, I wasn't sure. If someone came, we would just stay in the house. If Mildred Remlinger came, she'd tell us what we were expected to do. Several times when I was in bed, the telephone rang. Berner went out once to answer it, in case it was Rudy calling. But I could tell no one was there when she said h.e.l.lo. Then she didn't answer it again.

At some point I went nearly to sleep-my heart still strangely pounding. Then I was aware Berner had come in the room and gotten into my bed-the second time in one week. As I said, we hadn't slept in the same bed since we'd lived in Great Falls. But I'd missed her when our parents had moved her to her own room, and I was happy she'd come back. I'd have never climbed in bed with her. She'd have thrown a tantrum or made fun of me. But I was very glad not to be alone.

She'd been crying and smelled like her tears and like cigarettes. She wasn't wearing any clothes, which was a shock. Her skin was cold, and she squeezed close to me in my pajamas. Crying had made her colder. She took my hand and held it against her belly. "Warm me up," she said. "I can't sleep." She snuffed her nose and sighed. "I drank that whiskey. It keeps you up." She pushed close to me. I smelled soap on her, and Vicks and toothpaste and smoke in her hair. She pushed her b.u.mpy face into my neck, her cheeks were damp and cool, and her nose was stoppered up.

"I was asleep," I lied.