Текст книги "Dirt"

Автор книги: David Vann

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter 5

Galen tried to push up on his arms, but he felt broken. This sucks, he said. He lay facedown. The dirt scratching against his burned thighs hurt more than he would have guessed. The sweater an oven, a cocoon. A slick of sweat beneath, and he was thirsty. His face on fire.

His butt muscles were coming alive, blood rushing into his thighs, and his legs felt like hollow tubes, the muscle not attached to the bone. He pushed up onto his knees, then tried to stand, his legs like straws. Points of pain everywhere along their edges, the muscles unreachable, not responding. But he was able to take a step, and another. His back had been folded for too long, so he felt like he was leaning.

Almost got you, he said. You almost had to admit you’re not really a body. Just a fake, an illusion, and I’m watching you reassemble now. All the clanking around to pull the dream back together.

He lurched his way around the shed to the fig tree where the other illusions were just finishing tea.

You look a little stiff, his aunt said, smiling. And suddenly he understood. His aunt hated him. It was instantly clear. He liked her, and he had thought she liked him, but now he could see that she hated his mother and hated him as her extension. Her smile all meanness.

Wow, Galen said. Holy shit.

What? Jennifer asked.

Nothing, he said.

We’re finished now, his mother said. We’ll be leaving to see Grandma in a few minutes.

Galen made his way carefully to the free chair and sat down. Cast iron, no cushion. His butt might fall back asleep. But it felt good to sit, and the shade was glorious. He closed his eyes to the smell of figs, a scent so rich it made a body of the air. Wow, he said. The figs.

Nearly ripe, his mother said. Another week at most. And she poured him a glass of orange juice. Here, she said. Even when she liked him least, she would provide for him. And this was the difference. His aunt would push him off the edge if she ever had the chance, but his mother would never do that.

Galen wrapped both hands around the cool glass of orange juice, and he wondered whether to drink it. He was thirsty, incredibly thirsty. And the orange juice would be delicious, cool and tangy, with a bit of pulp, and he loved the pulp. But he felt dizzy, the top of his head gone, a floating sensation, and he didn’t want to lose that. He felt he was seeing everything more clearly now. The orange juice might stop all that. Too cold, too acidic, a jolt that would bring all his attention to his stomach, and he would no longer be floating free.

Freakazoid, Jennifer said.

Galen closed his eyes and tried to focus. What did he really want? He held the glass of orange juice in both hands and brought it closer, close enough to put his nose into the glass and smell the sweet fruit. He breathed the orange juice, in and out, in and out.

I can’t watch, his mother said. We’re leaving in five minutes.

Galen didn’t like having the time pressure. That was changing the experience. An end was being enforced now, and that was going to fuck up everything. Damn it, he said.

Whoa, Jennifer said.

He didn’t want her here. Or his aunt. He wanted to be alone with the orange juice.

And then he decided to just do it. He tilted the glass and tasted the juice, sweet and bitter and overpowering, and he held it in his mouth, refused to swallow.

Does Mikey like it? Jennifer asked.

He tried to forget her, tried to focus only on the sweet juice in his mouth, but it was impossible. He swallowed, and exactly what he had feared would happen did. The track all the way down to his stomach, and he felt the weight of his stomach, the caustic need, all of his awareness pulled downward, the top of his head no longer open. A stone sinking down, hitting bottom, stuck there now.

Thanks, he said. Thanks for fucking that up.

And what was that exactly? his aunt asked.

Nothing, he said.

Exactly, she said.

Galen opened his eyes, chugged the rest of the glass, then set it down on the table.

Welcome back, his aunt said. We are the humans.

You are empty shells, he said. Husks and nothing more. He got up and walked into the house, had to use a hand on the banister rail to get up the stairs.

He sat on the edge of his bed and bent over carefully to remove the sweater, drenched in sweat. Ow, he said. That really hurts. He could hardly breathe. He took off the boots, dropped his underwear, and stepped carefully into the shower. Took a cold one, for his legs, and even the cold water hurt. He dabbed himself carefully with a towel, then put aloe on his legs and face and neck. In the mirror, he looked unnaturally bright. The dark skin of his face had become bright pink beneath, a kind of secondary glow.

Galen, his mother yelled. We’re waiting.

I’m coming, he yelled back. He put on clean underwear, a T-shirt, socks, and tennis shoes, walked carefully down the stairs.

Damn it, his mother said. Put on some pants. She was standing in the foyer with a hand on the doorknob. His aunt and cousin lounging in the sitting room.

My legs are burned.

Well of course they’re burned. Put on some pants.

Fine, he said. He went back upstairs and found some old swim shorts that were too small and wouldn’t cover more than a few inches of his thighs.

Cute, Jennifer said. I like that look. It would be even better if you pulled the white socks higher, up to your knees.

Shut up, Jennifer, his mother said.

I’m warning you, his aunt said.

Then his mother was out the door, and they all followed. He got in the backseat, and Jennifer slid in beside him, his aunt up front. He had a boner by the time they pulled out of the lane. Suburbia all around them, housing developments. Theirs was the only undeveloped farmland for miles. Ten acres of walnuts, a few acres for the house and lawn, a couple acres for the driveway. Everyone else bunched up in quarter-acre lots or smaller.

Newly paved streets, winding, with thin saplings planted all along. But soon enough they were in the old section, houses from the fifties. And the old shopping center.

They have wonderful pumpkin pies at Bel-Air, he said.

Stop, his mother said.

They really do make wonderful pies.

How about you give it a rest, Galen, his aunt said.

It’s been so long since I’ve tasted pumpkin pie.

Only the sounds of the car after that. A throaty engine, a big 350 or something, his mother had told him once. She was trying to get him excited, perhaps thinking he would start changing the oil and such, saving her some money. But he didn’t give a shit about cars. He didn’t care about anything that other people cared about. He was not here to be a slave to houses and cars and jobs and marriage and kids and TV and all that crap.

He put his hand on his boner, squeezed it a bit, tight in the shorts. Jennifer staring out her side window. And then they were piling out of the car and he was trying to hide the boner by tucking it into his waistband and holding out the front of his T-shirt. Looked obvious, probably, and he couldn’t think of a way to make his hands look natural, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do, and his aunt and mother weren’t looking at him anyway.

Suzie-Q, his grandmother said when they shuffled in. She just didn’t look that old. It didn’t make any sense that she was here. They were all waiting for her to die, but it might be a very long time. Twenty years or even longer. She was only seventy-one.

She hugged Galen’s mother, and then she hugged Galen. A strong squeeze.

My handsome grandson, she said. Are you getting ready for school?

Not this fall, Galen mumbled. I’m deferring a year.

Well, she said. I think that’s a good idea. We talked about that. Take a year off. See the world first.

Galen couldn’t bear to look at his aunt or Jennifer. His grandmother squeezed him again and then finally let him go.

Come sit, his grandmother said. So nice of all of you to visit.

There was nowhere for them to sit. One chair in the corner, then the two beds with their curtains, the old woman with the wet eyes in one of them, smiling at Galen now.

Sit on my bed, his grandmother said. So they did that, which meant they were all facing outward, away from each other in a kind of ring, stiff backs like the half-buried rocks at Stonehenge, waiting. Galen’s grandmother grabbed the chair from the corner and brought it over to sit.

Look at all of you, she said, smiling.

How are you, Mom? Galen’s aunt asked.

Oh, I’m fine, she said. How long has it been since you last visited? Has it been a year? And is that Jennifer?

Of course that’s Jennifer, his aunt snapped. And it’s only been a month. Less than a month.

Suzie-Q visits me every day. And Galen, even though he’s busy getting ready for school in the fall. She was smiling at him, that new and foreign face in her dentures, not the face he grew up with. Well, his grandmother said. Isn’t this nice.

I’d like to talk with you, Mom, Galen’s aunt said. About the trust, and about college for Jennifer. This will be her senior year of high school, and then she’ll be going to college, so we need to make arrangements.

Oh, we have plenty of time for that.

I’d like to talk about it now, Mom.

It’s maybe a little early, Galen’s mother said. We could wait until later in the fall, couldn’t we? Or even the winter.

Shut up, Suzie-Q.

Stop that, Helen. Don’t talk to your sister like that. You’ve always been like that.

Galen’s aunt took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

I thought there wasn’t any money for college, Galen said. Is there money for college?

Oh, I don’t have any money, his grandmother said.

That’s right, Galen’s mother said. There’s only enough to pay for this good care home.

Galen’s aunt was shaking her head, looking down. I hate this so much, she said. I hate this more than I could ever possibly say. Her fists were clenched in her lap. Lies all my life. Both of you. Only lies.

Stop it, Helen.

Because I’ve been so bad. Helen has said the truth, and we hate the truth, so we hate Helen.

Stop it, Galen’s grandmother said again. You’re just awful. You never stop.

That’s right. I’m always the awful one. I’m the one who needs to be beaten after you’ve been beaten. But never Suzie-Q. Never little Suzie-Q. Suzie-Q helps us pretend that we’re good.

Mom, we don’t have to listen to this. I’ll take you out to the garden. She stood up from the bed, walked over to her mother, and the two of them were out the door quickly.

Galen could hear his aunt’s shaky breathing, furious. And she gets everything in the will. She gets everything.

What do you mean? Galen asked.

She hasn’t told you?

No.

Your mother gets everything. You don’t get anything. Jennifer doesn’t get anything. I don’t get anything. It all goes to your mother. But then your mother will give it to you in her will. So I guess you’ll be fine in the end.

The three of them sat there, looking down, and then finally his aunt got up. I’ll be at the car, she said.

Jennifer stood up and closed the plastic curtain around the bed. Stand up, she whispered. So Galen stood up. Now drop your shorts.

Galen did as he was told.

And your underwear.

So Galen was hanging there bare.

Get it up, she said.

Galen didn’t feel any desire at all. After all that? he asked. That’s impossible.

Jennifer lifted her skirt, and then she reached down and pulled her panties aside.

Wow, Galen said. Light blond hair, a few wisps of it, and she opened her lips with a finger so he could see pink. Oh, he said, and he could feel his boner rise back up, in small lurches until it was hard and ached and he stepped toward her. But then she dropped her skirt.

Stand sideways, she said. And put your hands behind your back.

Okay, he said.

I’m going to slap your dick, hard, and you can’t move, and you can’t make a sound.

What?

If you move or make a sound, you’ll never see my pussy again.

Why are you doing this?

Hold still.

She swung hard with an open hand, and what he felt was an explosion of pain. He wanted to scream, but he swallowed it. He kept his hands behind his back and closed his eyes and could feel the tears. Then the hard slap again, and he was whimpering, shaking.

She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. How does that feel?

Why did you do that?

She reached down for his balls. Don’t move, she whispered.

No, he said. Please.

But she squeezed, gradually tightening her grip, and he felt the pain rise up into his stomach, the nausea. Please, he gasped.

Jennifer let go, then slapped one of his burned thighs, hard, which made him want to howl. Don’t forget, she said. And then she stepped away through the slit in the curtain and was gone.

Chapter 6

Galen tried etheric surgery. Sitting on his bed, imagining a small golden hook dangling from his right hand, he swept the hand over his wounded dick and let the hook pull through and heal. Ideally, his left palm should be underneath, to help create an electromagnetic field for the healing, but it didn’t seem right to just sit on his hand. There had to be some airspace for this to work. So he turned on his side and had his left hand out behind his bare butt and waved his right hand in front of his dick. Now his golden hook was hanging straight down, though. He had to free his mind from gravity. There was no reason the golden hook couldn’t hang out to the side. It was etheric, after all. But his mind was just stuck on the hook hanging down. He couldn’t relax properly into his breathing. And his dick hurt. It was red and puffy on one side, even when it was limp. And he had a small bruise at the base, as if the whole thing had been broken off at the stem. He was afraid a boner would hurt even worse.

He didn’t understand how Jennifer could have done this. His balls were tender, too.

Galen closed his eyes and tried to imagine the hook. Swinging tightly to the side on a slim golden chain, and then he realized he had never imagined the chain before. Was it supposed to be on a chain, or just a hook out there by itself? And did he really need airspace? How did the ether work?

He tried to feel the healing, tried to let it happen, but it wasn’t happening. He remembered a troubleshooting section in the book on etheric surgery. Something about reestablishing a field. So he held his palms still, one a few inches behind his butt and the other a few inches in front of his crotch, and he tried to feel the force field between them. He pushed them lightly toward each other, like fluffing cotton candy, felt the energy now in the center of his palms, could feel them pushing at each other.

Okay, he said.

And now he tried to feel the energy in his crotch, tried to feel the path of that energy from palm to palm as he pushed and fluffed. A kind of warmth, the ether something that was always lit and warm, a little crackly from electricity, but no, that wasn’t right, it wasn’t crackly. Just a smooth warmth and light, and now he was able to dip his right hand and swing the hook through this warmth. He could feel its tug, and it wasn’t where he expected, not on his dick itself but deeper in his crotch at some base, and this was the beauty of etheric surgery. It could find the right places, the sources, and replenish those sources. It wasn’t fooled by the surface of things. And the hook didn’t need a chain. It was swinging out there on its own.

Galen exhaled deeply into the healing. Deeply and more deeply, sinking, the hook a kind of butterfly, fluttering inside him, and when he awoke, his mother was pounding at his door and his cheek was in a puddle of drool.

Uh, he said. Uh. He wasn’t up to speech yet. He wiped his cheek on a fresh bit of pillowcase and rolled onto his back.

And stop locking the door, she yelled.

Uh, he said, and he could hear her steps down the stairs.

Galen felt like he was climbing out of a deep well. A late-afternoon nap could really knock him down.

He sat up on the edge of his bed, the world still swirling a bit. Remaking itself, the appearances all knitting together again. He put his palms out and tried to levitate a few inches in the air, right now, while the world was caught off guard, before it was fully solid again.

Come on, he said. He tried to get the ether to lift his butt, but gravity was gluing him down, and it was too late. The world had remade itself. He hadn’t been quick enough. Fuck, he said. I have to be quicker.

He looked around for his underwear. Several pairs on the floor, maybe a dozen scattered around, and he couldn’t remember which was the clean pair from this afternoon. So he just went for the closest and hoped that was right.

He pulled on his T-shirt and shorts, which stung, lathered his thighs with aloe, a cooling, wonderful relief, tied his shoes but still felt so groggy he lay back down.

Galen! his mother yelled.

So he sat up and stumbled over to the door, down the stairs to the dining room. She had set the table with candles, even though it wasn’t dark out yet. Plates at either end of the long table, using the old Polish china with the edges painted in red and blue. A large round of sourdough bread in the middle of the table, filled with a white dip.

I fixed onion dip, she said.

He walked up close to it and looked down. White with brown streaks, the onions. Crackers on a wooden board, and vegetables cut up. Hunks of broccoli and cauliflower, whole carrots and slices of bell pepper.

I fixed a vegetarian meal for you, she said. Fresh vegetables, not even cooked.

Thanks, Mom, he said. This looks great. He grabbed his plate and filled it with veggies and crackers and a few hunks of sourdough bread, then spooned a mound of dip. He was famished. Wow, he said.

He sat down, and his mother looked pleased. Thanks, Mom, he said again. Then he dipped a hunk of broccoli and put it in his mouth. Creamy and delicious, and a good crunch in the broccoli. He closed his eyes and hummed as he ate. Only the best meals brought on the humming.

Food was a meditation, an opportunity not to be missed. He sat very tall, erect in his chair, his crown chakra open, and let the food thrum through his body. He kept his eyes closed and felt for his food with his hands, dipped his fingers in the luscious dip and sucked on them, breathed in the bread before he chewed, crunched away at the slices of bell pepper, so juicy and fresh.

I love this, he said.

Shall we take our plates to the fireplace? his mother asked.

Sure, he said. We haven’t done that in a while. He piled more veggies on and they walked into the front room with the piano and high ceilings. Tucked inside, at the very center of the house, was an enormous hearth made of granite slabs from the Sierras, with rugs in front. Galen lay down, propped his elbow on a pillow, and kept eating. His mother lay down facing him.

Where are we? she asked. It was their game, from as far back as he could remember.

In mountains, he said. In front of larger mountains.

Mongolia, she said. Maybe Mongolia.

And we’ve ridden here across a wide plain.

Snow and winter, she said. The horses with blankets.

The plain had only hard tufts of grass, nothing for the horses to eat.

We’re running from someone.

Or everyone.

Yes. His mother was excited, up on an elbow now, leaning in closer. Her eyes gray with flecks of gold, similar to the granite. Running from everyone. That’s right. They don’t understand us, and we’re alone. We can’t talk to anyone.

She was too close. He could feel her breath on his face. So he sat up. I need more dip, he said, and he grabbed his plate and went for the table. They hadn’t played this game for months, and it seemed to him a strange game now. Sometimes they’d lie in front of the fireplace and whisper for hours. Inventing places and lives and telling secrets about people who didn’t exist. All his life they’d done that, but it felt creepy now. He didn’t know what it was. Maybe Jennifer calling him a mama’s boy. Or maybe seeing Jennifer up close. But something to do with Jennifer. Maybe because his mother and Jennifer were the same in some ways, separated only by age. He didn’t like to think about this. He was really creeping himself out.

Galen spooned more dip onto his plate and returned to the fireplace but this time sat on the wide stone front.

Are you enjoying your food? she asked. She was lying back on the rug, looking up at him.

Yes, he said, and he closed his eyes, focused on the chewing. The dip saltier than he had first noticed.

I’m glad, she said. I thought we’d have a nice treat since the terrible two aren’t here.

Galen tried to keep his focus on a carrot and the way it crunched in his teeth. He could feel it sever, all that solidity cracked through in an instant, a clue to how one might get the world to slip for a moment. Removal from the world. Distance. That was what he needed. It was awful how quickly he could forget that.

It was so nasty of Helen to pick a fight right before our trip. So like her. She’ll never let things just be good. She’s an unhappy person. She always has been.

What trip? Galen asked. He kept his eyes closed and tried to remain focused on his chewing.

We’re going to the cabin tomorrow.

Tomorrow?

Galen. I’ve had the trunk of the car packed for two days now. We’re leaving at eight.

Eight o’clock? Galen had his eyes open now. I hate getting up early.

It’s just one day. It won’t kill you.

But why? Why can’t we leave at noon? It’s only an hour and a half from here.

Galen.

Fine. Is Grandma coming?

Yes. Of course.

Is it true that everything goes to you in the will?

Who said that?

Helen.

Galen’s mother sat up, grabbed her plate, and walked into the kitchen. I don’t feel like talking about it, she said.

But Galen followed her in. And what about college? Is there money for college? Why was she asking for Jennifer?

His mother put her plate in the sink and ran the tap. Helen is in dreamland. She’s always been there.

But there is some way that Grandma or the trust could pay for college?

She shut off the tap and rested her hands on the sink. Look, she said. There are things written in the trust. That money can be used for medical expenses, or education, or even a house. Helen’s been trying for a house. She wants everything. But there’s not enough money for that. Mom may live another ten years, and that rest home is expensive.

How much money is there?

Galen.

I’m serious. How much money is there? Galen could feel the anger like a wave of heat. It was amazing how quickly it could come. He was standing behind his mother, looking down at the back of her neck. He was only inches away.

Stop, she said, and she walked out the back door, but Galen followed her onto the lawn. Leave me alone, she said. She looked frightened, and he felt suddenly how small she was, how frail. She was backing away from him.

I could have gone to college four years ago, he hissed. That’s what the trust is for. If it says it can be used for education, then that’s what it’s for. But you didn’t tell me. Because you want to keep it all for yourself.

Stop, Galen. You don’t understand. She was backing away toward the shed. She had her hands out, fending him off.

How much money is there? he yelled. How much fucking money?

Galen, you’re scaring me.

He growled and grabbed her by the shoulders, hard, pushed her back against the wall of the shed.

Help! she screamed. Someone help me!

Galen let go. What the fuck, he said. I’m not going to hurt you. What the fuck are you thinking? That I’d actually hurt you? I’m just trying to find out the truth. How much money are you hiding from us?

Galen couldn’t look at her. He walked back into the house and up to his room. He was shaking. He couldn’t believe she had thought he would hurt her. As if he were some kind of monster.