"My Nash Rambler, parked at the river bank. Seat half-way reclined. The water over the dam so loud, I couldn't tell if it was that or the blood roaring in my ears. Unbuttoning her shirt and sliding my hand under her bra. She slid down a little in the seat and moved toward me.... [censored]
My life has been like that. Moving from one dream to another. Sometimes
just easing into the other, and other times with a jolt.... You know what
I mean? I've just had one trouble after another. Anyway that's what I was
dreamin' when trouble came by and pulled on my fishin' line. Ain't that
a bitch! Life gives you a good dream, then kills you, just
like that!"
They were sitting around what seemed to be a pleasant,
cheery campfire. The two shapes made dark silhouettes against the sky,
only their faces lit by the flickering orange light. One had a grizzled
beard of medium length. As he spoke, he poked at the fire with a stick,
then lit his cigar with the little flame he lifted from the burning logs.
In the light of the flame, his dark eyes sparkled, and he chuckled. He
knocked the glowing wood against a rock in a shower of sparks, and they
cascaded out against the late October night and died. He grinned impishly.
"Those Nash Ramblers were the nuts. They haven't made them for forty years
now. The first cars with reclining seats, went all the way down. All the
way down...." His voice drifted off. He was still handsome in a ragged
kind of way, but he was well past his Nash Rambler years.
"Well, I'll tell you; this is how it happened. I'll
go through it, and you be The Judge. We'll rehearse. Just pretend you're
The Judge, then tell me what you think." He turned to George, who was sitting
on a rock near the fire stroking his thin, ragged beard and looking thoughtful.
Now the profile of his round face was lit by the flames as they pushed
against the dark night. He was shabbily dressed. Even in the light of the
fire one could see the tears in his jacket where the lining was pulling
out. He was hugging himself against the cold, hoping to suck some more
heat out of the fire and out of the half-full bottle at his feet. It sparkled
in the firelight, the reflected flames dancing on its surface.
"Judge Dickens, Your Honor, I've been down on my luck lately. I lost
my job at the chemical plant two years ago. My unemployment run out, and
the old lady kicked me out of the house. She said she wasn't going to have
no drifter or freeloader hanging about, and if I didn't get a job--well
I could just stay the hell out. So I left. What was I going to do? It was
her house, from her folks when they died. She'd lived in it all her life.
I don't blame her. I've been bouncing around from one place to the next
ever since, though. Slept with cardboard and plastic over my head more
times than I can think. Didn't do my arthritis no good, neither; I can
tell you. Was getting most of my food out of garbage cans. Had to fight
the other early-morning-creepers for that. We was all of us sneaking around
rich people's garbage cans in the early morning. No, not out where you
live, Your Honor. Here in town. Behind restaurants and like that. I'll
tell you, though, there's bad stuff in some of them doctors' garbage. Pretty
fishy. Somebody ought to look into it, you know what I mean? You got good
garbage?" George broke in with a laugh, here, but quickly stifled it with
another swig, and resumed his serious demeanor. "Hell, the cops knew we
was doing it. But they just let us. They were sleeping in their cars, or
making out somewhere. You know, some of them guys is real night-time Romeos,
if you'll pardon the expression. The rest was drinking free coffee all
night, or over at The Half-Way
Inn."
He glanced at George. "I thought I'd sneak that
in early," he said. Then he continued. "But we never told no one. We'd
never do that." He looks up and runs his hands through his sparse hair,
scratching, as an old dog might who's plagued by fleas. Or maybe something
puzzles him. In the dark it's hard to tell. The night was clear, and the sky was dark, except for a lingering cast
of pale orange where the sun had set some time ago. Above, the stars were
beginning to push their way into the darkening blue. Nearby, some scraggly
trees stretched barren branches upward and outward, but a few were so twisted
that they gnarled themselves toward the ground, which was gravel and rock.
It appeared to have been picked clean of sticks and firewood. As the night
deepened, the air began to chill. The two men were down in a sort of ravine
or gully, and the hill sloped upward from there. From where they were no
city lights were visible, although they were not too far distant. There
was something about the emptiness of the place that made their voices sound
hollow. Maybe it was just a slight echo off the rocks. Down below, not
too far, the river was dark and silent in the shadows. "My kid's a cop, you know. You didn't know I ever got married? Well,
that's another story. Yeah, I got a kid, though; he's in San Francisco.
Graduated from college and all that. Don't remember where. He's a good
kid. 'Course I don't hear much from him these days. He's so busy and all.
He's moving right up in the force, though, I guess. He's a very well respected
cop out there, you can bet on that! Yessiree.
Well, yes, I've had it kinda tough. Wouldn't think of asking him for
a dime, though, no sir. The kid's got his own worries. Besides he's more
partial to his mother than to me, anyway. He always did kinda take her
side in things, you know. Yeah, I guess he turned out all right in spite
of his old man, huh? Actually, he ain't speaking to me much no more. That's
the truth of it. What? Cut to the chase? Well, hold
on, Your Honor, I'm getting to it. I'm getting to it."
He cocked his head like he was listening to a question, but the night
air was silent. In the distance a dog was barking. The fire popped and
sparked. That was all. He turned to George, "You know, every once in a
while I dream about her. Would you believe it! I'm in bed with her, maybe
I'm asleep; it's nice and warm in there, and maybe my hands is doing a
little bit of roaming, don't ya know, like up over her boobs or gliding
over her ass heading across for the promised land, when all of a sudden-like
she slaps my hand, and I wake up like a flash. Damn! I hate that! Sometimes
it's even hard to dream anymore. Ya' know? Ain't like I'm sleepin' on no
damn feather mattress no more! I got bad dreams lately. Another
one I've been having.... Oh well, you don't want to hear about that."
"No, my parents, ain't alive, Your Honor. They've
been long gone. I don't know where they're set down. No, I didn't get to
the funeral, I was out of commission for a while. Well, if you must know,
I was in jail. For petty larceny. I was nineteen, Your Honor. I told you,
I've had a lot of hard luck. Sometimes I school with some stinkin' fish,
present company excepted, don't you know?" He winked. "Can you blame me
for using some guy's plastic? Geez, Your Honor. Give me a break. What's
a guy to do? Hell, we went to school together, back there in the third
grade. We had old Mrs. Van Der Heyden. You know that.
"Yeah, you remember me. We used to play out on the playground on Project
Street. Nah, I never beat you up! I was always skinny. That was George!
He was a real heller, right?" He turned and winked again at his companion
sitting next to him, warming his hands by the fire, nodding agreement.
"(Little Dicky Dickens, remember?) Never said much though, even then. You
was real smart, always knew the right answers and stuff like that. Me,
I wasn't so smart. I hung around with the wrong kids. I'd tag along, and
they'd get me in trouble. I didn't like to go home too much; my parents,
they was always drunk, either shouting or passed out. The old man shouted;
the old lady just went to sleep. Yeah, I know that, Your Honor. Well I
didn't do too good in school. Wasn't real good with numbers. Didn't pay
attention in class. In fact I used to just doze off real easy, just like
now. Be in another world in a minute. My life has been like that. Moving
from one dream to another. Sometimes just easing into the other; other
times with a crash. You know what I mean? Sometimes we'd sneak out fishing.
Stayed out late at nights, too, I guess, but I couldn't sleep. Not at home,
anyways. Got a little better, though. Stayed back. That was the last I
seen of you for quite a while. 'Cept I do remember seeing you and the big
kids out in back of Condons' Drug Store smoking cigarettes. Remember that?
We was into stronger stuff by then, so we thought cigarettes was sissy
stuff. Filter cigarettes! Viceroys! Do you still smoke? Neither do I. Can't
afford it. I'd love a cigar if you'd offer me one, though. Haven't had
one in years." He took a big puff, and blew the smoke into the smoke rising
from the fire. He grinned at George, scratched his hairy face, and offered
him a puff. The darkness wrapped around them like an old army blanket,
worn and moth-eaten from heavy use. "I liked to read. Still do. Go to the
library from time to time and set and read some of them books and magazines
they got there. Especially on cold days, or rainy days, you know." He was
warming his hands by the fire, rubbing his swollen knuckles almost without
thinking. "You think I'm talkin' too much, Judge? I'm sorry, but I got
a lot on my mind. There's a lot a' weight there, sure enough.
"You probably went off to college and all that kind of stuff, right?
I seen where you live once. Nice out there. Nice place you got. You got
a real nice wife and kids, too, huh? Second wife. Hell, we all need a second
chance sometimes. Your oldest kid must be about the age of mine, I suppose.
Yeah, well I knocked around, but I finally got me a job in the paint factory,
and a good job it was, too. I was doing good until I got laid off, don't
you know. After more'n twenty-five years. That's when all the trouble started.
Haven't been able to find a good job since. Maybe it was all those paint
fumes--fumes in the head. Couldn't keep a job more'n a few years, seems
like. That job at the chemical plant was the last one. Don't never seem
to end now. Just when I thought I had a good thing going, this had to happen.
Your Honor, you just gotta believe me, I gotta good heart; that's all.
I ain't got a mean bone in my body. Some of them ache, though. Ha, Ha.
OK, I'll get back to it. Well, see, with that card I went on this shopping
spree to beat the band. I got new clothes, a watch, shoes. I got me a room
in that hotel down the street and paid for a month in advance.
"I was going to send some groceries to the
old woman, but then I said, oh the hell with it, and I didn't. Maybe
I should have, but I can't stand a drunk woman, and she drank too much.
Nothing I can do about it; it's just the way I am. Your old lady drink?
I let George use it to get some things for hisself, instead. I did get
some groceries for that poor Mrs. Smith and her kids, lives down by the
bridge. Her old man took off and left her in the lurch with all them kids.
You know her? Nice woman. She's got a tough life though. Works day and
night to keep it all together. I sent a little something to my boy in 'Frisco,
too, a nice box of cigars, and some flowers for his old lady. I hope I
got the address right. I ain't exactly sure where they live."
He paused and took a long slow drag on his half-smoked cigar. A deep
sigh came as he slowly exhaled the smoke. I wonder if I should tell it
all, he thought. A line of clouds was edging in from the horizon, obscuring
the stars. With it came a light breeze carrying the smells of city traffic
and the low, dull noise of distant travel, tires on concrete. The air was
cold. Overhead the rumble of a jetliner was growing louder as it lowered
toward the airport at the edge of town.
"Now, as I was chargin' all those things, something funny happened.
Some of the shopkeepers made like they knowed me. They'd say `hello,' and
how was Sarah, like that was my wife or girlfriend or something. I'd say
`fine' and let it go at that, but some of them got real buddy buddy like.
Wanted to know if I could get them some more `stuff,' and when would I
be taking another `trip,' and things like that. They'd look me right in
the eye and say it real serious. I thought I might be dreaming. It got
kinda creepy, I'll tell ya'. I began to wonder if I wasn't somebody else,
in another life. Then one guy tells me he's sorry about my brother; too
bad about what happened and all, and if I wasn't careful the same thing
might happen to me, didn't I know." He looked at George. "That's the truth,
George. That's what happened.
"I thought I better charge this here car on the American Express Gold
Card. Have myself a good ride. Maybe go out to the beach and breathe some
fresh ocean air, instead of the city stench. Maybe watch the sun set all
fiery red over the rolling sea and hope for a new day coming, you know?
Then this guy comes up to me at the car agency, out in the alley, and says
he's him--well, I knew he couldn't have been him--so I figured he must
be some kind of crook like me. Maybe even the guy who did him in. The guy
who iced him. So I let him have it. I mean I tore into him. I decked him
flat out. I'm a real bear in a fight, you better believe it! No sir! I
never killed him, Your Honor.
"Yeah, right there in the alley. Wasn't nobody around to take no notice.
Who'd of cared anyway? Nobody but druggies in that alley. How was I supposed
to know the guy was a cop--a credit card investigator? What's he doing
sneaking around like that anyway? Could'a got hisself killed, that's what!
I didn't mean nothing by it, Your Honor, honest. You know how I feel about
cops. I just thought I was discouragin' another crook like me, working
the same scam, so to say, and there wasn't no room for the two of us, just
me. Now this guy was pretty tough, I gotta admit. He could fight pretty
good, but I got the best of him, so I figured I'd take his wallet and get
some more plastic. You know, like for a rainy day. In case the old guy's
credit got all washed up. You know you can't be too careful. It always
helps to have some extra plastic around in case some of it goes bad. You
catch my meaning? I was beginning to get nervous about that other card
anyways."
He looked over at George. George was looking a little sleepy and restless
at the same time. He bent over and picked up the bottle, took a swig, and
handed it to him. George wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and
tipped the bottle to his lips, then grinned and handed it back to his friend,
who said "I gotta return some of this; be back in a minute." His walk was
heavy as he lumbered over to the edge of the firelight, where he opened
his pants, and let loose with a stream against the pebbles at his feet.
"Never piss against a hurricane," he muttered. He shook it off and stuffed
it back in his pants, zipped up, and returned to the fire. "That's one
thing them folks in the city can't do," he said to George, "can't get in
touch with their own real natures, or any other kind of nature, for that
matter." He looked at George like he was The Judge, and resumed.
"Your Honor, I don't mean to bring this up, cause it ain't really relevant,
but, you know, I've been having bad dreams lately. You
don't want to hear about that? Well, I'll get to it as quick as I can.
Yes sir. I dream about what happened when I was fishing at the dam. You
don't know about that? I thought you did. That's what woke me up from my
dream. I was fishing for trout when my hook grabbed into something real
heavy. Like I said, I must have been dozing at the time, having that nice
juicy dream, but it was a good lure, and I didn't want to lose it, and
the dream was gone, so I dragged and dragged on the line, and finally it
started coming in real slow. I figured it was either a big fish or a log,
one or the other, or an old tire maybe. Ol' George got a big eel down there
a couple of days before. Took him near forever to haul the thing in. So
I thought maybe I got his brother. It was around dusk and drizzling a bit.
Everyone else had gone home by then, so I was all alone. Didn't have nowhere
else to go anyway. I didn't have a net either, but I figured I could probably
beach him if I had to. I didn't want to quit and lose my lure, but it was
getting dark. Well, I finally clawed it ashore, more like wrestled it ashore,
I guess, and it was a body; you know, a stiff. Now I really thought I was
dreaming. Some kind of bad dream. I had him hooked by the hand. The hook
was nailed right into the palm of his hand. His right hand it was. I just
cut the line and let the hook be. It was lucky I didn't pull his arm out
of the shoulder, I guess, but I reeled him in to shallow water real easy,
'cause I thought it might get away. Whatever it was. Fat chance! Grabbed
him, you might say, while I was 'groping for trout in a peculiar river.'
Took him by the hand and led him out a' th' grave." He turned and looked
slyly/significantly at his companion. "He was thin, like me."
George grinned, then shrugged, took another swig out of the bottle and
passed it over. He was trying to look properly Judicial and serious, which
was a little difficult considering he was round, ragged, and half-drunk.
His clothes hardly looked like judicial robes. Nevertheless, he pretended
to hammer on the Bench with his gavel to still the surprise in the Courtroom.
All became quiet.
"Now I've seen bodies before, out on the street. Guys get shot or a
knife in the gut, druggies and such. But not like this. This was real bad,
'bout made me want to puke, it did. It was pretty well gone--totally unrecognizable
in fact, bloated, and it stank bad--but I was curious. I hate to admit
it, Your Honor, because its clothes were just like rags, all torn and rotted,
(worse than mine) but I went through its pockets and I found its wallet.
Well, there were these credit cards in there, so I took them, washed all
the mud off and the stink. The only thing the water hadn't totally putrefied. Then
I figured if the guy had disappeared, no one would know the difference
if I used his plastic. For a minute I had second thoughts. I stood there
looking at those credit cards and wondering whether I should take them.
Maybe I shouldn't; maybe I
should put them back. Then, I said to myself "oh, what the hell," and
kept them. So I gave the old thing a push with my foot and down it went,
kinda slow and unworldly like. Like when you come out of a bad dream, and
then you're not sure where you were, because it's getting all blurry and
fuzzy. I pushed it with my foot and it disappeared in the water like a
dream going out, or a candle when the flame is gone and the smoke fades.
It was gone. Back to where it was before. Food for fish; food for fish.
Only now I had its plastic. The trout wouldn't eat that anyways."
Now the whole thing has gotten into my dreams. I can see me and feel
me at the same time. I can see me all bloated and watery white, like a
ghost, or some kind a' half dead fish, down there floating in the currents
that swirl at the bottom of the dam. At the same time I can feel my skin
kinda coming off in shreds, and them striped bass, brown trout, and long
snaky eels nibbling on me, down in that dark water. I can feel their mouths
on my body, sucking and chewing, tearing me apart real slow, bit by bit.
I can hear the water rushing around my ears, all bubbly and full of air
from coming off the dam, but I can't breathe, and something's tight around
my neck. Then I think the water is beginning to freeze over on top. Just
a little skin, like late November. I wake up in a panic, struggling for
breath, like I was a drowned man. I tell you it scares me something fierce.
I never knew the guy, but I feel like it's me getting torn apart down there,
my clothes all in tatters, my toes and fingers all bit off down to the
bone. And I'm going to be down there all winter. My eyes is open, and there's
tears running out, Judge, when I wake up, and I wonder whether there's
some old lady by the name of Sarah waiting somewhere for him to come home,
don't you know?
"You ever get scared of dying before your time, Judge? Me, I'm afraid
of dying out on the street somewheres. I wish
I could die at home
in a nice clean bed. You know what I mean? Well, yeah, all right, I'm
sorry, I didn't mean to burden you with that stuff of mine. The police
will find out who he is now."
He paused and took a deep breath. "Winter's coming." He stirred the
coals of the dwindling fire with the stick, rearranged the dying logs,
and coaxed a little more life into it. Small flames, blue and orange, flickered
around the last of the red coals, glowing brighter now because the wind
came up more strongly and fanned them. It also brought some of the unwanted
smells of the dump that was not too far away, upwind. Chemical smells and
smells of decay
and wet newspaper.
He reached over and picked up an imaginary guitar and began strumming:
"I got them deepdown lowdown blues. I got them deepdown lowdown blues.
I got them deepdown lowdown blues, and I don't know what I'm a goin' ta
do. I jest don' know what I'm goin' to do. Oh, nooo...." and his voice
drifted out in the night like the howl of a lonesome dog crying for his
dead master in the little plot behind the cabin when the moon shines through
the tree branches and reflects off the new-fallen snow somewhere in the
Canadian Rockies.
The lights from the city now reflected off the lowering clouds, an orangish-yellow
from the sodium vapor lights they used in the high crime areas. Down by
the river, where a mist began to rise, the water looked oily and sulfurous
in that light. In the nicer areas of town they used the mercury vapor lights
with their clean blue white light or incandescent bulbs with their warm
light. "You know," he said to no one in particular, "sometimes I ache;
sometimes I just wish she'd take me back." After a minute or so he turned
back to George. He was rubbing his knuckles again. A shadow against the
dark sky. The embers just a glow among the stones. "Anyway, like I was
saying, I decked the guy out in the alley, then I went through his pockets
`cause I needed new plastic. I was afraid the dead guy's plastic was gettin'
pretty old, and I might get caught with it.
"That's when I saw the badge, Judge. "Well, I didn't know what to do then. I thought
maybe he was a crooked cop--you know, there are such types--so I took his
wallet with the badge pinned on it. I thought it might get me into that
bar, girlie/gambling joint down the street, The Half-Way Inn. Yeah, well,
sex club, whorehouse really, upstairs anyway. They got all them twenty
dollar dancing girls, and the drinks are all for free, in the back rooms,
you know. I could get in for nothing, no cover charge, just by flashing
my badge, don't you know--they like cops there. I'd shoot some pool, see
the show, stuff like that. Just flash the badge and go from there. They
take care of all the city bigwigs, politicians, bankers, the whole bunch.
They hold Party meetings there. Run by some guy, name of Slim. They got
nice rooms upstairs, so I hear tell. Well, Your Honor, how was I to know
I was going to see you in that place, anyways? I know, you didn't see me,
but I saw you going up the stairs with that nice chick in the skimpy dress,
younger than your present wife, she was. Your hand was on her ass. Yeah,
I was playing pool at the time on the other side of the room in back. It
was then I seen the guy at the door talking to a cop and looking over at
me. I just sorta moseyed back to the kitchen and out the door. Then I ran
as fast as I could. I run like I'd never stop running, cause I knew that
doorman was telling that cop about the badge I flashed him. I knew he recognized
me then, and there'd be a warrant out for me. For god's sake, gimme a break
will ya? Man to man. I won't squeal on you. All it boils down to is a little
bit of plastic anyways, right? That's the honest truth, so help me god!"
He stood up and stretched his legs. Threw the cigar stub in the glowing
coals. Watched it smolder, then flame briefly. Turned to George. "So what
d' ya think, Judge?" he said with a grin.
George scuffed the rocky dirt with his worn shoes, wiped his mouth with
the back of his hand, and looked out at the cloudy sky, then he spoke softly,
"You never been in no Half-Way Inn, and you ain't got no son's a cop. Not
that I ever met, leastwise. As for the rest...."
"A shot in the dark. I know that. You know that. But what makes you
think he'll know that? It's a good story, ain't it? Hell, if it's only
partly true, it might get me some time off, don't you think? I gotta go
before him in his chambers tomorrow morning. Do you think it will soften
the old guy up, or not?
Geez, I don't want to get ten to twenty, you know. Even if it is warm in
there.
"I just hope I get him and not that other one, Judge Strait. She'd send
me up for sure! Couldn't use none a' them old buddy tricks on her. No siree.
She's a tough one.
"You're pretty quiet. What's the matter? Here, you want a cigar? Aw,
smoke it. There's plenty more where that one came from. Have some more
Thunderbird. It'll warm your vitals." He lights another cigar, tosses the
match, and takes another swig from the near-empty bottle. "Oh, what the
hell! Here's to the old lady. All the old ladies that ever was. Maybe they'll
take us back sometime. Oh, whatever happens, happens, George." He got up and walked to the edge of the flickering light again. The
circle had drawn closer. He let loose a full stream from his bladder against
a small boulder. He wet down the whole stone. Like a savvy old fox, he
kept the splash off his feet, while spraying the rock. He seemed lost in
the importance of the act. Like a fox marking his territory, he thought.
His boundaries, the edge of the circle of firelight. He shook off the last
drops, tucked it back in. He began to shuffle back towards the fire in
that peculiar lumbering shuffle men get when they are feeling old and depressed.
His head was down. His eyes were only half taking in the sparkles on the
ground, pieces of broken glass, bottles, bits and scraps of metal. Something
gleamed bright and flashed in his eye. He was momentarily tempted to bend
down and pick it up,
whatever it was. His back and knees protested. He shuffled back to the
fire, sat down heavily, and turned to George.
"I ain't goin'," he said. "I ain't goin', and that's final. The hell
with it. I'd rather be here, and that's the truth. Them, their feet are
caught in a leg-hold, and their eyes are going blind. When I die, I'll
die here." He came back to the where the flames were sputtering against
the night, almost ready to go out.
"Toss another board on the fire. How about that old tire over there?
That'll burn good. Let's get a little more heat before that fog begins
to roll up here off the river and it starts to rain.Winter's comin'. We're
goin' to have to look for that old cave again. To hole up in." Their two
shapes can be seen moving, dreamlike, off into the darkness and the mist,
slightly hunched, looking for more firewood, looking for the old tire they
will try to burn, its black, greasy smoke billowing back in their faces,
smudged from the dirt, squinting through the infernal smoke that burns
their eyes. Makes them want to close them, weep, sliding into obscurity
and disappearing, heads dropping. Going out like a dream.