not Rosa.”
They turned onto a broad street that went along fields, toward the river. The telephone poles in the fields were like half crosses, shouldering heavy black tubes like grim bunting.
The odor of beets hovered in pockets of warm mist in the rain. A high gray building faced the water and they went alongside it. The windows near the sidewalk presented a basement network of conveyor belts where the workers on night shift stood in hairnets and earplugs, the bsh bsh of canning machines battering the air. It was his brother’s night off. He didn’t see his mom. Though Craig had shown them where he worked days after they arrived in town, Lyle hadn’t realized he was in the cannery part of town until now.
They crossed the river on a different bridge. In the grass on the other side, along the river path, a train engine hulked behind iron bars. A light flared above windy branches, patterns skipping across the engine, rain streaming down its rounded black sides.
“Let me shoot out this one,” Lyle said. He shattered the lamp’s casing in three shots.
“Excellent.”
They walked. Lampposts followed the curve in the river path, going out of sight around a bend. Martin popped out most of the lights along the way.
A footbridge crossed the river. There were many bridges. They took turns sipping at the bottle and smoked, leaning on the railing, the water giving back the bridge lamps, white moonlike circles quaking in the rain. After a while, Martin crossed the bridge on one side then came back on the other, putting out several of the lights. It made Lyle think of a military execution.
“I live with my mom right up the bike path, past the rose garden,” Martin said. “She runs a day care and I live in the house next door.” He sniffed. “She started voting Republican a few years ago—after years of journaling about her spirit animal. Now she reads Ayn Rand. She goes to gun shows. My mom’s a right-wing lesbian extremist.”
“You’re getting soaked.”
“This coat has a waterproof lining, and I have an extra shirt in my bag. Wish I’d brought my hat, though.”
Martin found the end of the bottle and threw it bouncing down the length of the bridge. It disappeared over the edge into the water.
“Have you ever noticed that when you drop something on accident it shatters, but if you drop something on purpose it doesn’t even crack? It’s what I call The Great Fuck You. The world knows who you are and it goes against you. When I used to ride a bike, for instance. The wind was always in my face, constantly. Never at my back. It was like this hunting, tracking force. There are currents of bad shit in the air. But sometimes it’s like you can get them flowing in the opposite direction. I know evil has to exist and blah blah. Levi and Devon are, like, part of this force field of hate. All I want to do is turn it back on them and make at least one of their wrongs right. That’s why I’m going to take the skull.”
“How did you get so smart?”
Martin chuckled and raised his chin. “It’s embarrassing to be a genius. I wish I were normal. My life would be easier. I probably wouldn’t have the moral compulsions that I do.”
The water had gone darker below. Lyle was buzzed, but his head felt very clear. Martin had said he wanted the girl’s skull. “You wouldn’t take the whole body? Jesus. You should take the whole body if you’re going to do it.”
“Listen to your voice. You sound like a kid. What are you so worried about?”
“If you’re going to bury her, you should bury all of her. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I’d be respectful about it. To me, the girl’s skull represents her soul. Cézanne didn’t have skeletons lying around his studio; he had skulls.”
Lyle held his breath, picking out visible places in the water.
“Okay, I’ll bury the body,” Martin said. “To show respect. Which Levi obviously did not do. I am going to do it, though. It’s all planned. I can steal bolt cutters from my mom’s tools and buy a new padlock. The mausoleum gate is locked by a chain. It’ll be easy. I’m taking care of everything tomorrow, all the preparations.”
Lyle stared into the water and pictured feeling the smoothness of the skull, rubbing where the nose and ears had been, stroking the curve down the back of the head, thumbing the eye sockets. He let out the air he was holding and stepped back from the rail to shake off the image.
“Look,” Martin said. “What am I?” He took smoke into his mouth. Instead of inhaling he shut his eyes, tipped his head, and let the smoke drift from his lips. “I’m a dead soldier. Let’s do it at the same time, but keep our eyes open. Sometimes dead people have their eyes open.”
“No. You go ahead.”
Martin deadened his eyes, smoke slipping from his mouth. He grinned and fell out of the pose, laughing. Lyle chuckled and shook his head. They hung on the railing and shared one umbrella.
Martin told him he was going to walk to his house and change, then go read at a café if Lyle wanted to come. Lyle thanked him for the invitation, but he had stayed too long.
“I was supposed to meet her twenty minutes ago.”
“You’re not going to start hanging out with her constantly are you? I know that idiot thing that happens to new couples.”
“We’re friends.”
“Rosa goes boy to boy, parting her knees every time. Watch out. Somebody like us comes along—honest, monogamous. We fall in love and get herpes—or AIDS. I’d rather wait for a girl with morals.”
“I probably won’t see her much after tonight.”
“Here’s my number.” Martin took a book from his bag and crouched over it in the light rain, writing on a receipt. “Stop by the café later if you’re bored—it’s by the train station. Paradise Café. It’s open till midnight. Hey, best night I’ve had in a long time.”
Martin seized his hand and Lyle returned the grip.
“I was starting to feel depressed there for a while,” he said. “And I don’t care one wit about the Larios whores. You can tell Monique if you see her: any guy in the club could have her, and I would laugh and laugh. Say hi to Levi, the great enforcer. Tell him I miss him. Tell him I long for his old white beard.” He smirked then, and leaned toward Lyle. “Listen, what did you think of that story I told you? About his daughter. Want to help me rescue her?”
Lyle didn’t answer that. “I wouldn’t mind having a few more nights like this one.”
Martin said they would have more than a few, and told him to call. Lyle raised his hand in parting.
He recognized none of the faces in the window at Levi’s Café. A boy with long hair, in a green velvet shirt, squatted on the porch. He had black lipstick and purple fingernails and dragged on a cigarette holder. The boy was younger, and Lyle asked if he knew Rosa and Shanta. The boy waved his holder like a wand.
“They tumbled away, my friend. The wind blew them into the forest.”
“Where’s all the people from the club?”
“They have flown from this castle.”
“That’s a dumb way to talk.”
The boy went still, then drew on his cigarette. “You’re on a bad journey, my friend.”
“I’m not on a journey. I’m just walking around.”
Lyle pushed down the boulevard into the wind. When the fun of hanging out with Martin had passed, the booze took a turn in him, souring his mind as he felt himself alone again. The spotlight moved in the sky and the clouds broke and flew apart, as if the light operator were stirring up the heavens.
A far train cried like a mournful thing. He turned right toward downtown and scraped the tip of his folded