Eric Stever - Non Metallic

“The roads were pretty bad from the rain. My knees were bothering me after about two seconds of jumping over the damn puddles, so I just slogged on through. I saw Soledad too, that was nice. Such a happy women for a pobrecita, don’t you think?”

“Why do you say that?” Jim asked. Leo had a good idea it wasn’t Jim’s question.

“Well here she was, waking up early in the rainy season to clean her store. Nobody was coming in today, you know that. But still, she was singing to herself as she swept the garbage off the porch. That’s just… her, you know?”

“And that’s significant to you?”

“Significant? No, just… nice.”

“What else?” Jim asked in a clipped tone.

“That’s about it. I was thinking about the rain, no surprise there. I got a new idea for a painting, and I’m anxious to get back to it to be honest. Other than that I just walked up here and knocked on your door. You’ve been the supporting actor for the rest of the play.”

Jim nodded. “You seem like you want to get going, my man. What’s up?”

“When ‘Our Lady of Inspiration’ calls you up, you don’t keep her waiting. I’ve learned that much after 25 years.”

“So what’s the new idea?” Jim asked. “Or maybe you don’t want to spoil it in the open air just yet?”

“No no, nothing like that. Besides it’s already copyrighted. I sign all my canvases before I start painting,” Leo said. “Then I just paint around them.”

Leo resisted the urge to stretch his long legs out before him. His knees were throbbing now from the long walk up here. “It’s gonna be a volcano piece, no surprise there. I’m in a dry spell right now with sales, so I can’t do any real work until I get this painting sold. But I have a new twist on it, something I haven’t seen before.”

Leo sniffed twice, then continued. “It’ll be a picture of the volcano just before the explosion. That’s a tough sell to the tourists, you can imagine. But if I push, and give it a stupid title like ‘The Demon Awakes’, I could pawn it off on someone. Then I can get back to my other stuff.”

“The Demon Awakes,” Jim said, his eyes squinting even in the low light. “That’s pretty rock-n-roll.”

“But I haven’t gotten to the good part yet.” Leo leaned forward. “In the forefront will be two images. Off to the right will be a howler monkey, the big kind that keep us up at night. It’ll be watching the volcano, its body kind of tensed up and waiting.”

Again Leo felt an irritation in his nose, as if he wanted to sneeze, but couldn’t. He sniffed again, and said, “Then, way down in the left corner will be a small child, probably a local. He’ll be watching the volcano too, waiting for the explosion. Only the backs of the monkey and the child will be visible, so you can’t make out their expressions. But their posture, the tilt of their head I mean, will be similar, almost the same.”

Jim’s face paled. “You say their body language is the same?” He clutched his stomach.

“No doubt,” Leo replied. He cleared his throat in the awkward silence. “That’s the whole concept, that relationship between the two. Their heads have to be tilted in the same way too. I see that over and over again. That’s the key to the painting.”

“Their heads—” Jim said. The book dropped from his lap, and Leo could see it was a book of poems by Pablo Neruda.

“Excuse me,” he said, “I’ve been burning the lamp a little too long here. I need to turn Off.”

“You gotta take it easy, brother.” Leo had meant it to sound casual, but his words hung in the damp air.

Jim smirked. “When the lady calls, you answer.” His face seemed less tense now.

“Tell me about the Snoops’ last subject,” Leo said. Tell us.

“The kid failed the Snoops’ usual tests, mathematics, politics, geography, basic science. We interviewed him afterwards too, just to be sure. There’s no way that guy could find Ecuador on a map. Shit, he couldn’t even find New Mexico.”

“So he wasn’t scrambled?” Leo asked.

“The Snoops stopped doing that about three years ago. Scrambled people were just too messed up to be accepted back, they were obvious. I could do as much with a sledgehammer, or a scalpel.”

“Where’d they pick him up from this time?”

“Ohio State University,” Jim replied. He shook his head, as if trying to free himself from some inner thought.

“The Snoops sure like the big schools, don’t they?”

“Well they’re scientists, after all. I guess they’re going for an average specimen,” Jim said. He stood up and walked to the small fridge. “Well enough about that— I got the good Uncle what he needs. How about a beer?”

“Beer would be good,” Leo said.

Jim walked into the kitchen and grabbed two bottles from the fridge. He sat down with a sigh and passed the beer and an opener to Leo. “How you doing for money,” Jim asked.

“I’m good,” Leo said. “For now at least. Once this rain lets up, I should get a few paintings out and then I’ll be doing just fine.”

“You know if you need—”

“I know,” Leo said, holding up his hand.

Jim smiled, embarrassed. “Just doing my Coordinator-type duty. You know if you’d ever be interested…”

“Late hours, no pay? No thanks,” Leo said. “I’ll stick to hustling tourists.”

“I hear that,” Jim said. “Haven’t written a damn word since I started this job.”

The rain picked up, tapping against the roof. Both men sat in silence sipping at their before noon beers.

“Want another one?” Jim asked, some time later.

Leo looked out the window as the water poured off the roof into the street.

“Might as well,” Leo said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

By the end of the third hour, both men were thoroughly drunk. It had not stopped raining, but Leo decided he would walk home anyway. The mud wouldn’t bother him now.

“I have at least one other pair of shorts, I am sure of it,” he had slurred before leaving, not knowing if that was a final communiqué from his Uncle or just a garbled attempt at humor.

The walk down the hill was not nearly as bad as Leo had feared, though he knew the beers were dampening his pain. Leo slogged on, enjoying the suction of the mud as it grasped at his feet. Passing Soledad’s store, he saw her son Manny stooped over a puddle, his hands clad in thick yellow gloves. He was fishing out garbage that had pooled in front of the store. The fresh rain splashed around him, unnoticed.

“’Morning Manny,” Leo said. He hoped the rain would muffle his slur.

Manny grunted, not looking up from a particularly large puddle he was digging around it. He brought out an empty soda bottle and slapped it into large plastic bag.

“I said, ‘morning’,” Leo repeated.

“It’s not morning, it’s afternoon,” Manny said in his stiff English. He sniffed the air and smirked. “Smells like booze, too.”

“So it does,” Leo said, ignoring the remark. “I see you still got that cloud hanging over your head.”

“Don’t we all,” Manny said. “You got a little wet yourself, friend.”

“How’s your mother?”

“She’s good, happy, always happy,” Manny said. He reached behind him to drag the garbage bag as he straddled another puddle. “When she sweeps the garbage, she’s happy. When she cleans up after the tourists, she’s happy. When my Dad don’t write her, she’s happy. If she got run over by the bus, she’d be the happiest person in the world.”

“Well, one of you should be happy at least,” Leo said. “That weed you been smoking, does that make you happy?”

Manny stiffened at the word, then relaxed. “Not as happy as yours does. But I’m not a rich tourist like you.”