Russell Banks - Lost Memory of Skin

What the fuck’s a Brown?

Where I went to college.

They’re sitting in deck chairs at the stern of their respective houseboats, side by side and only a few feet apart. Einstein is perched atop the Kid’s cabin like a lookout and as if to amuse himself every now and then mumbles, Land ho, and Annie sleeps curled like a comma at the Kid’s feet. When the Kid returned earlier from Calusa both creatures seemed happy and relieved and the Kid’s chest and throat filled with thick emotion and he felt himself almost start to cry but quickly got hold of himself and knocked his feelings back and was okay again.

But then when he went into the store for ice and more beer Dolores too and even Cat seemed oddly happy and relieved to see him — odd to the Kid since they know he’s a convicted sex offender but don’t yet know the exact nature of his crime when it could be anything from child abuse and rape to exposing his dick in public — a thing he wouldn’t be caught dead doing — and everything in between, the kinds of things that he would do and a few that he actually did and that lots of more or less sexually normal people would do too if given the chance. And again his emotions almost welled over.

What’s going on? he wondered. Am I losing it or are they?

Dolores actually hugged him and Cat didn’t charge for the ice. They knew only that he and the Writer had driven into the city so the Kid could deliver a message to the widow from his friend the dead Professor since he was probably the last one to see the Professor while he was still alive — that was all he told them and what he instructed the Writer to say — and they were impressed by his kindness and loyalty to his strange friend. They were closing up the store, planning to barbecue ribs for supper and Dolores asked the Kid if he’d like to join them but he just shook his head no and grabbed the beer and ice and backed out the door, turned and headed quickly for his boat. Their trust and seeming affection for him was scaring him. It was a lot like Annie’s and Einstein’s trust and affection but Annie and Einstein are innocent animals and to make animals and even reptiles respect and like you all you’ve got to do is first do no harm and second make sure they have enough to eat and a safe place out of the rain. It isn’t all that clear on the other hand if you’re a human yourself what makes humans trust and respect you.

The Kid cracks open his second can of beer and says to the Writer, If everything’s a lie and nothing’s true like you said, then it doesn’t matter if the Professor’s story is bullshit, right? Is that what you’re saying?

What you believe matters, however. It’s all anyone has to act on. And since what you do is who you are, your actions define you. If you don’t believe anything is true simply because you can’t logically prove what’s true, you won’t do anything. You won’t be anything. You’ll end up spending your life in a rocking chair looking out at the horizon waiting for an answer that never comes. You might as well be dead. It’s an old philosophical problem.

Then I got an old philosophical problem, the Kid says.

Tell.

It’s sort of about the money , he begins. My fee. Leaving out the numbers the Kid admits that he received a very large amount of money from the Professor for delivering the DVD to his widow, money he has no trouble keeping on account of the risk he was taking. But that’s only if the Professor’s story is true. If it is he can in good conscience keep the money and stay on the houseboat for a long time, maybe cut a deal with Cat to rent it for a year or more and live like a regular Huckleberry. But if the Professor’s story isn’t true and he drowned himself in the canal because the Shyster or somebody else gave evidence to the cops that the Professor was actually this guy Doctor Hoo and was into kiddie porn and sexually abusing little kids then the Kid has let himself be drawn into a chomo conspiracy of lies. If that is the case he should give the money back — what’s left of it which is almost all of it. Besides with her husband officially a suicide and no insurance and two kids the Wife could probably use the money.

Well, you can take that out of the equation, Kid. Gloria doesn’t need the money. Your late friend was a very successful player on the commodities exchange for years and apparently he got into gold early.

How do you know that?

I asked and she told. You don’t have to worry about Gloria, Kid.

I guess that’s good.

You’re trying to think logically about this, but you’re being way too sloppy. Not that it would help if you were rigorous. Anyhow, let me show you the limits of logic. First, forget good and bad. Forget all about ’em. And forget the money, even. The Writer tells the Kid to remove everything from the equation except considerations of pure logic.

What equation?

Either the Professor’s story, X, is true, or it isn’t, Y.

The fuck you talking about?

They can’t both be true, right? X and Y? So one of them has to be false.

Yeah. I guess so.

So that means either X or Y is the case for P.

What the fuck’s P?

The Professor.

Right. The Professor is P.

Okay. Your problem, if you rely on logic, is that you can’t assert the proposition such that X is the case for P, and you can’t assert the proposition such that Y is the case for P. All you can assert is that either X or Y is the case for P.

Dude, that’s where we started. That’s the fucking problem.

It’s only a problem if you rely on logic. That’s my point. What you’ve got to do, Kid, is forget logic, admit its limitations, suspend your disbelief, and believe! It’s the only way you’ll be free to act. Otherwise you’re stuck, frozen in disbelief. As good as dead.

For a long while the Kid remains silent. He tries to replay in his mind what the Writer has just told him but he can’t untangle enough of the sentences to remember and understand what the man said — except for the last part, that he’s frozen in disbelief and is as good as dead. He thinks it’s true. It is the case that he is as good as dead.

He listens to the waves lap against the sides of the houseboats. He looks up and notices a few raggedy clouds, their edges soldered silver with moonlight, sliding in from the west. The breeze off the water has kept the mosquitoes back in the swamp all evening which he’s glad of. He forms a sentence and says it aloud: It’s actually pretty nice here. He reaches down and scratches Annie’s forehead.

Finally he asks the Writer if he’ll be driving back to Calusa in the morning.

Yeah. I’m about done. I thought I might stick around the city a few days. Type up my notes. Knock out a draft of my article. Get to know Gloria a little better.

Gloria?

The Wife. Yeah, we kind of hit it off back there. She and I. While you were waiting in the car we talked about a lot of things. Gloria’s pretty special.

Right. The Wife. So maybe you wouldn’t mind giving me and my stuff a lift?

Where to?

The Causeway.

Why the hell would you want to go back there?

It’s where I live.

THE KID RISES EARLY TO FEED HIS ANIMAL friends before he feeds himself and walks Annie along the grassy bank of the Appalachee so she can do her business. While Annie squats and pees he glances back at the pier: no sign of the Writer stirring in the boat next door. He returns to his own boat where he builds himself a quick double-decker peanut butter sandwich for breakfast, packs his belongings, and makes the cabin shipshape.