Mark Doten - The Infernal

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so many notes. That little touch of philosophy my son brought to everything.”

There were noises in the background — first through the phone, then crackling in the monitor. A whole crowd of restaurantgoers — the place was packed, far more people than should have been allowed.

“There’s too many!” I said, trying to make myself heard over the applause and laughter. “It can’t be safe. A fire tonight would be a disaster!”

But the old man seemed not to hear. “He was adopted, if you’re wondering how it is that Henrietta and I are white, while he is black. In some cases that’s simply how things shake out. We had in mind a white child, of course, but then we also had in mind a child who wouldn’t be grievously injured on foreign sh16V Q0RVC YMF0 0 O0

The crowd broke into catcalls. “It’s a danger!” I said. “There’s too many! I’ll notify the authorities! The fire marshal!”

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“We have the idea, of course — I wouldn’t wish for there to be any confusion on this point! — of making some small profit on the book. But our main idea is to do service to Sergeant Washington’s sacrifice.”

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“Listen, my dad’s not at your restaurant tonight, is he?”

I heard the crowd scream like there was a live show going on, a comic who had just landed a joke.

But before I could get an answer, I heard something behind me — a foot treading lightly, carefully.

“Nice creeping,” I said, hanging up.

Shawna just looked at me.

“Tie a darn bell around your neck or something.”

The doorbell rang.

“Who’s that?” Shawna asked.

“I have no idea.”

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down the half flight to the front door. I reached in my pocket for the knife — I felt it in my hand. How small it felt, but strong.

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I told Jenny I’d drive her home. Then Shawna looked me up and down and asked, was I OK to drive?

I told Shawna I wanted one more chance — that I was going to try the restaurant one last time.

I reminded her how important it was. How we couldn’t give up yet on making this one the most special possible.

You want to know what words she muttered as she went back up to Charlie?

She said, Nigga, please.

Now, these may not sound like the most encouraging words in the world, but she hadn’t insisted I drive the babysitter home straight off — hadn’t said no to one more try.

And sometimes, one more try’s all you need.

I told Jenny how sorry I was about the confusion. Told her I was sorry she had to hear that kind of language.

“It’s all right,” Jenny said.

I told Jenny, the word made me hopeful, strange as it might sound. Something in Shawna’s tone — an openness, maybe. Disgust, yes — but the disgust felt flimsy to me, like below that was open. Almost bemused — bemused that I was still trying. So I had to keep tryinN FU C2PC4 PCPJK Y 9OY PXBA0CO

Her using that word, directed at me — it meant I still had a chance. Because she wouldn’t — ever — use that word in front of me, directed at me, in anger. She only used that word in front of me — a white guy! — when she was bemused. Or affectionate. It meant she was letting me in a little, to some privileged place. “Does this make any sense, Jenny?” I said.

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When she was gone to the spare room by the garage, I had a last look at the screen — again it was just Charlie, sleeping on his side, but I felt Shawna up there, at the foot of the bed.

I dialed the restaurant. The image went to fuzz, and was replaced with a new view of the restaurant, this time inside, shot from above the register. The tables had been moved to the side, and while there was still a buffet, and a few of the patrons had LTA0 U H 00 S0 QZA FDO1

swaying to music I couldn’t hear. I asked the old man quickly, in a whisper, if he was there. “My father,” I said.

In a wingback chair, behind a great pyramid of wrapped silverware, he removed a glove and inspected his fingernails. He replaced the glove, and laid his hand on the counter. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge that information, sir. Our customers are entitled to their privacy.”

“No bullshit, please!” I hissed. “I’m a private, first class, in the U.S. Army — quite frankly, I don’t have the time. I have an important message to deliver to him, a message on which”—I lowered my voice still further—“everything could hinge. You understand? Everything! Everything!”

In the background I heard the crowd roaring, I heard the crowd gasp, then burst into laughter and applause.

“Son? Is that you?”

“Dad?”

“What do you want, son? I’m real busy now. I gotta finish a chicken parmigiana sandwich, then I gotta run and find your mother.”

“But Dad, Mom’s dead.”

“Naw. We just told you that. But forget it. Hear me? Forget it. I’ll explain it all later. Can’t really talk now.”

I had no visual on my father. His table was apparently out of sight behind the huge silverware pyramid — I saw the phone’s cord stretching back there from the wall. If he would stand up or move to one side, I’d be able to see him. But he didn’t move from back there.

“I don’t understand. Mom’s alive?”

“Son, please. You’re killing your mother with every word you speak. Literally killing her. All over again. Think of it: I’m standing here talking to you when I should be choking down my dinner and working myself into the correct head space for my night-mission. Christ. See how it is? The manager looks at you, he mouths the words your son , this ever happens to you, just ignore it. Wave the call away. Don’t you see how you’re killing your mother? Explain to me why I’m wastS8Y MLB6C XR00QD4

one night when the prairies are passable. First prairies, then mountains. Gopher holes scattered like mines all across the plain. No moon. The kind of night you break your ankle, a real moonless ankle-breaker. Screw it, gotta carry on, broken ankle or no. Gotta reach the mountain 0XATZYCQFPKCT

a goddamn thing about real wind? It shrieks off everything. You got shrieking crevices. Shrieking entablatures. Shrie #2CEF E= A109XPPNR SAKH5 6TC 06SZ1IMB,MN E/ A2 H 9RHR

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Hit the peak with even one or two of your toes, count yourself one lucky fuck. And I am not a lucky fuck. Let me ask. Would a lucky fuck be going up a mountain like this without a coat? Here’s me, no coat, no jacket, just this old blue T-shirt. Screw it. Your mother isn’t dead!

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owe Michael, big time. Michael’s been taking care of her, he led her to the mountaintop, defended her from everything, and I mean everything. The bears. The big cats. The wild boys, their eyes slashed with yellow paint. Me, I have tonight — only tonight, understand? — to find them, to figure out where the hell Michael’s stashed her. Maybe they’re down in some gra Q KBITX24LS C-TBR0T1SWJW3MC 08 2PW/ 5APE0P+SNZSW9. S/ F GX 1V J6XTLGC6EXM A1RG 0 VOXM WYE3 K 1YXX2CL2 C1EIHVD2

grassy vale, but I doubt that. Michael’s too smart, he wouldn’t shelter in those so-called paradisiacal vales, those grassy PZPAVT LW#LYME# K10VEGPB