Atticus Lish - Preparation for the Next Life

I think we can just turn around and go back.

That’s true, but, see, that’s the problem. You ain’t thinking the army way yet.

I have to be more crazy.

Crazy! You gotta get with it. Don’t worry. I know you’re scared, but I’m here and I’ll help you.

He patted her back. Then he tried to put his arm around her.

Oh my God. We are so crazy. You are killing me with this arm.

It’s okay. I’m here to comfort you.

It’s too heavy. This arm is crazy. My God, I can’t walk. Go the normal way.

Okay, but I have to comfort you later.

We come far.

It’s the boonies.

They were walking by the stadiums and parkland. The sky was a slightly lighter shade and everything on the ground was black. The red ember of his cigarette appeared and disappeared as his hand swung. Then it rose up to his mouth and glowed and then went flying off in an arc and bounced.

Stop a minute, he said.

What?

Just stop a minute. Come on. Come here.

Why?

Come on. Closer than that.

What for?

Cuz I’m crazy. I want to feel your leg again.

No, not now.

Come on, you were so chill before. I want to remember what it feels like.

It’s cold now. It’s too cold. Now it’s too cold to stop. Come on. We has to march.

A car came driving toward them and Skinner’s white face was crossed by the extended shadows of his outstretched fingers shielding himself from the glare.

Come on, we go.

Yes, ma’am. Roger that.

Soon we come to a place.

You know where we are?

It’s not far.

After they crossed 111 thStreet, they encountered more headlights coming at them, bouncing along underneath the elevated tracks, and they began keeping to the sidewalk. From far away, they heard a rumbling that grew louder and louder until it reached them and the subway came thundering over their heads and screeched and slowed and came smashing to a stop. It exhaled and all the doors opened and the cold white light from inside the cars were cast down from high up above and the intercom spoke. Before they reached it, the subway went away, making blue sparks, and a little group of quiet men with Indian faces and string knapsacks and work boots was coming down the Z-shaped flight of stairs to the street.

Is this where you were talking about?

The intersection smelled like sweet fried plantains and chicken.

I come here before.

The men appreciated Zou Lei and one of them clucked his tongue at her as he and his friends crossed the intersection, passing in front of a truck with its engine gurgling and headlights spotlighting the men, flinging their shadows on the cement wall of a lounge.

There’s bars here, Skinner said. Will you drink with me?

Up to you.

They went into a windowless one-story building filled with Spanish singing and red light. There were men standing almost motionless swaying in the dark in cowboy hats and belt buckles. One of them staggered and his friends picked him up. You could not hear him in the music but you could see his mouth open and his eyes shut, shouting or crying out.

Skinner and Zou Lei waited at the bar until the short woman who tended bar in a cowboy hat came down to them.

Two beers, he said, holding up two fingers. Coors.

Coronas, the woman said.

Skinner picked up his bottle and drank off half of it as soon as it was put in front of him.

Zou Lei was talking to him, but he couldn’t hear her. She held up her bottle and they tapped their bottles together, then she drank. He put his arm around her. She shifted slightly, making it awkward.

I’m comforting you! he yelled, but she shook her head and he let his hand drop.

We’re still crazy, he said. I know we’re crazy.

I cannot hear.

I know, it’s nuts.

There were rainbow lights flowing around the jukebox, which had the image of a saint in the center of the songs.

You love music?

He was looking around them in the loud dark. At the sound of her voice, he looked in her eyes and said oh yeah.

He got her attention and pointed at the high-definition TV over the bar, which was showing a professional boxing match between Mexican fighters in tasseled shorts and boots. He watched her face in profile watching the match.

Nice TV, he yelled.

She nodded seriously, the blue of the ring reflected on her face.

Skinner noticed a man wearing a bandana staring at him. The bartender set another round in front of them.

Hey, let’s see how fast we can drink these. Hey, look!

He drank his beer straight down while she watched.

Now you.

He watched her lean her head back and her throat working as she swallowed the contents of the entire bottle, then she set her empty bottle on the bar next to his.

I don’t drunk.

But you’re getting there.

They had created a little forest of clear glass bottles on the bar.

In the China, the beer is much bigger — this big, big one! She held her hands apart to show their size. I cannot drink them. Here, this small one it’s nothing.

All right. Then go again with me.

I don’t get drunk still.

The man with the bandana had come over to them.

You got the prettiest girl at the bar.

Thanks.

She’s the best one here. Believe that.

Skinner clicked bottles with him. The man leaned to Zou Lei and touched bottles with her.

I told him you’re the prettiest girl at the bar.

She raised her beer and he raised his.

God bless you both, the man said. Beneath his bandana, he had an earnest face, and, although he couldn’t have been over the age of twenty-five, fat on his chest and stomach. She could see that he did not do many pushups.

For half a minute, all of them directed their attention to the TV, where the match had ended and people other than the athletes were milling in the ring. Shortly, the earnest man eased back and stood with his friend.

The Spanish music was loud enough to swim in.

Zou Lei pointed to her ear.

What? He’s crazy?

No, the music!

She imitated the cowbell. It sounds like the animal is coming! And she imitated the feet of an animal with her hands.

Don’t remind me!

You shoot this animal!

I didn’t. It wasn’t me, I swear!

He threw his arm around her shoulder, squeezing her to him briefly and letting her go before she could object. A minute later, he reached up behind her and tugged a lock of her wavy hair.

In the center of the floor, a man in a black cowboy hat was dancing with a woman who looked as if she had given birth to many sons and daughters and they would all be drunks together forever. She was in her fifties perhaps, and wore a very short black skirt. In her high heels, she was taller than her partner, whose shoulder she rested her hand on. When she moved, you could see the thicker section of her nylons.

I didn’t kill it, Skinner said. Another round?

You are crazy.

I’ve got trigger control.

You are strong boy.

He pulled her to him and they stood swaying with his arms locked around her waist and his face against the back of her skull, smelling her hair.

Okay, it’s enough.

The bartender, in her cowboy hat, collected their empty bottles into a tub, bending forward, her breasts hanging in the red light.

Another one, Skinner yelled to her, still trying to hold onto Zou Lei, who was beginning to wrestle him.

Here’s to us!

Here to you!

To getting shitfaced in a strange place!

To America! she cried out. Your country!

They drank.

You’re okay, he told her.

Zou Lei’s face had gotten alcohol-flushed to the point that it looked as if she might be sunburned.

My country is the friend of you country. It’s like one. The brother to one another, we come here to make our life. No matter what happen, we are still brother.