Denis Johnson - Tree of Smoke

get your ass kicked daily in my branch of the service.” James was at a loss. He didn’t actually know this guy. The operator interrupted, and Bill had to deposit more coins. James said, “Are you in a bar, or what?” “Yeah, a bar. I’m in a bar in Honolulu, Hawaii.” “Well, I guess that’s …” He didn’t know what it was. “Yeah. I been in the Philippines, Hong Kong, Honolulu—let me see,

where else, I don’t know—and the tropics ain’t no tropical paradise, I’m saying. It’s full of rot—bugs, sweat, stink, and I don’t know what-all else. And most of the beautiful tropical fruit you see, it’s rotten. It’s mashed on the street.”

James said, “Well … I’m glad you called.” “Yeah,” Bill said. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Bill said. “Hey, tell Mom I called, okay? And tell her I

said hi.” “Okay.” “Okay … Tell her I love her.” “Okay. So long.” “Hey. Hey. James.” “Yeah?” “You still there?” “I’m still here.” “Go in the Marines, man.” “Aah, them are overrated.” “The Marines get a sword.” “The Marines are really the navy,” James said, “part of the navy.” “Yeah … well …” “Well…” “Only the officers get a sword, anyway,” Bill Junior said. “Yeah …” “Well, I gotta go get laid,” Bill said. “Get some!” “What do you know about it?” his brother said, laughing as he

hung up.

James searched the kitchen drawers and found half a pack of his mother’s Salems. Before he got out the door the phone rang—Bill Junior.

“Is it you again?” “Last time I looked, yeah.” “What’s up?” “Say hi to South Mountain for me.” “We don’t see South Mountain no more. We see the Papago Buttes.” “On the east side?” “We’re on East McDowell.” “East McDowell?” “Ain’t that the shits?” “You’re out in the desert!” “Mom’s working on a horse ranch.” “I’ll be goddamned.”

“She knows about horses from when she was a little girl.” “Watch out the gila monster don’t bite you.” “There ain’t any shade, but it’s nice. We’re right up near the Pima

Reservation.” “And you’re in school.” “I been at Palo Verde for a while, since about October, maybe.” “Palo Verde?” “Yeah.” “Palo Verde?” “Yeah.” “When we lived over on South Central, our school used to play Palo

Verde in basketball or something, or football. What was the name of our

school that time?” “I went to the elementary. Carson Elementary.” “I’ll be goddamned. I can’t remember the name of my own high

school I went to.” “Ain’t that the shits?” “Do you ever get to Florence?” “Nope.” “Do you ever see Dad?” “Nope,” James said. “He ain’t my dad, is why.” “Well, you stay out of trouble. Learn by his example.” “I don’t follow none of his examples. I don’t even look at his exam

ples.” “Well,” Bill Junior said, “anyway …” “Anyway. Yeah. Are you really on Waikiki Beach?” “Not really. Not right now.” “We’re right about at Fifty-second and McDowell. They have a zoo

over here.” “A what?” “Yeah, a little zoo.” “Hey, tell Mom something—when is she gonna be home?” “Later. A couple hours.” “Maybe I’ll call her. I want to tell her about something. There’s two

guys on my ship from Oklahoma, so anyway, you know what they both said? Said I sound like Oklahoma. I said, ‘Well, sir, I’ve never been—but my people are.’ Tell Mom that, okay?”

“I’ll do that.” “Tell her she started me in Oklahoma, and I come out like I’m from

there.” “Okay.” “Okay! — that’s short for Oklahoma!” “I’ll be goddamned,” James said. “Yeah. Ain’t that the shits?” “Okay.” “Okay. So long.” They hung up. Drunk as a lord, James thought. Probably an alkie like his father. Burris marched in with his cap gun in one hand and a Popsicle in the

other, wearing his short-pants and nothing else, looking like a little stick

man. “I think I got a spark in my eye.” James said, “I gotta get going.” “Does it look like I got a spark in my eye?” “No. Shut up, you peculiar little feller.” “Can I ride in the back of the truck?” “Not unless you want to get bumped out and killed.” He showered and changed, and just as he was going out, the phone

rang. His brother again. “Hey … James.” “Yeah.” “Hey … James.” “Yeah.” “Hey. Hey. Hey …” James hung up and left the house.

James picked up Charlotte, and then Rollo, and then a girl Rollo liked named Stevie—short for Stephanie —Dale, and they drove out toward the McDowell Mountains looking for a party they’d heard about, a wild unchaperoned outdoor affair, supposedly, off the road and out in the desert away from anything; but if such a gathering actually went on, it was lost in a maze of dry washes, and they steered back to the highway and sat in the back of the pickup drinking beer. “Couldn’t you get it no colder?” James asked.

“I stole it from the icebox in the barn,” Rollo said.

“Can’t even find a party on graduation night,” James said. “This isn’t graduation night,” Charlotte said. “What is it, then?” “It’s the last day of school. I’m not graduating. Are you graduating?” “Warm beer,” James said. “I’ll never graduate,” Charlotte said. “I don’t care.” Rollo said, “Yeah, who gives a flying fuck,” and they all laughed at his

vulgarity, and he said, “We’re country kids.” “No, we ain’t,” James said. “Your mother works on a horse ranch. My dad messes with irrigation.

And there’s a great big barn behind my house, pardner.” “It’s nicer out here,” Stevie Dale said. “No cops.” “That’s true,” James said, “ain’t nobody to bother you.” “Just mind the snakes.” “Mind this snake,” Rollo said, and the girls whooped and laughed. It was a disappointment to James that when the two girls laughed,

Charlotte had to be the one who forced beer out her nose. Stevie was younger, just a freshman, but she seemed simpler and not so nervous. Stevie kept her posture straight, and she smoked in a sexy way. What was he doing with Charlotte? Actually he liked Stevie.

He dropped Rollo off, and then he drove Charlotte home. Stevie kind of ended up still in the truck. He made sure of letting Charlotte off first.

He kissed Charlotte goodbye as they stood out front of her house. She locked her arms behind his neck and clung to him, her lips slack and wet. James held her without much strength, with his left arm only, and let his right arm hang. Charlotte’s older brother, out of work, came and stared from the doorway. “Shut the door or turn off the damn cooler, you fool,” her mother called from within.

In the truck James asked Stevie, “You need to go home?” “Not exactly,” she said, “not really.” “You want to drive around?” “Sure. That might be nice.” They ended up right back where they’d been with the others an hour

before, looking out at the low mountains, listening to the radio. “What’s your plans for the summer?” Stevie said.

“I’m waiting on a sign.” “That means you don’t have any,” she said. “Any what?” “Any plans.” “I don’t know if I should aim for just a summer job, or find some

thing real and permanent—just not go back to school.” “You mean drop out?” “I was thinking I’d get in the service like my dad.” She made no response to this idea. She placed her fingertip on the

dashboard and rubbed it back and forth. James had run out of conversation. His neck felt so taut he doubted he could even turn his head. Not one word to say occurred to him. He wished she’d say something about Charlotte. All she said was,

“What are you so sulky about?” “Shit.” “What.” “I think I’ve gotta break up with Charlotte. I really have to.” “Yeah… I’d say she probably feels it coming.” “Really? She does?” “You’re just not lit up around her, James, not at all.” “You can tell, huh?” “You’ve got a cloud raining down all around you.” “What about right now this minute?” “What.” “Ain’t raining down on me right this minute, is it?” “No.” She was smiling, she was the sun. “Are you really going into the