Richard Powers - The Echo Maker

Specialist Rupp stood on Mark’s doorstep, rapping triplets on the front door’s simulated wood. The soundtrack from a public television antiques show seeped through the windows. “Gus. Wassup. Open up, Gus. You can’t stay mad at us forever.”

Mark stood on the other side of the door, brandishing a thirty-six-inch Rigid pipe wrench. Realizing who it was, he called through the flimsy panel. “Go away. You’re not welcome around these parts.”

“Schluter, man. Open the door. It’s getting ugly out here.”

It was twenty degrees, with a visibility of ten feet. The wind whipped a fine-grained dry snow into a white sandstorm. Rupp was shivering, which only convinced Mark of a trap. Nothing ever froze Rupp.

“Stuff to clear up, buddy. Let me in and we’ll talk.”

By now, the dog was hysterical, snarling like a wolf and leaping three feet into the air, ready to plunge through the window and attack anything to protect its master. Mark couldn’t hear himself think. “What stuff? Like the fact that you lied to me? Like the fact that you ran me off the road?”

“Let me in and we’ll talk. Clear this crap up, once and for all.”

Mark hit the front door with the wrench, hoping to scare off the intruder. The dog began to howl. Rupp screamed profanity, to shock Mark into stopping. The next-door neighbor, a retired data processor who served homeless people lunches at Kearney Catholic, threw open her window and threatened to firebomb them. Both men continued to yell at each other, Mark demanding explanations and Rupp demanding to be let in out of the cold. “Open the fuck up, Gus. I’ve got no time for this. I’ve been called up. Active duty. I’m going to Fort Riley the day after tomorrow, man. Then on to Saudi, soon as they pull my chain.”

Mark stopped yelling and hushed the dog long enough to ask, “Saudi? What for?”

“The Crusades. Armageddon. George versus Saddam.”

“You’re so full of it. I knew you were full of it. What good is that going to do anyone?”

“Round two,” Rupp said. “The real thing this time. Going after the bastards who brought down the Towers.”

“They’re dead,” Mark said, more to the dog than to Rupp. “Died on impact in a flaming fireball.”

“Speaking of death.” Rupp stamped the ground and yelped with cold. “Dressed for a hundred and ten degrees, and it’s Scott of the Antarctic out here, Gus. Are you going to let me in or do you want to kill me?”

Trick question. Mark said nothing.

“All right, man. I give up. You win. Talk to Duane about it. Or wait for me to get back. This showdown thing is going to be over fast. We’re giving these goons a week at the outside. One-shot Rupp’ll be back here slaughtering again, by Flag Day. Take you fishing for your birthday.” Silence issued from the house. Rupp backed away, into the icy sandstorm. “Talk to Duane. He’ll explain what happened. What do you want from Iraq, Gus? One of those little white skull caps? Some prayer beads? Miniature oil well? What can I bring you back? Just name it.”

Rupp had vanished in his truck by the time Mark shouted, “What do I want? I want my friend back.”

On Groundhog Day, a Sunday, Daniel Riegel called his boyhood friend. They’d had no contact for fifteen years, aside from deniable sightings at a distance and a supermarket run-in where they’d passed each other without a word. Daniel’s hands shook as he dialed the number. He hung up once, then forced himself to start again.

Karin had told him all about that afternoon at the abandoned Schluter house, a house Daniel remembered as well as he remembered his own. She confronted him with Mark’s disclosure, something broken in her. You loved my brother, didn’t you? Of course he had. I mean, you really loved him . She had stood there rethinking everything, appraising Daniel as she would an alien.

He had no idea what he’d say if Mark Schluter picked up. It no longer mattered what he said, so long as he said something. A voice at the other end shouted, “Yeah?” and Daniel said, “Mark? It’s Danny.” His voice slid like some pubescent’s between soprano and bass. Mark said nothing, so Daniel filled, insanely matter-of-fact. “Your old friend. How are things going? What have you been up to? It’s been a while.”

At last Mark spoke. “You’ve been talking to her, haven’t you? Of course you have. She’s your wife. Lover. Whatever.” Mark’s voice wavered between bafflement and awe. Why should people discuss him behind his back? What difference in the world did he make to them? His words were swimming in mysteries, and ready to give up paddling and drown.

Daniel started in, faltering, about old misunderstandings, crossed wires, experiments gone wrong. Not what you think; should have said; should never have suggested. A long silence came from Mark. Fifteen years’ worth. Then: “Look. I don’t care if you’re gay. It’s a big trend these days. I don’t even care that you like animals better than people. I would, too, if I weren’t a human. Just watch your back. I know this is a college town, but get out into the surrounding areas and you’d be surprised.”

“You’re right about that,” Daniel said. “But wrong about me.”

“Fine. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Forget it. Burial. Little Danny; young Markie. You remember those guys?”

It took Daniel some moments to decide. “I think so,” he answered.

“I sure as hell don’t. No idea who those guys ever were. Two different worlds. Who cares?”

“You don’t understand. I never meant for you to think…”

“Hey. Have sex with whatever you want. You only live once, for the most part.”

And then, on nothing at all, they were back in the trivial now.

“But can I just ask you? Why her ? Don’t get me wrong. She’s all right. At least, she hasn’t hurt me yet. But…this doesn’t have anything to do with me, does it?”

Daniel tried to say. Say why her . Because with her he didn’t have to be anyone but who he’d always been. Because being with her made him feel familiar. Like coming home.

Mark crashed the explanation. “I thought so. You’re using her for my sister! Sleeping with her because she reminds you of Karin. Old times. Man! Memory. It’ll screw you up royal every time, huh?”

“It will,” Daniel agreed. “It does.”

“Well, okay. There you have it. Whatever gets you through the night. Just remember: this love thing comes and goes. You wake up one day, and wonder. I guess I don’t have to tell you that. So what have you been doing with your life?” He chuckled like a belt-driven tool sharpener. “In the last fifteen years. In two hundred words or less.”

Daniel recited the short résumé, marveling at how little had changed since childhood, and how little he’d really accomplished in so long a time. He could barely hear himself talk, over the noise of the past.

Mark wanted to hear about the Refuge. “Some kind of Dedham Glen for birds?”

“Yes, I suppose. Something like that.”

“Well, can’t hurt me with that. Karin Two says you’re fighting this sandhill Disney World thing? Camp Crane Peeper?”

“Fighting, and losing. What did she tell you about it?”

“I’ve seen their real estate operatives out this way, sniffing around. Seems to me they have their eye on the Homestar. Going to requisition my house.”

“Are you sure? How can you tell they’re from…?”

“Team of guys with one of those surveyor thingies? Guys out there, dynamiting fish?”

The idea coursed through Daniel, with a surge of sick thrill. The developers were running an environmental impact survey. The real capital outlay had started. “Listen,” he said. “Can we meet? Can I swing by your place?”