Yannick Murphy - The Call

WHAT THE WIFE TOLD THE SPACEMAN WHEN WE GOT HOME:Don’t be silly, there’s no need to stay in a motel. It’s late. Spend the night here, she said.

WHAT THE WIFE TOLD ME IN BED IN A WHISPER SO THE SPACEMAN WOULD NOT HEAR:What does he want?

WHAT I SAID:Nothing. You know, just to see who I am. Just to know.

WHAT THE WIFE SAID:When is he leaving?

WHAT I SAID:In the morning, I’m sure. What does it matter? He seems nice. Did you know he used to swim?

WHAT THE WIFE SAID:What do we tell the children when they meet him?

WHAT I SAID:If they ask, I’ll tell them the truth. The spaceman will have his curiosity fulfilled. He’ll see I’m just an ordinary man and then he’ll go home and appreciate his father whom his mother is married to. This will blow over, I said.

WHAT THE WIFE SAID:You call him the spaceman?

WHAT SARAH SAID AT BREAKFAST:You two look alike. You both have that thingy, that hole in your chins. Are you an uncle or a cousin?

WHAT THE SPACEMAN SAID:I’m your half brother.

WHAT SARAH SAID:One whole brother is bad enough.

WHAT SAM SAID WHEN HE CAME DOWN TO BREAKFAST:Cool, I always wanted a brother. I’m sick of my sisters. Are you going to live with us?

WHAT THE SPACEMAN SAID:No, I have an apartment in Philadelphia.

WHAT SAM SAID:You might like it here. We get lots of s-s-snow and the sledding is good. Mom’s an okay cook, that is if you like green olives.

WHAT SARAH SAID:Sam was in a coma and now he talks funny. Sam, say Sally sells seashells by the seashore.

WHAT SAM SAID:Bugger off, Sarah.

WHAT THE SPACEMAN SAID:A coma?

WHAT SARAH SAID:Yes, he was shot and fell out of the tree stand.

WHAT MIA SAYS:They thought he was a bird. Show him your scars, Sam.

WHAT SAM SAID:Bugger off, Mia. See how annoying my sisters are?

WHAT THE SPACEMAN SAID:That’s terrible. Who did it?

WHAT SARAH SAID:Someone in town, but we’re not sure.

CALL:One of Arlo’s Chianina cows with porcupine quills stuck in its muzzle.

ACTION:Spaceman and I set off in my truck to the farm. Spaceman wanted to know about my son. Is it true, he said, you don’t know who shot your son? I shook my head. In this little town, you don’t know? I shook my head again. I can’t be sure. It might have been a guy named Passen, but he’s in jail for something else now. I’ll never know for sure. It could have been anyone. He put your son in a coma for weeks? the spaceman asked. Yes, I said. I didn’t want to shake my head again. I was looking past the field where I had seen a coyote trotting across before, and I wanted to see if he might be trotting this way again. The spaceman whistled. I thought at first it was going to be a tune, but it was not. It was a whistle of surprise. A whistle of incredulity. Oh my God, he said. You and your wife must have been sick with worry. When he said it I remembered how Jen would sit up in bed at night, not reading, just staring at the windows that were dotted with cluster fly shit. It’s not too late, the spaceman said. You can still try to find out who it was. No, I said. I said it quickly and loudly. The spaceman shook his head. He looked out the window. I felt bad for saying no the way I had said it. We drove on the road where the taxidermist had his sign that said SKULL CLEANING HALF PRICE. I pointed it out to the spaceman. I laughed. Can you believe that sign? I said. The spaceman nodded his head. I can believe it, he said. If you’re not sure who it was, if it was Passen or not, then why are you still making these vet calls, and you’re not out knocking on everyone’s door trying to find out exactly who did that to your son? What are the police doing? he said.

There was no evidence. There were no telltale footprints in the woods that anyone could find. There was no car parked by the side of the road, no tire tread marks that could be traced. No way to trace the gunshot. The police did what they could do, I said. The spaceman worked his jaw. He shook his head. He exhaled loudly.

When we drove up the road to Arlo’s, we could see his white Chianina cattle standing on the hillside in the early mist. They’re beautiful. They look like ghosts, the spaceman said, while shaking his head and smiling. I introduced the spaceman as Mark Howell to Arlo. Arlo showed us the cow. She had about seventeen quills stuck in her nose. I tranqued the cow. While I pulled out the quills Arlo held the cow and murmured to her, telling her to be still and calm. The cow was so tall that Arlo just had to turn his head to talk into the blackness of her white ear. He did not have to bend down to her. I told Arlo that the spaceman was from Philadelphia. Arlo said he had never been to Philadelphia. He said he had never been away from here because he liked the trees here and the trees were enough for him here. He did not need to leave his state and see other trees. He did not need to travel to see mountain ridges with tree lines that were not his. Arlo laughed at himself. You’d think I was goofy about trees, he said. The cow shook her head. The tranq was wearing off. I gave her a little more. I gave the spaceman the quills as I pulled them out. The spaceman lined them up on his palms, the tapered ends all facing the same way. Arlo wanted to know if the spaceman was a doctor, too. Oh, no, I teach, the spaceman said. The spaceman taught Spanish in a public school. The spaceman said he had learned it in Spain, and so there was a time when he got back from Spain that not even the Puerto Rican postman understood what he was saying because when speaking Spanish you sound out the Z’s like they were Th ’s and the way the Puerto Rican postman looked at the spaceman when he spoke Spanish with his lisp you’d think he did not speak Spanish at all. You’d think, and yes here the spaceman said it, You’d think I was from another planet. Then the spaceman said, What about the doctor’s son, Arlo? Do you know anything about who shot his son, almost killed him, and then put him into a coma for weeks? Arlo shook his head. He patted the hind end of his cow with a hand that was deeply lined, and the veins popping out on the backs of his hands looked as large as earthworms as he patted the cow. I think you do know, said the spaceman. This is too small a town not to know.

I laughed. I had to say something funny soon or else I knew Arlo might want to turn and punch the spaceman in the jaw. But what was there funny to say. Was it funny to talk about the zebra? The other day, I said, my wife called Sarah a wench because she was being mean to Mia. Well, Sam had never heard the word wench. He said sarcastically, “Hah, that’s really funny, Mom, calling Sarah a wrench. What are you going to call me when I’m mean to Mia, a screwdriver?” Arlo looked at the spaceman, then he looked at me. That is funny, Doc. Do you think this cow will be all right now? Do I need to Betadine her nose or anything? I think she’ll be fine, I said.

THOUGHTS ON DRIVE HOME:No drive home. No thoughts. We drove to the pool. Let’s get in a swim, I told the spaceman, even though I did not sound right to myself saying “get in a swim” because I had never said it that way before and I had always ever said to the wife or the children, Come on, let’s go swimming. The spaceman wore the extra swimsuit I carried with me and he borrowed the extra goggles I carried with me and they fit him well. While we changed I asked him how his students behaved. Did they talk to each other while he taught? Did they have their headphones in and listen to music or talk on their phones while he taught? You see, I told him, the children I teach have done these things. The children I teach, some are horrible, I said. The spaceman laughed. Yes, he said, I have had the same kinds of children. But there are just some children whom you will not be able to teach. You will not reach them, he said, but you must always try. The same with your son. You must try to find out who shot him. I’ll help you, he said. I already looked, I said. I knocked on doors. I asked questions. It could have been that guy Passen, and he’s in jail now, so it’s over. Don’t you fucking think I tried? I said. I banged my locker shut. It made a very loud noise. The spaceman opened up the locker, then shut it again quietly while he talked, as if to teach me how lockers should be shut. You were alone then. You had seen your son shot and then in a coma. You couldn’t possibly have done a good job looking. But I can help you. Together we can find out who did it. Maybe it was Passen, maybe it wasn’t. But we can find out. How many people in this town? Six hundred? Six hundred is not so many. Someone knows something and they are not telling. They are protecting someone. It is heinous what the man did. It is heinous that the man probably knows you in a town this small. What’s the old saying, Don’t shit where you eat, or should I say, Don’t shoot where you eat. I thought you were a teacher. Now you’re a detective? I said. The spaceman put his hand on my shoulder. His hand was as large as mine, maybe larger. The weight of his hand on my shoulder felt good and strong. I would have liked some of his strength. Was some kind of alien transfer going to take place from him to me, I wondered. We’ll find the man together, he said, and when he said it I became excited. Maybe he was right that I hadn’t done a good job looking. I had gone knocking on doors asking if owners had seen the spacecraft, when maybe I should have been asking more about the hunter who shot my son. Maybe the man could be found after all.