Scott Spencer - A Ship Made of Paper

“A few.I used to know more.Out here, it’s more difficult, obviously.”

“But here’s where you are, it’s what you chose, you moved here.”

“Not to get away from black people.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Ifyou want to know the truth, I think my prejudice goes the other way.Black people have something I’ve always wanted.”

“Rhythm?”

“That’s ridiculous.”He backs still farther away, stumbles, rights himself.

”All right.Sorry.What is it we black people have that you’ve alwayswanted?”

“Family.Community.”

Hampton laughs—a sudden, rude bark ofamusement.

”I know how it sounds,”says Daniel.He searches his mind for something to substitute, some innocuous generalization, something admiring ofblack people that won’t seem too utterly stupid and condescending.

Hampton is silent.He takes a deep breath, a man controlling his temper.

”Is that what you see in Iris?”he finally asks.“Someone in touch with her feelings who can put you in touch with yours?”

So here it is, thinks Daniel.A kind ofexhaustion ofstrategy begins to overcome him, a growing incapacity to dodge and maneuver.The lies he has told weigh him down, it is as ifthey were stones with which he has filled his pockets.His psychological step is increasingly heavy and un-sure.One day, Daniel thinks, Hampton will replay this conversation in his mind and every lie he has told will be vivid and repulsive to him.But, for now, Daniel must stay the course.

“I see everything in Iris,”Daniel says quietly.

”Don’t be deceived by her skin and her hair.She’s as white as the bankers I see down in the city.”

“Let’s not do this here, okay, Hampton?You want to talk about this,

I’ll talk about it.But let’s get out ofthese woods, go someplace where we can sit down.”

“So you’re making the rules?”

“I’m asking.”

Another silence.Daniel hears Hampton exhale.

”Fine.Wait here for a second, all right? I have to urinate.”Even this announcement is made in Hampton’s public speaker’s voice.

There’s a break in the black sky and the platinum moonlight pours down on them.The whites ofHampton’s eyes glitter.His shirt is dirty, his trousers are covered in burrs and black with mud at the knees.

“I’ll wait here,”Daniel says.

Hampton’s footsteps crunch over the dried leaves, fainter and fainter.

Where is he going? Uphill? It’s hard for Daniel to tell which way Hamp-ton is walking, and then, ten seconds later, fifteen at the most, he can’t hear him at all.

Daniel walks a couple ofcareful, shuffling steps until he feels the hard presence ofyet another fallen tree.He crouches down, runs his hands along the bark.No branches, no large knots.He sits carefully on the tree trunk and waits.He cannot continue with these lies—he remembers thinking this, the nearness ofthis confession is what will come to haunt him.He will remember thinking that the ordering ofevents, the careful timing ofwhen the truth can be released, all ofit is being taken out ofhis hand.

Hampton’s piss seems to be taking an extraordinarily long time.The cold wind rustles the treetops.A presence ofspirits?Who knew? From someplace quite near comes the sound ofa pack ofcoyotes, a frenzy of yips and yowls.

Daniel loses patience, stands.“Hampton?You all right?”There is no answer.Even the coyotes are silent, for a moment.Daniel wonders if Hampton has simply decided to ditch him, to abandon him in these ru-ined woods.A rush ofmalevolence streaks through him, like a comet with its rock- and ice-strewn brilliance, its searing, filthy light.For a mo-ment, he despises Hampton as much as he had during the very worst nights oflonging for Iris, when sleep was impossible and there was no end to the hatred he had for the man who had everything Daniel wanted.

“Hampton?”Daniel says, much louder this time.He hears the slight hysteria in his voice, feels it in his throat.“Hampton? Hampton!Are youthere?”

He makes some vague, stumbling effort to find him.Seeing almost nothing, Daniel makes his way up the steep hill.He must grab on to the trees along the way to power himself up.Hadn’t they been on this steep hill before? Isn’t this the one with the sharp drop-offinto a pool ofblack water fifty feet below? Or is this another one just like it?

Daniel scrambles to the top ofthe hill.His face stings and when he touches it he realizes that he must have gotten hit by a branch.His fin-gertips are wet.He is bleeding.

“Hampton?”Silence.He feels a wind at his back and turns quickly.He is right on the edge ofthat fifty-foot drop-off.

A jolt offear goes through him.He has a vision ofHampton springing up and hitting him on the shoulders with his open hands, and send-ing him falling offthe hill and into the water.

And as soon as that thought occurs, he realizes that is exactly where Hampton is, in that black water below.He has fallen.Those shoes, those pricey, prissy fucking shoes.He is down there, probably facedown in thewater.

Daniel stands there, not knowing what to do.Should he skid down and see ifhe can find Hampton? It seems insane.He might have gone in another direction, he might right now be back at the spot at which they’d parted, wondering where Daniel has gone.

The cold wind parts the clouds and moonlight shines down again.

Daniel looks down, sees that he is only a foot from the edge ofthe hill.

Again he steps back.His heart is leaping up and down inside ofhim, like a creature trapped in a well.He is suddenly exhausted.He has an over-powering desire to sit down, close his eyes, but forces himself to care-fully inch closer to the drop-off.The ground is an impasto ofpebble, pine needle, and slippery cold mud.

He gets down on his hands and knees.The clouds are already making their way back to the moon, he has only a few moments oflight.He peers down at the pond—and there it is:the unthinkable.Hampton.

Facedown in the water.Arms stretched out before him, jacket balloon-ing, making him look like a hunchback.

Daniel claps his hand over his own eyes, turns away, sits there, draws up his knees, shudders.

Do something.

It seems as ifhe were paralyzed.

Do something.Now! Ifonly he had raced down, ifonly Daniel had taken that steep, plunging run toward the water with total abandon.He was screaming, Oh my God, oh my God, but he was not selfless.He kept his face covered.He slowed down when he lost traction and began to skid.And when his foot caught on an exposed root and he fell to the ground, he stayed there for an extra heartbeat or two, trying to gather his strength.He would re-member the clumsy caution ofhis descent.

When he is nearly down the slope, he loses his footing again.He does not fall but he has to run in an awkward, stiff-legged way to keep his balance.

His momentum takes him into the water, right up to his knees.The cold is like being hit in the shins with a tire iron.Hampton’s form has drifted to-ward the center ofthe pond.Daniel calls his name.This time his shout is not stillborn, it blooms in echoes.But there is no reply, no movement.

Daniel takes another step and the bottom ofthe pond falls away.In-

stinctively, he rears back, stops himself from going forward, from going under.Panic is upon him, merciless and annihilating.The water rushes into his clothes, it is like the paralyzing sting ofan insect, something to render him helpless so he can be consumed.He has never been a strong swimmer, in fact, he can barely swim.There is no chance ofhis rescuing Hampton, ifthere was any Hampton left to rescue.Daniel backs up a step, and then another, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the Ro-man candle.

He crouches at the edge ofthe pond, jams the base ofthe Roman candle into the ground.The fuse is plastered to the side ofthe cardboard cylinder and Daniel has to tease it up with his fingernails, makes it stand straight out so that he can light it.He digs in his front pocket for matches.Quarters fall out, as well as his keys.He finds the matches.They are damp, and the first one doesn’t light.But the second one does.His hands are shaking but he finally gets the flame to the fuse.It sparks up with a sudden, nervous hiss.Someone will see it, someone will come.In the meanwhile, he will try to force himself back into the water, ifit is at all possible.The wind is parting the clouds again, the moonlight is start-ing to come through, a long platinum spoke ofit.The fuse burns slowly for the first couple inches, but then accelerates.