Bonnie Nadzam - Lions

Gordon returned from the north country at midnight days before they were to leave for school, and woke the following morning in his room to the sound of Leigh’s voice. A distant buzz, the sheets over his bare legs. He understood she was speaking from far away. Downstairs. In the kitchen with Georgianna. Their white faces floating in the early morning light as they talked over toast and coffee. Their voices pulsed like a radio signal moving in and out of static.

“. . like his father. .”

“I know.”

“. . to be alone.”

“But supposing. .”

“. . a little patience.”

“But supposing.”

A silence. The ringing of spoons against coffee cups.

“. . John’s father, too. .”

“. . like a ceremony. .”

“. . like sleep. .”

“More toast?”

A silence, the scrape of wooden chair legs across the floor, and he went back under, the women’s voices leading him on a filament of words like a path that loses itself in the dark.

In his dream his father handed him a dull and dented old copper cup — the kind you’d find in the junk shop — and told him to drink. Gordon took it for whiskey, and perhaps it was.

“What is it?” his father asked when Gordon had tasted it.

“Bitter,” he said, and let the taste of it stain his tongue and the back of his throat. “And good.”

When he woke again, his mother was beside him. Shadows circled her eyes like holes burned through white paper.

“You slept all day again,” she said.

“I did?”

“Leigh was here.”

“I know.”

“I have a can of soup heated on the stove,” she said. “Tomato rice. You need to eat.”

He sat up. “Did you have any?”

She put her hand to her stomach and shook her head.

“Sick?”

“And a headache.”

“You look skinny.”

“So do you.”

“You need to eat.”

She drew her lips into her mouth and nodded. “It’s hard to be here in the house, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Shop, too.”

“He worked so hard, Gordon.”

“I know.”

“Too hard.”

“Maybe,” he said.

“No one appreciated it.”

“Sure they did, Ma.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes.”

“People say things about him.”

“No they don’t.”

“They say he wasn’t good to us.”

“You know that isn’t true.”

“They say he should have moved us somewhere better.”

“Did Leigh tell you that?”

“She wants the world, Gordon.”

“I know it,” he said. “It wants her back.”

“Have you asked her to stay?”

“I don’t think she can.”

“I always thought she’d be able to.”

He rose and left the room. He brought up two mugs of the warm, reddish-orange soup, and two slices of buttered sandwich bread. Two old metal spoons. He carried it up on the tray his father had used for Georgianna on Mother’s Day and her birthday, a golden brown wicker tray with woven handles of dried willow.

They sat in the quiet and ate their bread. The moonlight cast a slant, pale blue window frame across the scratched wooden floor. It was past midnight. No birds. No sound at all. Georgianna sat with her hands around the mug in her lap. Her hair seemed no longer steel and iron but silver and white. She used to clip up the sides, but now it hung all around her. It was so long. He’d never realized it was so long.

“I can’t sleep in that bed, Gordon.”

“It’s OK.”

“I’ve been sleeping here,” she said. “In yours.”

“I know.” He took her hand and pulled her from the chair and she curled up beside him. “It’s OK.”

“Sometimes I think I’m having a heart attack, too,” she whispered.

He shut his eyes and held his breath high up in his chest. “Me, too.”

When he was sure she’d fallen asleep, Gordon stood and crossed the yard to the shop where he stretched out on the floor, lengthwise beside the workbench.

Dock and Emery were there just after dawn, ready to work and knocking on the door. Gordon rose stiffly, rubbed his eyes, and opened the side door. He reached out to shake Dock’s hand, and Dock pulled him in for a hug.

“Where you been boy?”

Gordon smiled and hugged back. Emery stepped up for his turn, nearly crushing Gordon’s rib cage with his wiry arms.

“Sorry to barge in on you,” Dock said. “Emery’s been chomping at the bit to get in here.”

“I’m sure, I’m sorry.”

“You been out on the road some.”

Gordon nodded. They were almost of a height, but Dock was twice as wide.

“You holding up?” Dock let go, and surveyed his face. “Eating?”

“Some.”

“Sleeping?”

“Some.”

“Want me to pick up a customer or two you have out of town?”

“Nah,” he said.

Dock nodded. “OK. Look, no pressure, Gordon, but Annie and I talked all this through with your mother.”

“I know.”

“If you want to stay, you should stay. But if I were you I’d follow that girl. She knows where she’s headed, and she’s not bad-looking company.”

Gordon laughed and touched his forehead. Emery laughed and touched his forehead.

There were two unfinished projects on the floor out back: a spray rig and double tilt utility trailer.

“So tell me what’s happening in the shop these days.” Dock stepped inside. “But consider yourself warned,” he said, as Emery overtook him and pulled on his welding helmet. “This boy is full of beans. I mean he ate three cans of pinto beans last night.” Dock mimicked a man eating beans out of a can, circling an imaginary spoon in his fist from can to mouth. “Safety hazard. Keep him away from the torches.”

“Ha,” Gordon said. “Thanks for the tip.” Emery laughed again and drew back his lips to show them his teeth, like a wild animal. They stood in the cool space, the smell of burnt minerals and cleaning fluid sharp in their nostrils.

Dock told Gordon that other than a few passes on scrap metal with stick electrode, and the couple of minor projects he had watched John do and assisted with, he hadn’t done much more. Gordon told him it had to be five hundred more than a few passes, and that Dock had learned more than he realized while working on the single engine stand.

“It’s still in working order, isn’t it?”

“It’s pretty solid,” Dock admitted, his cheeks red.

“That was all you. I saw every piece of it. I was right back there,” Gordon said, and together they said, “working on the disc cultivator.” It’d come in rusted pieces like a bolt’s worth of moth-eaten reddish brown fabric — a never-ending project to restore.

They stood beside each other looking out of the shop toward the Gas & Grocer.

“So how long do we have you, young Walker?”

“A few days,” Gordon said. “If I go.”

“Don’t get started on me,” he said. “You’re going.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Whatever you need to be here for, you can do a little less often.”

“I guess that’s right.”

“What am I supposed to do all day every day if you don’t go? Isn’t enough work for two men.”

“You’ve got me there,” Gordon said. “I know you’re up for the work.”

“We all love your mother, Gordon. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“She won’t be alone. Heck, May talked about hiring her on, just to get her out of the house a couple times a week. She’ll need the help when Leigh’s gone.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Be good for her,” he said. “Coffee?”

“We’d better.”

Gordon filled the machine with water and scooped the grounds into the filter.