John McManus - Born on a Train - 13 Stories

No, I said.

Huh, he said.

Huh, I said. He removed his hands from the pockets of his jeans to finger an encrusted silver cross on his necklace. On a shelf above his head was a row of bulging Trapper Keepers — back to the first grade, I guessed — and comic books, and Dune, and a jar of hemlock pinecones for a bookend. He opened and closed the drawer that held his pens and white-out. I’ve got a waterbed, he said, stretching his chin down to his sharp clavicle.

Yeah.

Real good on your backbones.

I looked at the bed and said, I’ve never liked them.

You had one before?

Here and there.

His teeth were the worst I’d ever seen, except on poor kids. Did your dad melt down your braces to make bullets, I wanted to ask, but he was already talking. His high school had the second-highest rate of anorexia in Virginia, he said. Three state representatives had graduated from it, and the fullback for Nebraska. Tomorrow was a field trip to Sharp Top.

It’ll be your school, too, he said. We’ll ride the bus together.

I don’t know whether that’s going to happen.

The bus is number ninety-nine, he said.

I don’t ride school buses, I said.

Well, I guess it used to be thirty, but then they changed it.

Who are you talking to? I said when an instant message popped up on the screen of his computer.

He minimized the window and said, No one. Friends.

From here? I said.

He grinned with only half his mouth.

Are you retarded? I said.

From other places, he said.

Where’s your dad’s computer? I haven’t seen it.

It’s the same as this one, Eammon said.

He comes in here and uses it? I said.

What do you care?

It’s wise to jot down a drawing of an unfamiliar bird after the viewing. It will train you to notice small but important details that are easily overlooked. Eammon placed two printed pages in a drawer and locked it shut and put the key on the shelf above himself and rubbed the zit below his ear. When another window opened on the screen, he flipped the surge protector switch so the computer powered down, and I went downstairs. Learn to move quietly and to avoid wearing brightly colored clothing. I stood examining the teapots in the china cabinet as Hiram answered Mother’s questions in the kitchen. Where else have you lived? she asked, and he said, Nowhere.

That’s stupid, Mother said. You don’t live in one place.

Yes I do, he said.

Not you, she said. One does not.

I guess one does, he said, picking at his ears as Mother grilled green peppers in a skillet, pouring spices into the boiling oil. She cooked for over an hour, and then we all ate dinner together. Hiram passed the dishes to Mother on his left, then me, then Eammon, Jackson, Leroy. The beans had been fried in Wesson oil, and Hiram spooned himself out a heap of them and said, These is good.

Mother smiled and said thanks.

You didn’t get you a pork chop, Hiram said to me.

I don’t care for Mother’s pork chops, I said.

Mother smiled at me.

You ain’t had one yet, said Hiram.

I’ve actually had several dozen over the years, I said.

These are nice big ones, he said.

I nodded and said, That’s been the trend. Hiram looked at Mother and shook his head and sliced his pork chop and ate a chunk of it. I knew it would take him a long time to chew the meat, but I hadn’t thought I’d be able to count to eighty before he swallowed.

I guess I’m not as young as I used to be, he said.

How old were you in the picture? said Mother.

What picture? he said.

The one you sent me, Mother said.

Hiram looked at Eammon, who nodded back at him. What difference does it make? Hiram said, his mouth already full again with beans.

Was it an old picture?

What’s old?

I don’t know, said Mother. I just wondered.

Hiram shook his head and didn’t answer. Mother regurgitated stories about Idaho and California to fill the silence. As she told about the crippled irrigation engineer’s arrest for arson, Eammon poked my side and leaned to mumble in my ear. What he said was unintelligible. You look out for that one, Hiram said to me. Boy’s a real lady-killer.

Mother laughed politely. He’s a handsome little fellow, she said.

Not that the others ain’t, said Hiram with a jowly grin, and he rubbed his fingers through Leroy’s flattop.

He really knows how to fill out a pair of jeans, said Mother.

To what? said Hiram.

Mother smiled as if trying to lighten the mood. So anyway, she said, we had our pick of anything in his house. I mean, what was he gonna do about it?

Who? said Hiram.

Dowell was his name, said Mother. I met him in Parlor Games, like Richard.

I stirred my food together into a collage of many colors.

How is everything? Mother said to me.

Deplorable as usual, I said.

Yeah, it’s pretty goddamn good, said Hiram, nodding.

Thank you, Mother said.

I like the spices.

It’s probably just the allspice.

Allspice, Hiram said.

Uh-huh, Mother said.

Allspice is Mother’s favorite spice, I said.

Is that so, Hiram said.

Uh-huh, I said.

I don’t reckon I’ve got a favorite spice, he said.

Libby’s just teasing me, Mother said to him.

Maybe allspice is your favorite spice, too, I said. Maybe all-spice is what brought the two of you together.

He didn’t answer me because he was busy thinking about it.

Afterwards he moved onto the porch to smoke his pipe. When Mother sent me out to fetch his glass, the dog was draped across his lap like a sunning seal. Hiram patted it and turned to look at me and said, Tell me what your mama likes.

Okay, I said, but I’m going to lie to you.

Does she like cats? he said, his breath displacing cherry-flavored smoke.

She loves cats, I said.

We use to have cats, he said.

That’s interesting.

When Eammon killed the kittens off, he said, the mama cat skedaddled to who knows where. Boy came and asked me, can I kill those kittens, and I said no, you can’t kill those kittens. Ain’t yours to kill. Went and done it anyway.

In the house the telephone was answered after half a ring.

You see that gunnysack over there? said Hiram, and I nodded my head but didn’t turn to see. It’s all bloodied up inside of it. Go look.

Maybe when I’m bored sometime, I said.

It was rocks, he said and hung his mouth open like he wanted me to answer. I took his empty pint glass from the rail and poured its dregs onto the wood between my feet. Spit stalactites joined his lips together like a cage that split apart when he said, I wasn’t finished with that Bass.

It was empty, I said.

But don’t worry, though. He don’t treat people like that, like he does cats.

He kicked his tennis shoes into the yard. When I turned to go inside the house, the dog stood up and walked around in a circle and lay back down in Hiram’s lap. They called it she, although it seemed to have a penis. In many species the male is bright and colorful. Sometimes the female can be identified only when one knows the male. They’ve all been dumb, I said to Mother when we were alone, but this one’s stupid.

Her voice sounded like a stranger’s when she said, Don’t call people stupid.

I only call them stupid when they are.

But look at what he wrote me.

She gave me a piece of folded paper from the journal, and I turned it to the light to read its printout, starting somewhere in the middle. You awaken a reservoir of zeal and emotion in me that overwhelms my mind. I see the same resplendence in your eyes that I had once. I skipped a line. Colorful and bright, like a color TV.

It’s so poetic, Mother said.