Jeffery Allen - Rails Under My Back

No.

Up here, food just ain’t the same. Can’t find no good grapes. Now, back home, you chopped through the cudgery to find the scuppervine and muscadine.

What?

Grapes. Scuppervine these white grapes. And muscadine. You ain’t never been down South?

Yeah, I—

I built me a grape arbor in Crownpin. Scuppervine. White grapes.

YES, I USED TO WORK HARD. If a donkey’s ass was a Kodak, my picture would be all over the world. But I knew how to work and how to make money. I used to steal cotton seeds. They paid fifty dollars a ton. I had a thousand dollars in my pocket when I went in the army. I had the first sergeant in my belt.

I first worked loading ships. Then I drove a truck on convoy. We drove bumper to bumper at seventy or eighty miles an hour on these mountains. Didn’t need the clutch either. We had our own signals. That was the only way you could stop in time.

We only lost one guy. He drove right off the mountain. All you could see was fire and smoke. We retrieved his body. The fire had melted his dog tags.

We drove ammunition to the front line and carried back a cargo of bodies. Many were headless. Couldn’t identify them. So we used to get a tractor and dig these big graves.

We had to clean up at Hiroshima too.

Pull the other one. Radiation. Cleaning up radiation ain’t like wiping off yo shoe. What yall do for protection?

We wore goggles.

Goggles? Hatch rolled his eyes. Goggles.

Spent some time in Europe too. The French women thought we had tails that came out at night.

PASSING THROUGH TEXAS those crackas threw rocks at you. Spit on you. You wanted to shoot them.

What about the officers? Hatch said.

In the States they treated you like shit, but overseas you were their brother. Many of them officers didn’t come back.

YOU EVER KILL ANYBODY?

Like I say, we drove convoy. Now, at times — You ever seen a bayonet?

Yeah. At the Armory museum.

I mean really seen one?

Hatch said nothing.

They were sharp as razors. I could throw a bayonet so it twirled only once.

WEBB’S SNORES fell and rose.

From his distance, from this plastic-covered couch that would serve as his bed, Hatch could see four-leaf clovers sticking from between the pages of Pool’s Bible. Southern folks do that. Four-leaf clovers. Lula Mae. Hatch opened the Bible. Someone had written on the white of the inner jacket, “Miss Addie Lee Webb was borned June 15, 1900. Departed her life June 21, 1956, at 4:10 a.m. Age 56 yrs.”

A thin strip of paper poked out from the gold-trimmed edges. Hatch removed it. An old newspaper sketch. Hatch’s age-fearing fingers gently held it up to sight. Beneath a tree in full bloom, a topless Eve — ugliest Eve he ever saw, with her hard man’s face and buck wild hair — holds a branch to hide her vaginal bush. Eve holding her twat. A lion rests at her feet. Mouth-startled, Adam is drawing back, a firmly rooted shrub relieving him of the need to palm his privates from the viewer’s eyes. In the distance, a deer drinks from a pond.

Hatch flipped the sketch over, like a hamburger on the grill:

STORE SIGNS AND STREET SIGNS he couldn’t read. Store windows that offered prolonged looks at suspended, gravity-free roasted ducks, chickens, and pigs. Fish resting on eternal beds of ice. Tray after metal tray of fried rice and noodles lined up like boxcars. And short people with fortune-cookie eyes. He had seen all this before. Lived it all before. A Yellow cab had brought him to this yellow place. Brought him here for answers. He moved on urgent feet, moved at the speed of a reborn man.

He found the cathedral and cemetery where Spokesman had said they would be. The gravestones looked like so many white boat sails anchored in a busy harbor. They faced the street where pedestrians and drivers could read them. So little regard for the dead and the bereaved. You had to walk through the cemetery to enter the cathedral.

The largest Gothic structure in the world, the cornerstone was laid on December 27, 1892. The nave was dedicated on November 30, 1941, one week before Pearl Harbor. The war halted construction. The cathedral remains a great work-in-progress. Completion date is unknown. Stained-glass windows as tall as two men cast pyramids of faint light. Columns marched in stone rhythm. Flying buttresses shot up into concrete heaven. Taut arches and groins stretched up into darkness. The new churches slowed the movement through the nave by dividing and subdividing it into carefully articulated compartments. Gray paradise at the top. A seemingly endless runway of velvet carpet led to the altar. Wood pews lined the stone floor. Ran into darkness like unscheduled trains bound for unknown destinations. So this was a cathedral. A world of distance. Space. And more space. Armageddon could happen here. Plenty of room for all God’s angels and all the devil’s saints to battle.

Lucifer found the house where Spokesman had said it would be. More like a hangar than a house. The structure took up one square block. Perhaps Spin need all that room to hold all his wealth. Dinkins Airport was only a few miles away, and Lucifer was certain that this hangar had been airlifted from there and set down intact here. He imagined what he would see inside. Each object would show that Spin’s fingers knew the touch of luxury. Objects from every corner of the globe, proof that Spin had nosed abroad. Lucifer also imagined how their conversation would end.

See, Lucifer, everything is fine. That’s just John. His way of doing things. Ease your mind.

I can now.

Good. Look, I’ve got to fly to the city tomorrow for the concert.

So soon?

Need to prepare. Why don’t you spend the night here and fly back with me in the morning.

Thanks for the offer.

Here are some tickets for your family.

Thanks.

Tell Hatch to drop backstage after the show.

Spin’s words played inside Lucifer. He could wait no longer. He pressed the buzzer. An airplane roared by overhead. Lucifer searched the sky. Clear. Lucifer pressed the buzzer a second time. Another airplane roared by.

A wired voice cut through the sonic noise, Say your say.

It’s Lucifer Jones. Lucifer spoke directly into a little black speaker. I’m here to see Spin.

Say your say.

It’s Lucifer Jones. He spoke louder this time, shouting, lips close to the speaker. I’m Lucifer — He caught himself. He gave the password.

The voice laughed.

Lucifer gave the password again.

POOL, YOU TALK IN YOUR SLEEP.

Hatch was remembering the night before. Pool had talked the whole night— Martha, park over there. I told you to park over there. Now park over here and see what happens —while his chest rode the crest of a snore. Hatch tossed and turned. Maybe the flood entered my dreams. Spotted sleep. The unrest was still in him.

Yeah, I know. Pool spoke from the small cave of kitchen, the room awash with cigarette smoke where Hatch sat. Hope Pool don’t fire up another one. And still dark from the previous night. But you couldn’t make heads or tails of it, now could you?

Yes, I could. You was talkin bout how much you wanted your wife and how much you loved Lee.

Pool laughed. Now I know you lyin.

Hatch shared the laugh.

Seated on the high stool, Pool worked his invisible hands in the metal sink. I got to do some serious cookin today.