Joy Williams - The Visiting Privilege - New and Collected Stories

“The drumrolls are still in my head,” James said. “They provide the necessary cadences. The men probably couldn’t bear it forward without those cadences being maintained.”

“I can still hear the drumrolls too,” June said gratefully.

“What’s the word for the men who carry it?” James wondered. “I should keep a glossary.”

“Cucuruchos,” Caroline said. “One of them looked just like that cute dishwasher at the pizza place. I’m sure it was him.”

“Look who we found!” Howard called from the gates.

It was the bottle boy from that morning, the one who’d eaten June’s pancake.

“He was just outside,” Abby said, “the beggar boy. Howard wanted him to share our picnic.”

“He is not a beggar,” Howard said. “His eyes lack the proper cringe. He is my brother, come to visit. That Bailey brat you met before was the false son and brother. A substitute substituted. Soul and body alike are often substituted.” He was very drunk.

The boy was shivering. His shirt was torn and he wore a small silver cross around his neck. The shirt had not been torn that morning, June didn’t think.

“Where’s Parker’s sweater?” Abby demanded. “I’m giving it to this one, that’s what I’m going to do.” She dug a red cable-knit sweater from Parker’s bag and pulled it over the bottle boy’s dark head, then pushed his arms through the sleeves. “I hope I don’t get fleas now,” she said.

Parker was sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Give him a sandwich,” Caroline demanded.

Abby gave the bottle boy a sandwich thick with ham and cheese. He ate it slowly, watching them. Howard smoothed his fire with a stick. They drank beer.

“This is good,” June said.

“It’s the same kind we always drink,” James said. “It’s from Cuba.”

They stood or sat drinking beer while the boy slowly ate the sandwich and watched them.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Howard said. He threw his empty bottle down and pushed the sandals from his feet. “I have.” He made fists of his hands, rolled his eyes upward and quickly walked the length of the fire pit.

“I don’t believe it,” Caroline said.

He turned and walked the fire again. “Cool moss,” he screamed. “You think cool moss. ” He sank to the ground laughing, unharmed.

“You’re loco,” James said.

“Feel my feet, feel them,” Howard said. “I ask you, are they hot?”

Caroline boldly touched the soles of his feet and pronounced them not warm at all. They were clammy, in fact.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with belief,” Howard said. “But if you have doubts, you burn. It’s an evolutionary stimulant. I am now evolutionarily advanced.”

“That is a fire that should so be put out right now,” Abby said.

“I want to walk,” Parker said. “I’m gonna walk.” He stood and made small fists.

Abby yanked him toward her and slapped his bottom. “You are going to bed!” Abby said.

The fire winked radiantly at them all. Howard was laughing. He was deeply, coldly happy, and the revulsion June felt for him shocked her. She looked at Caroline uneasily.

“I do not believe this,” Caroline said.

The Guatemalan boy had been collecting the empty bottles strewn about. He held them against his chest, against the bright red sweater. Then he put them down and, smiling furtively at Howard, stepped onto the fire. He screamed at once. Howard pulled him back, the boy screaming thinly. “You’re all right, man, you’re all right,” he said, pouring beer over the boy’s feet. “You were distracted and doubtful, man, and when you’re D and D, you burn. No tenga miedo. No es nada. ” He held the boy’s feet and crooned No es nada to him mournfully, but he looked pleased.

Whimpering, the boy reached blindly for his bottles and clutched them once more to his chest.

“Get him out of here,” Caroline said. “Give him the rest of the food. Give him the whole damn basket.” She ran to the gates and opened them. “Váyase! Váyase!” she yelled at him.

As the boy stumbled out, he almost collided with the fortune birds being escorted home on their motorbike. The man of the remarkable vein steadied him with a snarl and then, regarding them all grimly, pushed the motorbike across the courtyard.

June ran up to him, digging coins from her pocket. “My fortune,” she said, “por favor.”

“In the morning,” he said distinctly.

June looked closely at the tiny prophets clinging wearily to the bars of their cage, at their tiny breasts and dull feathers. Only a few rolled papers tied with rough string were on the bottom of the cage.

“More in the morning,” he said. “Better for you.”

“No,” June said. “I need it now. Morning no good. No está bien, ” she said cautiously. “That one, Planeta, I want her to do it.”

“Importa poco.”

“What?” June said.

“It makes little difference.”

“Planeta,” she insisted. She pointed to the little one with the dark, opaque eyes that looked as though they’d been ringed in crayon.

“That is Justicio,” he said. “Justicio,” he sang softly, “Justicio…”

The bird dropped to the soiled floor of the cage and seized a tiny scroll as if it were a seed of much importance, one that could nourish it throughout the night. June pressed her fingers to the crookedly woven bars, almost expecting to receive a slight shock. The bird knocked the paper against her fingers. Once. Twice. She took it and the bird fluttered upward to its perch, where it crouched like a clump of earth.

“Oh, June,” Abby called. “What does it say?”

She turned toward her friends and walked slowly toward them, unrolling the paper. The writing was florid and crowded. There were many unfamiliar words. Caroline knew the language best, then Howard. What a mistake this had been! She would need time to study it and there was no time. Everyone was looking at her.

“Oh, it’s just silly,” she said, and threw it in the fire, where it burned sluggishly. No one attempted to retrieve it.

“God, isn’t it late, where are my parents?” Abby said, yawning. “I want to go to bed.”

June sat with them all a little while longer before going to her room. She lay on her bed discouraged, uncomfortably, listlessly awake. She heard a wailing from far away, but when she listened closely she could not hear it. She listened avidly now. Nothing. She could not recall the cadence of the drums. She had lied to James about that. But she could picture the anda being borne down the streets. That she would remember. It was fascinating to have seen the designs so meticulously created and then the anda passing, being borne on, swaying, and in its wake the designs smeared, crushed, a scattered wonder. And that part, the after, had been fascinating too.

But she didn’t really believe it was fascinating. It wasn’t good to deceive yourself. She thought about Howard, hating him and his cold grin. He was fleshy, did he not know that? Fleshier than most. He was not attractive. That was a lie, what Howard had done. It could hardly be anything else. She thought of the mannequins praying in their cell. A lie, too, but one that was funny. Things had to be funny.

—

In the morning, Caroline’s dog was gone again. The rope had been knotted any number of times; it was always breaking. And when it broke, the dog would escape from the courtyard and, barking with joy, run through the streets. Caroline said that when it disappeared for good, it would be time to go. She had heard somewhere that angels tell you when it’s time to leave a place by leaving just before you. June thought she had heard that too. Something like that.