Primal (4 page)

Uncle Wes beams, “Cool. You see! I always get the best
gifts.” He turns to Hank, “Remember when I got you that hockey stick?”

“Uncle Wes, that was 1979.”

“See! You remember.”

Jimmy’s robot is followed by a new Xbox game, a skateboard,
from his Aunt Emily and Grandma Carolyn. And from Aunt Jill two bottles of
extra strength sunblock and a documentary titled
Food, Inc
.

While the Kraft family celebrates Jimmy’s birthday, Ben
Burne’s family also celebrates. They, too, have a birthday today.

* * *

Gravel Burne walks down the narrow windowless hallway toward
his mother’s kitchen. His feet are flat and heavy. He is a gristly
fifty-year-old with wiry arms and legs, and a mess of cheap hair plugs that
look like clumps of dead grass. Long on anger, short on thought, he is the
authority around his two other brothers while Ben is in the pen.

Small table lamps, with yellowed onionskin shades, shed the
only light in this dreary apartment. City buildings rise up tall on all four
sides blocking out the sun’s natural light and turning the room a bitter color.
The windows don’t open so the air instead is stale and smells of mold and
Bengay. The paint peels on the door moldings. The furniture resembles its
owners: dysfunctional and warped.

In the kitchen, Theo Burne empties the jar of Ragu into the
pot on the stove. Theo is an overly muscular, mildly retarded, mute man who
follows his brothers like a puppy and has been trained well by them. Kent
Burne, who is a year younger than Gravel, sits at the small table complaining
to his mother.

“Most the trouble with women is they got no sense of humor,
except for you, Mother.” Sitting across from him, the wisp of an old lady grins
exposing a gaping black toothless hole. Kent continues, “I was at the Lenny’s
BBQ with a prime piece-a-ass I picked up at the Walmart, and I let out this
earth rockin’ fart, and the bitch don’t even crack a grin. Instead, she looks
at me like her shit don’t stink.”

Gravel enters, “You might have more luck if you stop dating
girls with hair on their back.”

“Great. Advice from a guy who owes a fortune to 976-U-CUM.”

A muffled grunting noise comes from Theo over at the stove.
From the look on his face, it must be amusement. With the addition of Gravel,
three of the four Burne brothers are present for their mother’s special
eightieth birthday party. They are only missing their oldest brother Ben.

Theo spoons out macaroni from the pot on the stove, pours
some Ragu over it and plops it down on the table for the family. He takes a
couple of used, dirty spoons from the sink and hands them out. The four of them
sit around the beaten up plastic table and for a moment or two there is only
the sound of the spoons hitting plates and sloppy chewing.

Then Gravel says, “Mother, in honor of your special
birthday, Theo baked you a cake.”

“Theo,” she pets him like he’s a dog, “you were always my
favorite - after Ben, of course.”

“Of course, after Ben.” Gravel’s lifelong envy comes alive
in the room and it’s ugly.

Mother continues, “Yes, Theo, you were always a good quiet
kid.”

“He’s mute,” Gravel says annoyed.

“He’s not mute. He just doesn’t have anything important to
say. You could learn from him.”

“I learned everything I need to already.”

“You know, Mother,” Kent says, “all the shrinks on the
inside told me you’re not supposed to have favorites ‘cause it sucks for our
development.”

“Yeah, so, some people prefer other people. Get used to it.”
The old woman looks around the kitchen and then says, “Let’s do this. I want my
cake in the bedroom.” Mother gets up and heads for the bedroom. The three men
each grab some cake for themselves.

“Fried that guy at the state pen last night,” Gravel says.

Kent answers, “Firing squad’s a much better way to go than
the chair.”

“Nah, a good old-fashioned hanging - that’s the way.”

Theo cuts and puts a nice piece of cake on a plate for
Mother Burne.

”I heard when you hang - your dick gets hard.”

“Damn right.” Gravel grins at him.

“Okay, so that’s one good thing.” They share a brotherly
chuckle.

The bedroom has a twin mattress on top of the metal frame
with no box spring. The sheets are grimy. Mother Burne is propped against the
dingy pillow. Theo, Kent, and Gravel take seats on the sides of the mattress
surrounding her. Gravel has brought in his cake and he licks some frosting from
his fingers. It’s the closest he comes to washing his hands.

Mother Burne takes a bite of cake and confirms, “Now, boys,
you know what you’re supposed to do, right? You’ve got no confusion?”

“First, we get Ben. Then we go across Superior to meet up
with Uncle Rafe in Canada,” Kent replies.

“We’ve always been a close family. I’d like to think you
boys will stay that way when I’m gone.”

“Yes, Mother,” Kent says. Theo nods. Gravel hovers like a
predator.

“Listen to your brother Ben. He’s got more smarts than all
you put together.”

Gravel rolls his eyes and swears under his breath.

She smacks his face. “Only idiots mumble.”

Kent asks, “So, Mother, sure you don’t want to hang around
‘til we get Ben?”

“Eighty’s enough.” She turns to Theo, “Son, I trust you.”
Theo’s eyes take in her words. He nods. She continues, “So, don’t fuck up.”

Theo takes one of the pillows and plunges it down over his
mother’s face. He presses out the air. In mid-bite, Gravel looks up from his
cake. Kent leans in closer with interest. They watch as their mother begins to
flail. Theo presses down harder. She kicks. She slaps the mattress. She grabs
out into the air. She lifts her body at the hips. They watch. A long, long,
cold moment, and then the flailing stops. Wait. The old woman goes limp. Wait.
Wait.

Kent says admiringly, “She was a wiry old thing.”

“Yeah, well, I never fuckin’ liked her.” Gravel gets up.
“Good job, Theo.” He’s happy for the compliment. The three of them get up and
leave the room.

“Did you know that ‘fuck’ is the only word we have that can
go into any sentence?” Kent asks.

“Yeah?’

“Sure, it can be ‘get fucked.’ It can be ‘cool fuckin’
shoes.’ It can be ‘Hey, fucker!’ Yup, really it goes easy into every fuckin’
sentence.”

“Then that’s a useful fuckin’ word.” Gravel grins, pleased
with himself. All three of them are smiling as they grab a bag left by the door
and exit.

* * *

For Hank’s family the saying of good-byes is its own unique
time-consuming ritual. Each family member needs to hug and kiss each other
family member. It is a mélange of motion with an underlying order. There is a
lot of circling around and gushing; when it’s done, everyone has been touched
by everyone else. It is late before the last lingering family member, overloaded
with leftovers, pulls out of the driveway. Alison closes the front door and
leans up against it, tired. Hank’s family is exhausting.

Polly is coming in the morning to finish the clean-up, so
Alison takes the stairs two-at-a-time, and crosses the hall, into her bedroom.
She tugs a suitcase out onto the bedroom floor. She stops in the doorway of her
closet and scans the hangers: skirts, nope, dresses, nope, nice pants, all
unlikely to be useful - she has a closet full of inappropriate clothing. She
shrugs. Think. Cold dense rainy woods. Well, I don’t know why I don’t own the
long wool underwear and neoprene yellow poncho that I evidently need. Really,
what was I thinking last Christmas when I asked for a Kindle? Oh, I know, I
couldn’t imagine actually being somewhere without Internet. I wonder if I lay
my cutest bikini on the bed if Hank and Jimmy would consider cutting this
fishing thing short out of kindness, or even pity. She crosses to the bureau
and pulls out a pair of sweat pants, two pairs of old jeans, and a sweatshirt;
how attractive, I’m bringing my best in-case-of-freezing-flood-and-mud resort
wear. She arranges the bulky items inside the suitcase, and adds a grungy
shredded pair of sneakers she has kept, in case she ever had the desire to
paint or work in a garden, which she hasn’t, because both involve the potential
for dirt under her fingernails, which she can’t stand. What else? She looks in
the closet. I need some arctic-level pajamas. She sees Hank. He is standing in
the doorway. The grin on his face makes his eyes bright. His thick eyebrows are
raised in a humorous question. A relaxed comfort exists in the space between
them now, as it has for years, the way it does when the struggle is over and
the coupling is complete; whatever, they’re in for the long haul. They will
grow old together, sit side-by-side between the arms of an ample loveseat,
leaning on each other, and looking out at the world, reliving their shared
life. They will be aware of each other’s thoughts in the most intimate way, and
they will enjoy the sustained blissful contentment of knowing another person
thoroughly.

“What?” she asks. “What are you grinning at?”

“The vision of you in nothing but fishing waders.”

She cocks her head, “It’s a little sick the way you’re
enjoying this.”

“You underestimate yourself. You always have. You might love
it.”

“That’s true. Perhaps I’ve been hiding all my outdoor skills
from you all these years.”

“If they’re anywhere near as good as your indoor skills I’m
excited.” They share a knowing smile. Hank walks over and takes Alison in his
arms. “Seriously, honey, I can take Jimmy alone and you can go to the day spa
and get peeled or hot stoned or kneaded like dough, if you like.”

“And let you get all the glory? No way. I’m not backing out.
It is exactly what everyone expects me to do and I’m a little tired of being
predictable.”

“In that case, I’m going to knead you like dough myself
right now.”

“Please tell me there aren’t a lot of bad baking metaphors
on their way.”

“I’m going to grease the pan.”

“Stop.”

“Play with it until it rises.”

“Really.” She tries hard not to grin. “Stop.”

Hank didn’t always love Alison. They had been dating for
such a long time that he got married because it felt like the next thing to do.
He fell in love with her slowly over the course of the next ten years. It is
the greatest secret of his life that when he said “I do” he meant “Why not?” He
became aware of his love when it surprised him. He listens to his friends
complain about their relationships, and he feels embarrassed by the extent of
his luck. He marvels at how close he came to disaster by not realizing how
important it was for him to have her. Perhaps there was some invisible inner
compass guiding him into these arms, this life. And when he began to love her,
it awakened a set of instincts he didn’t know he had. He wanted to take care of
her. Watch over her. Protect her. It made him experience being a man in a
completely different way. He had never struggled to get a date: his tall frame
and uncommonly soft eyes served him well. He had been a college athlete and
women seemed to be plentiful. He felt manly running around scoring at will. He
had been an active participant in the he-man bluster and locker room bragging,
ten chicks, twenty babes, the quantity syndrome - and then, one day, he saw it
for what it was: it was backwards. Any man can satisfy one woman for one night;
it takes real skill to keep the same woman satisfied year after year,
especially after the heightened sensitivity from newness wears off. A guy has
to have game: new moves. His buddies needed new women all the time because they
were throwing the same old passes and the receiver was bored. Last week, as
Alison was slipping her sweater off over her head he grabbed her arms trapping
her inside and laid her onto the bed where he then took his time. He had lit a
candle and he began by dribbling a few drops of wax onto her bare belly. They
made love like teenagers, like they were hungry. He was thinking now that this
dough concept might have something going for it. Baking. Dough. Frosting maybe?
Yeah. There’s something there.

* * *

Theo drives. Gravel sits shotgun with one foot up on the
dashboard. He basks in smug supremacy; for the moment, he’s in control, which
feels orgiastic. A sensation of well-being spreads over him. He is relaxed. He
hadn’t known what a liberation it would be to get rid of his mother - one less
thing to bother with. Old bitch never liked him. She was a fuckin’ thorn.

Kent sits in the middle of the back seat with his elbows
crossed over the front in between his brothers. He looks out through the
windshield. It’s a coal black Minnesota night. The car’s headlights reach out
onto the opaqueness illuminating the road and a multitude of frenzied insects
many of which splatter their guts all over the windshield.

Kent says, “When we get to Canada I’m gonna run the cock
fights.”

Gravel smirks, “You gonna raise birds?”

“They aren’t birds. They’re fighting machines. But first,
you gotta get ‘em in shape.”

“In shape, huh? What d’ ya tie little weights to their wings
and take ‘em to the gym?” Gravel asks, rolling his eyes at Theo who snorts
happily.

“No. You run ‘em around for eight hours every day until
their legs get like little stubby tree trunks. Then, you put ‘em together and
just let ‘em go.”

“Sounds too much like work.” Gravel looks out the window and
sees the lights of the small rural hospital just coming into view.

“They fight to the death on instinct. Even if you raise ‘em
nice, when you put ‘em together - bam! They rip each other apart.”

“How many you gonna buy?”

“Only need two. I’ll buy a male one and a female one. Put
‘em together and let ‘em fuck their brains out.”

Gravel’s tone drips with derision, “You’re gonna get a
female cock?”

“Sure. I’ll have baby cocks all over the fuckin’ place. I’ve
been readin’ about it a lot.”