The Waking (11 page)

I catch up to Slade as he’s going up the hill. “Slade!” I call, and he turns.

“
Fired already?”

“
No, I just …” I can’t find the words.

“
I feel you, man. You don’t need to say anything, and don’t go saying good-bye. Say ‘see you later’ instead.”

“
I didn’t want to say any of that.”

“
Oh?”

“
I just wanted to thank you.”

He grips my shoulders. “You don’t have to do that.”

“
You’ve done so much.”

He shakes his head. “You did most of it, Manny. All I did was help you out a little. You went through all that all by yourself, and don’t let anyone ever tell you different. You did it your self.” He hits his chest twice with his fist. “Much respect.”

“
Thank you.”

He cuffs my cheek with one of those massive hands. “Just live, Manny Mann. That’s all you got to do. Just live. And remember. Remember everything.”

“
I’ll try.”

He looks back at Rose. “Don’t keep ‘ma’am’ waiting.”

“
Yeah.”

“
And don’t keep Mary waiting too long either, understand?”

“
Yeah.”

“
You got my social security number memorized?”

I shake my head. “I’ll just use my own.” I’m tired of lying.

“
You sure?”

“
Come on. Who would believe I was Manny Slade?”

“
I might.” He laughs. “Anyone at the Slade family reunion would, too, long as you had the T-shirt.” He laughs again. “Go on, Emmanuel. I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

“
Thanks.” I want to say so much more to him, but I don’t know what to say. “Uh, tell your family I said hello.”

He shakes my hand. “You know I will. I’m gonna tell them all about the man who fell out of the sky into my life.”

“
They probably won’t believe you.”

“
Sure they will, and even if they don’t, it’s a good story, right?”

“
Right.”

“
Take care.”

I watch him stride up the hill, his broad shoulders casting shadows ahead of him, and I realize that I’ve just said good-bye to a good man. I haven’t known too many good men, and it leaves me feeling kind of empty.

“
I ain’t got all day!” Rose yells from the boat. “You comin’ or what?”

“
Sorry!” I call out, and I walk up the gangplank.

“
Manny, you got nothing to be sorry for,” she says, and she takes me by the elbow toward the stairs. “Thanking someone for saving your life ain’t nothing to be sorry for.”

“
What?”

“
Rufus told me all about it.”

“
How would he know?”

“
Cuz your friend told him, and he
is
your friend for telling me. He didn’t tell me it all, mind you, but he told me enough.”

I can’t believe this. “And you want me to work for you anyway?”

We start up the stairs. “We all got demons, Manny. All of us. Just try to keep ‘em in check, okay?”

“
Yes ma’am.”

“
And if you ever need anything, just ask.”

“
I will.”

“
I’m not kidding about that,” Rose says softly. “I mean, if you
ever
need anything, anything at all, you come to me.”

“
Okay.”

She stops at the top of the stairs in a carpeted hallway. “You believe in God, Manny?”

I’m beginning to. “Yes.”

“
So do I. And I also believe God puts people in our way sometimes, and today, God put you in my way.” She looks down at my pants. “And God’s tellin’ me to do something about your clothes. Child, you are a sight! We got to get you a uniform quick.”

“
But what about the, um, physical and the—”

“
Plenty of time for that later,” she interrupts. “One thing you’re gonna like about the
American Queen
is that nothin’, and I repeat, nothin’ happens quick on this boat. Time’s gonna stand still for a while. You up to it?”

“
I think so.”

“
Good. So what you want to be, a cook or a busboy?”

“
I’ve never done either.”

She shakes her head slightly but still smiles. “Then you’re about to learn how to be
both.
”

“
I don’t know,” I say. “I’d probably be better just cleaning up, doing dishes or something.” Staying out of the way. Staying anonymous.

“
How you know how good you’ll be at something until you try? If Rose Neal says you’re gonna be a cook and a busboy, you are
going
to be a cook and a busboy.”

“
Yes ma’am.”

“
And no matter what you do on this boat, you are going to make haste slowly.”

I have no idea what that means. “Make haste … slowly?”

“
You’ll see what I mean at dinner.”

“
Today?” I ask. “I’m starting today?”

“
You got any other plans today?” Rose asks.

“
No ma’am, it’s just that I’m still a little weak.”

She smiles. “And work’s gonna make you strong.”

6: On the
American Queen
, Marietta to Huntington, West Virginia

After the fastest physical in history, Doc Agee, a wrinkled white man with bushy gray eyebrows, dresses the postage stamp on my leg. “If you come by tomorrow, I’ll change the dressing again,” he says.

“
That’s all right,” I say. “I can take care of it.” Then I don’t move, because I know there must be more to a Coast Guard physical than this.

“
That’s it,” he says.

I still don’t move.

“
You’re done.”

“
I thought there would be a, um, drug test.”

He nods. “Yep, there’ll be one of those. In about thirty days.” He folds his hands and raises those bushy eyebrows. “Unless you have any reason to believe that I can administer the test sooner.”

Even the doctor knows already? Word gets around fast on this boat. “Uh, should be twenty-five days or so, I guess.”

“
Good, good. Drink lots of liquids and watch what you eat.”

“
I will.”

“
And you might want to stay on the boat, not take too many detours.”

Good idea. “I understand.”

The application process isn’t as quick. The Human Resources Coordinator or HRC, a white lady with a pair of Granny glasses resting on a pointy nose, sits behind her desk in a business suit and skirt, and she’s nice enough, but it’s been so long since I had to fill out anything that my pencil shakes. I end up writing then erasing then writing again on nearly every line. After name, address, date of birth, and social security number, I get to the race section where it says to only mark one box. Slade and Rose said I should mark “Hispanic,” but I could just mark both “Black (not Hispanic)” and “White (not Hispanic)” or all of them. I don’t know much about my ancestors, but maybe they
were
Asian or Pacific islanders.

“
Ma’am?” I ask her.

“
Yes?”

“
My mama was, um, black, and my daddy was a Cajun, so, uh, what should I mark here?”

“
Mark ‘Other’ at the bottom.”

“
Oh.”

I mark “Other,” even though I don’t feel right about it. I don’t feel like an “Other.” Yet maybe that’s what I am, I don’t know. My stomach growls. I really feel like having another doughnut, but Slade took them with him.

When I get to the emergency contact part, I can’t think of anyone other than Auntie June and Mary. On the third line, I write “Luke Slade” with his address: “the Boonesboro.” I hope she doesn’t check over this too carefully.

I catch my breath when I get to the part about medical problems. “Do you have a medical condition or other health impairment that will keep you from performing your expected duties?” it asks. “If so, explain.”

I’ve told the truth so far. Is addiction a medical condition? Or is it a choice? I made the choice to shoot heroin, and my body and mind became impaired because of that choice. My choice caused the medical condition, and the choice came first. I mark the “No” box.

“
Have you ever been convicted of a felony?” stops me completely. The first couple I pleaded down to misdemeanors, but the last two, I couldn’t. I mark the “Yes” box and write the explanation, giving as much information as I can remember about dates and charges. Maybe they’ll appreciate my honesty. Either that or I’m going back into Marietta in a hurry.

“
Finished?” she asks.

I put a somewhat decent signature at the bottom, though I have to double-check my cursive M’s and N’s. “Yes ma’am.”

She hands me a folder, my name already on the tab. “Just put it in there.”

I slide it into the folder and hand the folder back to her. She swivels in her chair and puts it into a file cabinet without even reading it. “All done except for …” She pulls two more sheets from a drawer and holds them in the air. “These are your W-two and direct deposit forms.” She hands them to me. “We have a bank on board if you want your check direct-deposited here. Most of the crew uses it.”

So they won’t be paying me in cash, which is great. I sign up for direct deposit first and hand that sheet back. The W-2, though, almost defeats me. “Um, ma’am, I’ve never filled out one of these.” The Manpower folks took care of all that for me.

“
Trouble with the exemptions part?” she asks.

“
Yeah. I mean, yes ma’am.”

“
Well, you should count one for yourself, and is there a spouse?”

Not yet. “No ma’am.”

“
Children?”

Not yet. “No ma’am.”

“
So you’ll be claiming one exemption. Just mark a number one in the box.”

“
But what if …”

She looks up. “Yes?”

“
What if I plan to get married by the end of the year, and I, um, also have a kid by the end of the year? Could I take more exemptions now?”

She smiles. “That wouldn’t be the best idea since technically you are neither married nor a father at this time.”

In other words, I’d be lying to the government.

“
You are allowed to take one or no exemptions,” she says.

“
What happens if I don’t take any exemptions?” I ask.

“
Your paycheck will be smaller. Uncle Sam will get a bigger portion of your check.”

Well, though Uncle Sam hasn’t been my favorite uncle, it will be better
not
to have money that will burn holes in my hands. “That’s okay.” I write the number zero in the box. I hand the W-2 to her.

“
You forgot to sign it,” she says.

“
Oh.” Only this time, I sign it without my hands shaking, and I don’t have to count my M’s and N’s.

Rose comes and takes me through the ship, which seems like a labyrinth because of all the many twists and turns and passageways, to a cabin somewhere in the middle of the ship. She knocks once and enters. “This will be your cabin. Normally you’d stay in the dormitory with the rest of the crew, but you and Rufus are special.”

“
Rufus?”

“
Rufus is, um, too big and, um, stank for the dormitory,” Rose says. “You two get to stay in an inside stateroom as long as we aren’t at capacity.”

“
What’s special about me?” I ask.

“
You tell me.” She doesn’t blink.

Oh yeah. I rub my scars. “Oh.”

The cabin has shiny wood paneling and contains two small beds, a small dresser, a little bathroom, a TV, and a mirror. It would be easy to get claustrophobic in here, especially with Rufus in the room.

“
Your uniform and a present for you are on your bed,” Rose says.

Beside a uniform, which looks just like Rose’s only with pants instead of a skirt, I open a K-Mart bag and find a three-pack of Hanes underwear, a three-pack of Hanes T-shirts, a belt, and one doughnut wrapped in wax paper. Saint Luke Slade to the rescue.

“
Your, um,
cousin
dropped it off,” Rose says. “I’ll, uh, wait outside till you’re, um,
fully
dressed.”

Which means that she knows I’m not wearing underwear. “Thanks.”

She shuts the door.

That was embarrassing. I eat the doughnut in two bites, drop out of the captain’s pants, and put on some clean white underwear that hang a little loose. The reddish pants I could do without, and the belt’s a little too long, but I’m sure I’ll put on some weight soon. The white long-sleeved shirt is crisp and fits nicely, but the paisley vest hangs on me and I can’t do a thing with the tie. I step out of the cabin into the hallway, the tie one big knot.

Rose chuckles. “Hate ‘em myself, but what are you gonna do?” She ties it up quickly and tightens it against my neck. “There. Oh.” She pulls a gold oval nametag out of her vest pocket and pins it to my vest. “Okay, Emmanuel Mann, are you ready to make haste slowly?”