The Waking (9 page)

Day breaks gray, brown, and yellow, and I’m still standing at the rail as the river seems to straighten itself out, one straight shot, Slade tells me, into Marietta.

“
See all those blue, pink, and white flowers?” he asks, pointing to the shore.

“
Yeah.”

“
They’re gonna be strawberries, millions and millions of strawberries.”

Though it’s kind of mean to make a man’s mouth water for fruit when he’s just had five days of the runs, I smile.

“
You smell ‘em?”

“
No.” I sniff the air. “But I smell something.”

He pats my back. “You’re just smelling the dew and the earth, Manny Mann.”

Good smells. I’ve missed them.

“
Water’s up quite a bit or you might be able to see all sorts of animals on the shore.”

“
Like what?” Only animals on the Hill were dogs that could kill you.

“
You name it. Deer, otters, herons, quail, squirrel. I once saw a snapping turtle big enough to feed a family, and I hear there are water snakes big enough to eat fish in one bite.” He winces as some country music blasts from somewhere below us. “I hate that music so much! You like bluegrass?”

I don’t even know what it is. I shrug.

“
That’s the Ohio River for you, nothing but bluegrass and country. I tried to get work on the Mississippi so I could get away from that noise. I’d also be closer to home.”

“
Where’s that?” And I’m surprised I haven’t asked him that yet.

“
St. Louis. East St. Louis, Illinois, to be exact, home of Miles Davis.”

“
Who?”

Slade’s face widens out, his mouth an O. “You never heard of Miles Davis?”

“
No. Did he play for the Cardinals?”

The O gets wider. “The Cardinals? Miles played with lots of folks, but he never played for the Cardinals. Miles played trumpet, man, he played cool jazz.”

“
Oh.”

“
He sneaked on and played with Dizzy Gillespie when he was just fifteen. You have heard of Dizzy Gillespie, right?”

“
Yeah. The guy with the big cheeks.”

“
Right. Davis was just plain cool, man. He even played with Charlie Parker and John Coltrane. You have to have heard of them.”

“
They were …” I see pictures of them in my head from on the walls at the Crawford Grill. “Saxophone players.”

“
Yeah. Too bad about Charlie, dead at twenty-nine from the same stuff that you’re beating. Anyway, because of Miles Davis, I am a big fan of jazz in any shape or form, but here I am, hooked to a boat on the Ohio playing bluegrass.” He checks his watch. “Got to get ready to dock this crate.”

“
So the captain can see his girlfriend?”

“
Shh,” he says, and he winks. “Engine trouble, remember?”

“
Right. Engine trouble.”

The sun seems to flush the clouds after that, shimmers of light receding, flashing, and the water becomes muddier. I see only the tops of trees where whole islands used to be because of the rising water, and I look up at folks looking down from an L-shaped bridge, watching them watching me. On the other side of bridge, I see a magnificent old steamboat, the
American Queen
, tied up near a sign on a hillside that says “Marietta” in all capital letters. When we don’t stop right away or turn up another river we pass, I wonder how or if we’re going to get to Marietta at all. Maybe we’re not stopping.

Farther south, though, we slide into a long dock on the Ohio side, railroad tracks just up a hill, and men stream out from under me throwing lines, laughing, joking, and generally whooping it up. But it’s not like a regular dock with people there waiting for us. It’s kind of all by itself at the edge of some woods.

“
And how is that dysentery, Mr. Mann?”

I turn to see the captain wearing nearly the same thing as I’m wearing. “Better, much better.”

“
Are you well enough to disembark?” he asks.

“
I think so.”

He shoots out a hand, and I shake it. “It was good to have you aboard, Mr. Mann. I hope you have a safe journey from here on.”

Which means I can’t come back. “Uh, yeah. I can make my way back. Thanks for the ride.”

He turns to go then pivots back to me, squinting. “You were lucky this time, Mr. Mann. Next time you do any canoeing, don’t do it at night in the middle of a river during a rainstorm.”

Canoeing? I haven’t been in a canoe since Camp Allequippa. “Yes, sir. Thanks for the advice.”

He steps closer and hands me a roll of bills. “The men wanted you to have this, for your trouble. There ought to be enough there for bus fare back to Pittsburgh.”

There has to be two or three hundred dollars in my hand. Just having it there, feeling it in my hand, starts me thinking about things I don’t want to think about. And I hear a voice, an old scratchy voice …

It’ll feel so good, Manny, so good …

God, I’m starting to sweat. “I can’t take this.” I put it out in front of me palm up.

So good, like liquid sunshine.

He doesn’t take the money. “The men collected it just for you, Mr. Mann.”

“
Yeah, but …” And now my mouth is watering.

Just a little stick, and the world will be golden warm.

I take a twenty and shove the rest into the captain’s hand. “Let them, uh, let them have a nice dinner out. On me.”

The captain blinks. “You have a problem with our cook?”

“
Oh no. The food was excellent.” Especially the soup. I wish I could take some to-go.

“
Are you sure about this?”

“
Yes sir.” I pocket the twenty. It ought to be enough for me to buy a belt, some underwear, a toothbrush, some toothpaste, maybe even a Big Mac or two.

He takes the money and tucks it into his shirt pocket. “How are you going to get back home then?”

I want to tell him that a junkie with too much money will never go home, but I can’t. “I’ll figure out something.” I see Slade below me mouthing, “Let’s go, man.”

The captain stares hard at me. “There wasn’t a canoe, was there?”

I sigh. “No.”

“
Were you swimming?”

Yeah, Slade threw me in the river, but I wouldn’t call it swimming. More like sinking. “No.”

“
Then how’d you get on my boat?”

I look down at my two-toned boots. “I jumped.”

“
You what?”

“
I jumped from the McKees Rocks Bridge in Pittsburgh.”

He blinks hard. “You were trying to kill yourself?”

“
No. I was trying to save myself.”

The captain squints. “Were you being chased?”

By the biggest demon that I’ve ever known. “Yes sir.”

“
What would have happened if I had contacted the authorities?” he asks.

I’d be back waiting for the “word” on Wylie right about now or back at County standing beside a window. “We wouldn’t be here in Marietta on such a pretty day.”

The captain straightens up. “And twenty dollars will be enough for you?”

“
More than enough.” The less money I have on me, the better.

Slade is halfway up the stairs, and he looks worried.

“
Thanks for your, uh, hospitality, Cap’n,” I say.

“
Permission to go ashore, Cap’n?” Slade says once he gets to the top.

The captain looks at Slade. He’s debating something, I’m sure. “Permission granted.”

“
Thank you, Cap’n, sir,” Slade says, and he cuts his eyes at me to join him.

“
See you,” I say.

I walk past the captain and am halfway down the stairs when the captain calls Slade back up. “What’d you tell him?” Slade whispers.

“
The truth.”

“
What?”

“
I told him I jumped.”

“
Why’d you … ” He shakes his head. “Wait on the dock for me.”

I don’t have to wait long. Slade strides up to me with the biggest grin on his face. “You
really
told him you jumped.”

“
Yeah. You aren’t in trouble, are you?”

“
Nah. All I got was a mythology lesson about some cat named Icarus.”

“
Who?”

“
Don’t worry about it.” He flags down a pickup truck full of other deckhands, and we squeeze into the back.

“
Where’d you get the truck?” I ask Slade as we rumble off.

Slade shrugs. “It’s always here for us. Think it belongs to the captain.”

I look behind us and see no other vehicles. “How will the captain get to town?”

The others start snickering and laughing.

“
What?” I ask.

“
Manny,” Slade says, “that towboat is the captain’s wife and life. He’d never leave his wife.”

The others are still laughing and carrying on.

“
What’s so funny?” I ask.

“
She
comes to him, you understand?” Slade says. “The man hasn’t been off that boat for as long as I’ve worked for him.”

“
Oh.”

“
And none of us have ever seen her either.”

Slade waves a roll of money in the air, and the others stare. “We’re gonna be out a long time, fellas, thanks to Manny here.” He starts handing out twenties. “Make sure the boys up front get some.”

The road parallels the Ohio before turning what seems like north beside that other river we passed.

“
That’s the Muskingum,” Slade tells me. “They say the catfish in there can weigh up to two hundred pounds.”

“
Two
hundred
pounds?”

“
Yep. I remember watching this one guy using parachute cord to catch them, I kid you not. He would take whole frozen chickens and stick them on these huge hooks, and then he’d string that parachute cord all the way across the river.”

Catching catfish … with chicken. “Ever see him bring one in?”

“
Sure did, and that fish’s head was as big as your chest. Even heard a tale of a catfish eating a little dog swimmin’ in some river somewhere. Ate that dog
whole.
I guess a catfish will eat just about anythin’. Can you imagine that? Here, Fifi, come here boy, and then—WHAM!”

We cross a bridge over the Muskingum, and I see rowers out on the water.

“
Crew team’s still practicing,” Slade says. “They must be going to nationals this year.”

“
How do you know that?”

I hear more laughter. “Manny, we practically live here,” Slade says. “On the way up if we’re ahead of schedule, we stop. On the way back, we stop. Folks at the Time Out Bar know us by name.” He nods at the cab of the truck. “Two of them up there got girlfriends here, too.”

We turn off the bridge onto Front Street and head through a town with no building taller than five stories. I want to ask why, but I’m getting tired of not knowing things. I bet it has something to do with floods.

The truck screeches to a halt opposite the Time Out, a bar that looks like every other bar, I guess. Big picture window, lots of neon beer signs, cigarette butts littering the sidewalk outside, an alley running beside it. All but the driver and another guy get out, and the truck rolls away toward that steamboat I saw before. Slade and I are left standing on the sidewalk, the others streaming into the Time Out, which just happens to be open this early in the morning.

“
That’s the
American Queen
,” Slade says. “A very nice boat. Goes all the way from here to New Orleans. I think it even starts out in Pittsburgh.”

“
It looks familiar.”

“
We sometimes pass her in the night, and that is something. She’s like a lit-up birthday cake on the water.” He claps his hands. “Ready to shop?”

“
I’m ready to eat.”

“
Sure, sure.”

We cross the street and go into Brownie’s Donut & Pastry Shop, and before I can finish looking at all the pastries, rolls, and doughnuts behind a glass case, Slade calls out, “A bag of pepperoni rolls.”

I’m staring hard at some freshly glazed doughnuts. “And a dozen of these.”

“
Make it two,” Slade says. “And a six-pack of Coke.”

We take our “lunch” down Front Street to the wharf where the
American Queen
lies tied to a pier at the bottom of a bricked walk, and we lounge on the grass just above the Marietta sign. The
American Queen
is glorious. I count six decks, American flags rippling in the breeze on the top deck, a massive red paddlewheel in the back, two black smokestacks sprouting in the front like torches.

“
Incredible,” I say as I finish my fifth doughnut in five minutes.

“
Careful now,” Slade says, munching on a pepperoni roll covered with mustard. “You’re liable to get addicted to sugar next.”

My stomach makes all sorts of noises, but I don’t want to stop. Sugar just tastes sweeter now. “Sugar isn’t addictive.”