Theo (21 page)

Sure, honey. She was stirring, moving from pot to pot.

Theo doesn’t know her and doesn’t think his father knows her, so it isn’t like she’s a friend. He cannot remember the last time he was somewhere where there were more kids than adults. He wonders if people from other countries feel this way when they’re in America. Except he does speak the language at least.

Can alcohol make you sick or die. Not like just being drunk. I know about that.

The lady turns to look at him holding a big spoon. It’s shiny and has a yellow handle. It’s new looking.

I have a son who’s about your age. Are you ten.

Yeah.

She turns back around to the pots, pushing the back of her hand against her forehead to move some pink hair out of the way.

Why do you ask. Are you worried that you’re drinking too much.

She’s not looking at him but Theo knows she’s making a joke. No. I just wanted to know. Why do people drink alcohol.

Can you help me here for a minute.

Okay.

Can you go over to that warmer on the table and lift out the pot with the orange tag on top and bring it over here.

Theo scuffed over, tugged out the pot with the orange tag – others were green and blue and two were purple – and walked it over to the lady: What’s the purple for.

Eggplant. Thanks.

Theo stood beside her, looking. She didn’t have polish on her nails and no jewelry – he thought if he only saw her hands he would think she wasn’t a lady; her hands looked like his dad’s, with veins and bones and thick fingers. Can fingers have muscles.

Why do people drink alcohol. It tastes terrible. It’s worse than coffee. Can’t they be relaxed without that. Is that why they take drugs, to be relaxed.

Theo watches her hands, like they’re separate from her, they’re like birds on strings. One flies past to pick something up and then it’s over a pot doing something. The other’s fluttering in the background.

The lady’s reaching into her apron, which is folded up, and she has a towel over her shoulder and one folded over the edge of her apron: I would say so. Some people who take drugs are
unhappy about something. Some people just like the way the drugs make them feel.

How do they make you feel.

Hmm. Like you’re not yourself anymore.

What are you when you’re not yourself.

Good question: she smiled. You’re like a little Zen monk.

What does that mean.

She made a soft face at him: It just means you’re asking questions people have thought about for a long time.

What’s your son’s name.

Marco.

What’s your name.

She smiles at the pot. Leslie.

Theo thinks about outside, sees the green-brown lawn rolling toward the gray trees and the white dunes and the bluegreen ocean.

Maybe your son could come over and play sometime.

She looks at Theo for an instant and turns back to her stuff. That’s very nice. Maybe he could. What kind of things do you like to do.

Theo’s scratching the middle of his back, flicks his hair out of his eyes, remembers Gus, he wants to find Gus.

I’m good at soccer, and I am growing butterflies up in my room.

Oh really. How do you grow butterflies, what do you plant them in.

Theo knows she’s joking. Grownups are so corny. My dad gave me chrysalises. He got them in England and mailed them to me. They’re in my room and you could see them if you want.

Maybe when I finish my work we could go look at them.

Have you seen my grandfather.

Which one is he.

The lady is looking at her watch, big under her right wrist – the dial is black.

Theo thinks of ninjas or spies. His dad has sent him comic books from Japan that have ninjas. If there were ninjas in the house. Or if he were a ninja.

Bye.

Theo runs off, and as he runs he kicks and punches, stopping sometimes to flip hair from his eyes. He moves into the gloom, the house dark at its center even on the brightest day, just a place light can’t reach. Theo likes that sometimes but not today – he punches and kicks his way through it, connecting with shadows that run away. They’ll still be waiting for him, he knows, he has to stay alert. They’re after him and he’s got to get to Gus. Save the prisoner. Move toward the light.

Theo thinks maybe Gus’s back in his room, with his TV. Frieda always says the same TV things, which Theo repeats to her as she’s saying them, and sometimes she smiles at this and sometimes she doesn’t. Television is a desert where the brain goes to die, or something like that. Theo can see her standing in a hotel door she’s just come in through, arms crossed, smoke ribboning up from the cigarette at her elbow, as Theo and a minder watched something called Joanie Loves Chachi, which Theo thought was stupid but couldn’t stop looking at, and Theo said, I asked him to, it’s not his fault.

Who’s the adult here. My god, I’m sounding like a PTA mother. She waved her hands and swept through, she was wearing a jacket with fringe on it and a cowboy hat, and back out and down the hall to her room. Was that in New York. Theo couldn’t remember. Hotels are hard to tell apart.

The heat hits him a couple of feet before the glass doors and then he’s out in it, sun full on the terrace, so he steers toward the tables with metal umbrellas, and the glider under the awning, where he can sit and not sit, keep moving, sliding back and forth, kicking his feet. No adults around. Where’s Gus.

Theo hears sex noise from one of the windows. He knows one of the voices but he can’t hear the words. There’s moaning. Men and women both do it. His face gets hot and he knows where Gus is. He doesn’t know where to go. Maybe the trees, where there’s shade and no one will find him. No one looks that hard anyway, the grownups always get distracted, even when they play hide and seek with him, they give up and laugh and he can hear the ice in their drinks.

Theo’s now running, just running, in a wide arc, a plane sailing, toward the trees and then in, circling. Where can he land. Nowhere. He’ll have to crash, so he prepares for impact. Runs in, catching his crotch on fingers of bush and tree, the sand under his feet prickly – sharp things in the softness.

Hair in his eyes, panting, no people. He hears faint music from the beach – a radio or tape. Something loud is happening, voices yelling, laughing, yelling. Theo finds a sightline back to the house, the lawn empty except for overturned furniture and the scattered remnants of other days, and in the woods, the remnants of a fence.

Theo hears voices, now a little louder. And people are streaming out of the dunes onto the lawn, stumbling and pushing, a wide ragged line of them spreading across the lawn and then narrowing again to go through the glass doors. No Mingus. And Adrian and Colin last, pushing at each other and bumping into each other, Colin with one of the beach umbrellas folded under his arm. The gauntlet has fucking well been tossed, Theo hears.

Adrian and Colin go to the gardener’s shed, as Theo stands watching and then they both come out pushing bicycles, two ladies’ bicycles that are the only ones not too rusted to ride. Adrian’s carrying a beach umbrella now under his skinny arm. And they’re pushing in opposite directions over the lawn, wrestling with bikes and umbrellas. Then, far enough: each turns his bike to face the other and Adrian’s balancing his umbrella on the handlebar and pushing the bike and hopping on and trying to pedal, and wobbling hard, but by standing on the pedals and straining, Theo can see his legs and arms, he’s still only wearing his black underwear, and then Theo sees Colin up and coming too, Adrian and Colin riding at each other holding the umbrellas and then they’re passing and each is poking at the other with the umbrella, jousting. Adrian’s off and over in a blue of bike and arms and legs and umbrella, and Colin is whooping, calling Adrian a foul varlet. Adrian’s still on the grass.

Theo’s not thinking, just running from the woods as Colin’s off the bike, stumbling but upright, oh hello mate, I wondered where you’d got to.

Theo was at his dad’s side, Adrian with a red circle in the center of his forehead.

Are you okay dad.

Don’t know yet. But I want a rematch.

Adrian’s sunglasses were in the grass, and he was struggling to raise himself onto elbows. He’s fine: Colin’s voice, behind.

Bastard. This affair is not ended.

Hey, mate, my steed is still fresh. Care for another.

Adrian is smiling now, but his eyes are closed. This will not go unavenged. Just warning you.

Colin is riding around on the bike and singing. Adrian is up
and running after him with the umbrella, swinging it at Colin’s back, then stops and collapses with his head in his hands. Oww fucking hell. My head is splitting. What did you fucking do to me.

Lucky you were so numb to start with you bloody sponge.

Can’t feel the tips of me fingers, you bloody fuck.

The man with the horse is here, suddenly, Theo concentrating so hard on his dad he’s not noticing anything else. He’s galloping, the horse circling Adrian and Colin, and Adrian is hitting Colin, punching him on his stopped bike and Colin’s ducking away.

Can’t play without fingers, you lousy cunt.

His dad’s always told Theo that sometimes you have to fight, if something’s important enough. Nothing makes his dad madder than music. Is this important.

Peace, gentlemen. The man on the horse is moving his horse sideways against them, pushing, so they have to pay attention to the horse and let go of each other.

Get that fucking animal out of here.

After the riot’s over. The man on the horse is pouring something on Adrian and Colin. It’s a beer. Theo notices bottles tucked into the pockets of the man’s black coat, which is probably hot because it’s really hot right now.

Get off my lawn. Adrian is hitting the horse with the umbrella. Colin’s pulling him away as the horse shies, and the man is putting his hand on the horse’s neck and trying to calm it.

My head is killing me, Adrian’s screaming.

Mine too, Colin yells. We need medicine.

Theo’s standing behind them, saying dad. His dad’s not hearing. Adrian pulls out his knife again – Colin knows and Theo knows and Theo grabs his arm from behind, dad no.

The man on the horse holds a pistol in one hand, now. It’s a big one, with a long barrel. He’s pointing it.

That better be a fucking cigarette lighter, you poncey cowboy. Adrian staggering, pushes Theo off and runs at the horse’s rump and gives it a slap that echoes. The horse moves but doesn’t jump or go crazy.

There’s a shot. Theo sees the ground jump hear his foot, a little bit of grass and dirt in the air, the horse is neighing and the man is circling and laughing, and Colin is standing with arms crossed and Adrian is lying on the ground with an arm laid across his eyes.

The horse man stares holding a hand in front of his eyes, the long gun hanging down in the other hand, pointed at the ground. Then he raises the gun and sights along the barrel, aims back toward the house. The red end of a car is sticking out at the house side, from the front lawn and driveway. The man shoots and there’s a loud ping.

Theo’s suddenly back in himself: he realizes he’d sort of gone away. His dad is smiling under his arm across his face, saying, I need something. I need a better class of guest. And sorry, Theo, love.

It’s okay dad.

My head’s not right. I need to get out of the sun for a bit, man. Let’s get some chow. Where’s Gus.

Theo perks up – I’ve been looking for him too. I think he’s. I think he’s doing something with a lady.

Sometimes Theo’s able to imagine what happens besides noise, but it’s only with regular people, not old people. Does it still work the same. Now he tries not to.

Others wander out of the glass doors now, toward Adrian, who’s on his feet now and with an arm on Theo and an arm
on Colin. The man with the horse stands off at the lawn’s side, the horse’s big neck a ramp to the ground where the big head is cropping at the short grass. Theo can see the horse’s pink tongue. There’s a high whining and someone’s riding Colin’s motorbike out of the ballroom across the terrace and onto the grass, two ladies, and they’ve taken off their bathing suits. The back one spills from the seat onto grass, laughing.

Shit, man, I haven’t slept since Monday, Adrian says, shaking his head like a dog. Where are the dogs, Theo wonders. He can’t remember the last time he saw them.

Adrian’s shaking his left arm, touching the tips of his fingers to each other, a fingering exercise: I think I’ll live, unfortunately, but I need medicine. My head’s a mess.

The fallen off lady is standing, without clothes, red sided. The other lady is at the far end of the lawn and turning, sending up chunks of dirt.

The naked lady is now walking toward them, looking at Adrian. She is pretty. Theo’s heart is pounding and she’s looking at Theo now, and at his shorts.

Oh, honey. I guess he’s growing up.

Theo’s face is burning, he doesn’t know where to look. Adrian claps him on the back: Beautiful, Theo, it’s okay. And you: Adrian’s reaching for the lady and putting an arm around her. Help me with my headache.

Colin’s shouting in the background, climbing on another man’s back and then struggling, trying to get on the man’s shoulders but the man can’t hold Colin’s feet and Colin can’t get his legs over the man’s shoulders. Colin’s yelling: Theo, bring me a stepladder. In the carriage house.

Theo’s only previously been inside the carriage house when the heavy doors were already swung open. He remembers rusty
pitchforks and shovels and other tools he didn’t recognize. And an old piano, except rotten and spotty, with the wires inside rusted and broken: an upright, not the flat kind.

Colin had been in the carriage house that previous time. He was swinging a shovel at the old piano.

Why are you doing that, Theo asked.

Theo sidled into the dark place wispy with cobwebs and a giant spider of webby chandelier dangling. Long-handled tools lined the wall, hanging. A cigarette burned on the piano’s lid and Colin picked it up and took a deep breath from it. He left it in his mouth. Then he bent over looked up at Theo with crazy eyes: Beware beware, his flashing eyes his floating hair weave a circle round him thrice. Colin grinned: and close your eyes with holy dread for he on honeydew hath fed and drunk the milk of paradise.