American Rust Part 17

He picked up a tray and got in line, feeling at ease. He held out his tray and was served two pieces of white bread, eggs from a powder mix, sausage, and green Jell-O, he tried to move the tray to the side but they put the Jell-O right on top of his other food. He took a cup of orange Kool- Aid to wash it down.

Carrying his tray he worried someone might try to trip him but no one did, he found a seat in the white area, at the end of a table by himself. A thin s.h.a.ggy- haired man smiled and made eye contact with him several times, one of the speed freaks, half his teeth were missing. Poe didn't acknowledge him. A few others were sitting at the other end of the table, he nodded to the toughest-looking of the group but was ignored.

A black man about Poe's age came and sat down next to him, he had short dreadlocks, sweatpants, flip- flops, and a torn T-s.h.i.+rt, he might have just come from a workout, he looked like someone you'd see in the gym. He didn't seem worried about anything. He had crossed the invisible line that denoted the white area of the room so maybe there were exceptions, the three white shotcallers took note but continued their conversation as before.

" 'Sup," he said.

"What's up," said Poe.

"First day's a b.i.t.c.h, huh?"

"It's alright."

"Dion," he said. He held his fist out and Poe b.u.mped it and introduced himself "They probably got a freeze on your account so you won't be able to get no commissary today, no deodorant, shampoo, toothpaste, anything like that."

Poe immediately got the sense he was about to be hustled. "I don't need that s.h.i.+t," he said.

"You like being dirty, huh?"

Poe didn't say anything.

"Alright, Dirty. You look me up you need anything." He smiled and held out his fist to be b.u.mped again but Poe knew he'd just been insulted, he went back to his eggs. The whites at the other end of the table looked at Poe as if they expected him to respond and the man looked back as he walked away but Poe didn't say anything. He began to shovel the food into his mouth, he was getting a feeling, he began to eat as quickly as he could. Everyone smirked and went back to whatever they were doing, and Poe knew that what had happened was very bad, he had just been marked, quick as that.

Another black man came up, crossed the invisible barrier, he was tall and very thick with a scar across his nose and forehead like a pink caterpillar, tattoos all over his arms though Poe could not make them out against his dark skin.

" 'Sup, Dirty."

Poe didn't say anything. There were still no guards in the room. More people were beginning to pay attention.

"Yo, Dirty, gimme one of them sausages."

Poe moved the tray so the newcomer couldn't reach it.

"Why thank you," said the man.

He stood up and reached for Poe's food tray but Poe slid it farther away. Then he put his face in Poe's and laughed loud so his spit went all over Poe's skin.

"You got a problem, Wood? Don't want no n.i.g.g.as touchin your food?"

He was talking in a voice so the other side of the room could hear him, the din was quieting down some.

"I got no problem," said Poe.

It was definitely much quieter, the atmosphere in the room had changed, he was the center of attention. He would have to do something. He was not feeling strong.

"I hope you came up to join your homies in here, baby."

Poe stared at his plate.

"Oh you don't know no one, huh? Not a single motherf.u.c.kin soul up in this place?"

Poe knew he should hit him but there was a definite racial feeling, the other blacks would jump him, there was no question about it. But he had no choice. He didn't want to fight, he could feel how scared he was, he had never wanted to fight less in his entire life.

"You know I'll take care of you," the man was saying, he softly stroked Poe's arm and the other side of the room erupted in laughter, even some of the whites were laughing and grinning, the man looked toward his friends to bask in his glory and Poe grabbed him in a headlock and rolled them both to the floor, rolled them so the back of the man's head hit the cement with the weight of their two bodies behind it.

The man was limp long enough for Poe to lock an arm around him and start punching him with his free hand, he didn't know how many times he hit him, he wasn't getting good leverage but it was enough, people were shouting a general encouragement, not for Poe but for the fight itself, he was leaning back and bending the man's head back with him, the man was punching awkwardly at Poe's face but it was too late, he had a very strong grip. He had a feeling he could break the neck if he wanted, he smelled sweat and hair oil, he was warm and he felt his strength coming back, the man was completely limp, maybe he'd been limp for a long time, and then someone kicked Poe in the ribs.

It was one of the white guys.

"Get up," he said.

Poe stood up. There was a crowd of men standing around, black and white only there were more of the black. He thought he'd get rushed but that wasn't their purpose.

"Fair fight," one of the white shotcallers was saying.

"f.u.c.k that sucker- punch- a.s.s bulls.h.i.+t," someone from the black side said. Poe started to get the shakes. It was just from adrenaline and he put his hands in his pockets so no one would see. There was a long awkward moment standing there. All of the white men in that area of the cafeteria were on their feet and finally one of the shotcallers seemed to make a decision, he nodded his head slightly in Poe's direction and Poe knew he was supposed to follow him. He felt the relief was.h.i.+ng over him, it was like a bucket of warm water pouring down him. About a half dozen of the whites, the ones in charge, were headed toward the exit and he fell in step behind them. Then they were heading down the broad corridor between the cellblocks, they went to the end and turned, there was a metal detector ahead of them and metal doors, the men he was following gave a hand signal to some guards behind a Plexiglas window and the doors popped and they were all suddenly outside, in the rec yard in the bright suns.h.i.+ne, and he heard the doors slam shut behind them.

It was warm outside, the sky was very blue and his eyes hurt. There was dirt under his feet. He continued to follow the tall skinhead until they were near the weight pile. The others from the table had followed them. It was very bright and his eyes were still adjusting, through the fences he could see the greenness of the Valley rolling away from him and, in the distance, not quite the river itself but the far bank of it rising up.

They stopped when they reached the weight pile.

"For a second we thought you were gonna get turned out," said one of them, the one with the shaved head and broad open face, he winked at Poe, the first friendly gesture Poe had felt in days.

The man with the blond pompadour, the leader, added: "You sure took your f.u.c.kin time thinking about it."

The others laughed and Poe wasn't sure what to do.

"You'll be alright," said the blond one. "You got it taken care of." He grinned. "I'm Larry," he said, "known also as Black Larry. Call me Black Larry, Larry, I don't give a f.u.c.k, really."

The other two introduced themselves. Dwayne, the friendly- looking one with the shaved head, and Clovis, who had the hat pulled down over his eyes. Clovis was substantially wider than Poe, he probably weighed three hundred pounds.

Poe looked back to see if they were being followed. The doors to the main building were still closed and there was no one else in the rec yard.

"Do those guys back there run the place?" Poe said.

"Clovis," said Black Larry, "did our young friend just ask if our black brethren ran this place?"

Clovis made an imperceptible adjustment to his watch cap and said, "Believe he did."

Black Larry sighed loudly.

"In the first place," said Clovis, "do you see those little punks anymore, or are they still locked in behind that f.u.c.kin door there? In the second place, don't ask any more stupid f.u.c.kin fish questions."

"Sorry," said Poe. "I just got here."

"We f.u.c.kin know that," said Clovis.

"I haven't even had my trial yet."

"Listen to this guy," said Clovis.

"That isn't something you want to go around telling people," said Dwayne. "Other than us."

"Sorry," Poe said again. He felt like he was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up, he was not sure what he should say. He would be quiet.

"It's fine," Black Larry said. "You're among friends."

"But you need to buck the h.e.l.l up," said Clovis. "Everyone's gonna be heart- checkin you until you get rid of that mopey- dope f.u.c.kin face. It doesn't matter how you fight if you walk around looking like a G.o.dd.a.m.n clown."

The other two nodded.

"Alright," said Poe. "I hear you."

"He hears us," said Clovis.

"He does," said Poe. "Loud and clear." He grinned and the others smiled, except for Clovis, who shook his head.

"Me and him need to take a walk," said Dwayne, "so he can get his hands washed. That one's got the f.u.c.kin ninja."

"Little Man does?" said Black Larry.

"For sure."

"Who's Little Man?"

"The one you hit. He's got the bug."

Poe must have had a look.

"AIDS," said Dwayne. He motioned for Poe to hold his hands out and he held them almost tenderly and looked at them, they were cut and there was blood drying but he couldn't tell whose it was.

"You got any soap," said Dwayne.

"No."

"I'll give you some from my cell."

Black Larry said: "After that he needs to keep his head down a while. Least till we get this worked out with the DCs."

Dwayne nodded. He started walking but Poe was standing rigidly, he was not going to follow an enormous tattooed skinhead back to a prison cell and all the men burst out laughing.

"Don't f.u.c.kin worry," Dwayne said. "I ain't tryin to stick anything up yer b.u.t.t."

Dwayne had a cell to himself, three rugs on the floor, and a blue curtain with a design of the Virgin Mary. It was on the end of the block so there was light from the window in the cell and light from the big window in the corridor.

"Got that out of the hospice," he said about the curtain.

As Poe washed his hands he smelled lavender. It was not prison soap. It smelled like a soap Lee might use and he washed his hands a second time. "How's all this s.h.i.+t get in here."

"About ten million ways," said Dwayne. "Visitors, COs, they leave and come back at least once a day."

Poe must have made a face because Dwayne continued: "They make eighteen grand a year. Offer them a couple thousand to bring something in, there ain't many that's gonna turn that down."

"Except if they get caught it comes back on you."

"I'm doing life three times," Dwayne said. "What are they gonna do to me?"

Later that afternoon he was back in his own cell. They had told him to stay in it until they came and got him the next morning, so he would sleep with his feet to the bars and head by the toilet where it was safe, where no one could reach and put a cord around his neck. A meager light came into the cell, the window was made of the same cheap plastic as the one in the police station, clouded yellow by the sun, the parts ordered and built by the same contractor, probably, getting rich hand over fist. Somewhere there were barons of prisons as there had once been barons of steel.

Down on the main floor of the cellblock it was Jerry Springer Jerry Springer on the televisions again, aunts who screw nephews, something like that, maybe not exactly but that's why people watched those shows, for the hope of it, he'd watched them himself but now they seemed distasteful. The inmates were shouting encouragement. He noticed he'd started not to hear it, the noise. His stomach was torn up, he was probably hungry again, even the little bit of breakfast he'd eaten had disagreed with him violently. He was glad he'd been alone when it happened. Even eating the food he'd known it would happen, it would make him sick, come out before its time at one end or the other. But what choice did he have-he had to eat. That was his problem he had pampered himself His whole life he had taken it easy, it was his problem and downfall, the opportunities he'd had, he always took the easy way, and now this, even his picki-ness over food, even this was going to hurt him, he needed energy he would have to eat. He would need a shower soon as well, he was not looking forward to it, the shower room. It was not possible that it could be a good place. Except he still smelled like Lee, he would be was.h.i.+ng that off as well, he wondered if he could save it somehow but there was no way, smells they came and went you could not save them, it was not like a picture you could make in your mind that you could refer to over and over. on the televisions again, aunts who screw nephews, something like that, maybe not exactly but that's why people watched those shows, for the hope of it, he'd watched them himself but now they seemed distasteful. The inmates were shouting encouragement. He noticed he'd started not to hear it, the noise. His stomach was torn up, he was probably hungry again, even the little bit of breakfast he'd eaten had disagreed with him violently. He was glad he'd been alone when it happened. Even eating the food he'd known it would happen, it would make him sick, come out before its time at one end or the other. But what choice did he have-he had to eat. That was his problem he had pampered himself His whole life he had taken it easy, it was his problem and downfall, the opportunities he'd had, he always took the easy way, and now this, even his picki-ness over food, even this was going to hurt him, he needed energy he would have to eat. He would need a shower soon as well, he was not looking forward to it, the shower room. It was not possible that it could be a good place. Except he still smelled like Lee, he would be was.h.i.+ng that off as well, he wondered if he could save it somehow but there was no way, smells they came and went you could not save them, it was not like a picture you could make in your mind that you could refer to over and over.

Dwayne had said someone would bring him food from the commissary, he knew it cost money. They had not asked him for money but he was not stupid, it would not be free whatever they gave him. He did not have any choice about it. As far as he knew he had every gang in the prison after him. Dwayne and Black Larry said they would settle things up for him, they would make peace, they just needed him out of the way while they did it. Backdoor agreements, he couldn't tell, he would have to trust them. The week he'd done in the county jail, it was not the same, it was guys in for DUI, small things, it was people going back to their regular lives but not here, these people lived here, it was their world.

But that att.i.tude did not help anything. It was not how you won games or fights, it was not how you won anything. It was another problem of his, his outlook. He was doing just fine. Thriving, practically. It would all work out, there was no reason to be pessimistic, he was not even here for good, he would get out, this was only the prosecutor trying to break him, he was not here for good, he was sure of it. It would be an interlude, a story he would tell in the bars. He was not the same as these people, it would all be figured out, there was no point in thinking otherwise.

3. Isaac

He had no idea how long he'd been on the train, he'd watched the powerlines hurdling up and down until the motion made him sick. Several times they'd pulled over, sat waiting on stub lines as other trains pa.s.sed, hours, it seemed, he was restless and bored but there was no point to getting off-it was days trying to get on.

Later they were alongside a highway and going fast, the train pa.s.sing cars. There were so many noises he couldn't separate them, the hammering of the tracks and banging of the couplers and the rus.h.i.+ng wind and then the brakes were grating, deafening, the car behind him lurched forward, it would crush him, then all the cars were bouncing and recoiling and the shock nearly jolted him off the platform, under the wheels.

Pay attention. Nearly got lulled to pieces. The ride's either pleasant or miserable. No, it's mostly boring. Nice in the wide open, see a long way out over the hills, other times just a cut through the trees, wall of green in front of your face, claustrophobic. Tunnels the worst.

Think about Poe, what's he doing now? Probably s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g your sister. Or pa.s.sed out drunk somewhere. Still, he came into the river after you-you can't change that. And he came along on your little caper. Right, and then he started that fight. Would have been better off alone.

He s.h.i.+fted positions again, the platform was very small and not long enough for his legs, it seemed there wasn't any part of him that wasn't cramped or bruised. He climbed the ladder and sat on top of the mound of coal, it was a good view, highest point on the train, he could see the Baron up there as well, seven or eight cars ahead, sitting on a coal pile and watching the scenery. A good feeling. Cold though. Be better in summer. After a time he went back down the ladder and crawled into the narrow slot in the back of the car, where there was no wind. It was a small triangular s.p.a.ce between the inside angle of the hopper and the outside sh.e.l.l of the car. It was filthy and he could feel the grit everywhere but he was warm again. Look like a coal miner, probably. Wrap the sleeping bag around you. Safest sleep there is-can't get you on a moving train. Last time your head was clear? Months. Eat some. He opened a tin of Vienna sausages and ate them, spitting the grit that stuck to his fingers. He wasn't sure if he felt better or not and he drank more water.

He woke up sometime later. Sore. No room to stretch. Getting dark now, been on this train an entire day. Could be anywhere, just trees going by. England France or Germany. Imagine it's that instead of... Ohio probably. Unless we're to Michigan by now. No way to know until we get there-everything you're seeing is new. Appreciate that while it lasts.

Sleeping or awake, no difference. Gray area between them. Dull blue light from the porthole and the view of the car behind you. Noise of the train, vibration, you're a part of it, rattling. Meat tenderizing. Forgive us our daily softness. Pitch black again-another tunnel. Make you deaf- plug your ears. Pray it ends soon-the fumes. Long enough tunnel you'll suffocate. Short tunnel, please. The fumes got worse and worse yet and his eyes began to burn. He put his head outside the porthole, over the platform-worst yet. Pa.s.s out here and you don't wake up. Suicide gas breather. Make sure if you fall asleep you stay away from the wheels. Safer in here.

Then, suddenly, it was bright again and quiet. Get outside before ... He hung his head out the portal, the wall of green pa.s.sing next to the train, breathed the clean air and vomited. What is that? A dollar fifty in sausage. Dog food. And you ate that on purpose.

Curling up with his head at the edge of the porthole, he rested on his pack so he could see the trees going by outside. Much darker now, ten minutes till night. The life they all live. Alternative must not be good. What the Swede came from, reason they were so angry when they found you in that old building. Their simple pleasures being taken away.

That's right, he thought, more guilt. Take a lesson from the old man: don't admit you might have been wrong. Lie to yourself and discover true happiness. Lee and Poe the same. An addiction, really, needs its own hotline. No, he thought, the kid should take note. There's gold in them hills. The original business model. Offer forgiveness. Lie cheat and steal and the kid will forgive you. All welcome at the Church of the Kid. Follow his instructions to get to the afterlife. Sixteen virgins and a harpsichord. Your felonies pardoned whether man woman or child. Faith the only requirement-believers go forth and commit. Find forgiveness in reflection. s.h.i.+ne of the collection plate.

He thought about the Swede again. I'm not worried about that anymore, he told himself. Give me water and light and I'll knock down a temple. Jesus Christ? No, a hayseed. Light life and love. The old man who said he never liked my name-sounded Jewish. My mother the one who insisted. I am the Truth and the Light. I am the truth in a knife. Trajectory of a thrown object across level ground: y-axis 9.8 meters per second squared, x-axis zero, initial velocity twenty- five meters per second, release angle fifteen degrees. Presuming no air resistance. Presuming flight uninterrupted by a man's head.

You are going crazy, he thought. Young man you have plugged Science into the hole left by G.o.d. Young man you have plugged Science into the hole left by G.o.d. Your mother had the opposite problem: plugged G.o.d into a hole left by ... Except she took the secret with her. Chose the next world over this one. A slight flaw in her plan-where is she now? Just darkness. If that is what nonexistence is. Your mother had the opposite problem: plugged G.o.d into a hole left by ... Except she took the secret with her. Chose the next world over this one. A slight flaw in her plan-where is she now? Just darkness. If that is what nonexistence is.