Haiku (12 page)

“These are plentiful?”

“I don’t know,” Michael confessed. “But they look different enough from other vans that we should be able to spot one if we see it. They’ve got some kind of extended roof, like a big bubble on top.”

“Is there any way we could obtain a photograph?”

“All we need is the coins to feed the library machine and we can print out the image,” Michael said. “Nothing to it.”

I looked over at Lamont, and was pleased to see he was already reaching into his pocket.

“You cannot sell your medication while we are completing our mission,” I told Brewster later that night.

“But, Ho—”

“You sell your medication to acquire books,” I said to the young man. “You know this endangers you, but still you persist. None of us has ever criticized this behavior, have we?”

“I know you don’t like—”

“Man, we don’t like
you
when you’re not on your meds,” Lamont said, bluntly. “But you
with
us, so we let it slide. That’s two-way, bro. All for one, that’s got a flip side. You’re not in charge here. We ain’t working
for
you, we working
with
you, dig it? And if you not gonna pull your weight, why the hell should the rest of us be going through all this?”

“Not to buy books!” Brewster said, his face flushed with conflicting emotions.

Ranger tensed, reacting as he often does: to tone, not content.

“We do not understand,” I said to Brewster, my own tone indicating that we
wished
to understand, and were only awaiting the explanation we knew he had.

“Ho … Look, I was thinking. You know what would fix all this?”

“Money?” Lamont said.

“Damn right!” Brewster answered, as if Lamont’s response had not been sarcasm.

“You intend to sell your medication to obtain sufficient money to hire professional movers?” I asked him. “And to rent adequate storage space?”

“I know I’ve got … problems,” Brewster said. “But I’m not stupid.”

“No one has ever so much as implied this,” I told him,
sternly. “My question was motivated by confusion only. Do not see what is not there.”

“I’m sorry, Ho. I … Look, here’s what I figure. I can get a little money from my sister, I know I can. Plus the meds. Maybe even a hundred dollars.”

“Yes?”

“Well … remember that time Lamont got us our radio?”

“And my compass,” Ranger reminded him.

“I do,” I acknowledged, cautiously.

Brewster turned to Lamont. “So … you could buy us a rod for a hundred dollars, couldn’t you?”

“A … what?!?”

“You know, a … pistol.”

“Man, that’s throwing away good money. You want to kill yourself, just jump off a fucking roof.”

“I don’t want to kill myself,” Brewster said, ignoring Lamont’s anger-edged derision. “I want to pull a job.”

Silence dropped over us as though a dictator’s mandate had forbidden all speech. I do not lack patience, but I knew such a state could not be tolerated for long. Any of us, left to his own thoughts, was capable of reaching self-destructive conclusions. Our pasts all had this in common: failure to distance thought from action had resulted in tragic consequences.

I stepped into the void. “You intend to commit a robbery?” I asked Brewster, my voice devoid of judgment.

“There’s no other way out,” the young man said. “I got to
do what’s right.” He intended his voice to be that of the hardened criminals who live within the pages of his treasures, but it emerged as the cry of a frightened child.

“Might! Tight! Fight! Light!” Target clanged, returning to full volume.

Michael responded to that warning bell by reverting to his own past world: “Look, you’ve got a complete inventory, right?”

Brewster nodded, his lips trembling.

“People
collect
that stuff,” Michael said. His voice was disparaging, but his posture excluded Brewster from whoever those “people” might be. “There’s got to be price guides—you know, what they’re worth and all.”

Brewster retreated within himself.

“No, listen!” Michael entreated him. “I’m not saying sell them
all
, am I? Just whatever brings in the most, okay? We don’t have time to get the best deal, maybe, but we can score enough to get whatever’s left moved to a storage unit and pay a few months’ rent in front for
sure
.“

“That’s fucked up!” Ranger snarled. “Brewster
earned
those books, man. You don’t see me taking my star down to some pawnshop—”

“Ranger!” I interrupted. “Please, show us your star.”

“Come on, Ho. You guys have seen it a—”

“I like to look at it,” Brewster said, a genuine sincerity unmistakable in his voice. “I always like to look at it.”

Ranger slowly extracted a small black pouch from his waistband. Carefully he unfolded the pouch, laid it flat, and unzipped the pouch. Reaching inside, he withdrew a bronze star attached to a ribbon edged in white, with two broad
stripes of red separated by a thin line of blue, also edged in white. The clasp held a five-point star with a circle at its center, on which another star was engraved.

“You see that ‘V’?” Brewster said, pointing to a tiny symbol attached to the ribbon. “That stands for ‘valor.’ Heroism.
Combat
heroism.” His voice was that of a proud son.

“Tell that to the desk soldiers at the fucking VA,” Ranger said, quickly but carefully replacing his medal in its protective case and slipping it back under his khaki sweatshirt. His voice was harsh, but his face was flushed with embarrassment at Brewster’s admiration.

“Your medal is well protected by that case,” I said, very mildly. “I did not realize that the military issued such—”

“I’m an asshole,” Ranger announced, as if answering a question about his occupation.

Target’s facial muscles twitched.

Lamont folded his arms across his chest.

“Forgive me, Michael,” Ranger said formally. He had learned that the American tradition of saying “I’m sorry” was a meaningless platitude, commonly uttered as vacuously as “How are you?”

“Apology” is inherently ambiguous. A man may truly regret his conduct … or only its outcome.

The first time Brewster had prevailed upon Ranger to display his medal in Michael’s presence, it took several minutes for Ranger to produce it—he had been carrying it wrapped in rags, duct-taped to his torso.

Michael had studied the medal with great care, his eyes as calculatingly intense as a jeweler’s loupe. Surprising us all, Ranger suddenly handed Michael his medal. Michael never
shifted his eyes as he turned the medal over, noted its length against his own open palm, gauged its weight. He held the medal as if it were spun glass, but otherwise remained as emotionless as an assayer. When his examination was complete, he handed the medal back to Ranger. “It’s beautiful” is all Michael said.

Some time later—more than days, less than a month—Michael showed us all the pouch before handing it to Ranger. No words were exchanged between them as Ranger again removed his medal and placed it inside the pouch, where it has resided since.

Michael’s bow was both an acceptance of Ranger’s apology and abandonment of his plan to convert Brewster’s library to cash.

Thus, the burden was passed to Lamont.

“Pull a job?” He confronted Brewster, his voice sliding into a speech style he usually reserved for dealing with strangers. “What’s your problem, boy? The government already notarized your ass. Once they start sending you those loco checks, ain’t no reason to keep on
proving
you crazy.”

The young man recoiled as if he had been slapped. His face burned with shame; his eyes filled with tears of humiliation.

“That whole disability deal’s just a scam,” Michael said hotly, putting his body between Lamont and Brewster. “I tried the same dodge myself, but I wasn’t slick enough to get away with it.”

“My sister’s husband says I’m—”

“Fuck that faggot,” Ranger sneered, glaring at Lamont. “What’s he know?”

“Ho! Throw! Go! Show!”

Target’s rant went unnoticed by all, as always. But some part of my spirit sensed that his use of my name was not the fortuitous rhyme it seemed. I went very still within myself, creating that pure darkness which is the ultimate invitation for light to enter.

“Everyone is right,” I said.

Each man turned to look at me.

I bowed to each in turn. Then I quite deliberately lapsed into the form of speech I had once used so casually.

“To be right is not to be correct; it is to be righteous. Not all the questions have the same answer. The same words can have many meanings. The speaker is more than the speech.”

“Reach! Beach! Leech! Teach!”

Again I bowed. “I apologize for my pretentiousness,” I said to them all. “I wish for simplicity in all things, yet I speak as if I were some sort of prophet. I mean to say no more than this: Brewster’s sister’s husband is a cruel man. He is small in his soul, happiest when he inflicts pain. He calls Brewster names like ‘crazy’ to cause hurt. Brewster, you know this.”

The young man nodded, head down.

“Has Lamont ever called you such things before today?” I asked.

Brewster shook his head.

“How often do you encounter your sister’s husband?”

“Not … not much,” Brewster said. “I stay away when I think he might be—”

“You avoid him, yes?”

The young man nodded.

“You see Lamont every day, Brewster. Do you avoid
him?”

“Lamont?” Brewster replied, his tone implying that my question was absurd. “Lamont? Lamont’s my friend.”

“Why would your friend call you crazy, Brewster?”

Michael opened his mouth, then quickly snapped it shut.

“Because … because he wanted to talk me out of pulling a job!” Brewster said, a smile transforming his features.

“Took you long enough, fool!” Lamont said, throwing up his hands.

Ranger abruptly announced he was going scouting. Michael also rose to his feet. The two men moved off together.

Lamont then launched into an incredibly complex explanation of why an armed robbery could not solve Brewster’s problem. The explanation was purely logistic, heavily laced with the sort of gangster jargon Brewster loves.

I sat with Target, who was calmer than I had ever seen him, never once interrupting the conversation between Lamont and Brewster. Many times, I have looked into Target’s eyes, seeking knowledge. Each time, he would look away—direct eye contact disturbed him. That afternoon, he held my gaze.

Is he inviting me in?
I thought to myself.
Or is he seeking to enter?

Darkness came, making it unsafe to remain in the park.
Our questions still unanswered, we headed toward the dugout. Brewster came with us.

Michael returned just before midnight. He said Ranger was sweeping the area, and would be with us soon.

At first light, it was as if an old tape began to replay. Michael was trembling with the intensity that once had propelled him to such high status in the financial world, totally committed to locating the white Rolls-Royce.

“It’s all lined up, Ho,” he hissed, his words a forceful whisper. “Like ducks in a row. It’s not about the … other thing. Not anymore. See, I get it now. I
really
get it. Money can’t fix people, like I always thought it could. I thought if I could just get enough money then I’d be … whatever I wanted to be.

“But you know what? Even if money can’t fix people, it can fix
things
. If we pulled off this score and we used the money to buy Brewster a safe place for his library—
buy
it, I’m saying, not stash it—that’d make it a righteous mission, wouldn’t it?”

“Mission,” Ranger said, as if the word itself was holy.

“If we
had
the money, it would be a righteous act to use it as you say,” I told Michael. “But we do not have the money. And we cannot gamble in an attempt to obtain it.”

“It’s not gambling if—”

“Michael—”

“What did I tell you before, Ho? You remember?”

“Yes. A ‘mortal lock.’”

“Okay!
It can’t be gambling if it’s a sure thing, am I right?”

“No.”

“No?”

“There is no such … thing as you envision, Michael. The only certainty that truly exists in all the world is uncertainty. Predicting an outcome is a skill. Some may possess it to a very high degree. But you are describing a calculation of odds, not some magical tool which never fails.

“No matter how you phrase it, we would still be gambling, Michael. That was a choice
you
made, one for which you have paid dearly. Gambling is your enemy. One you have not yet defeated.” I said this gently, as I once would have done to students who had failed to master a particular technique, always expressing confidence that, one day, they
would
succeed.

“It’s
not
gambling,” Michael insisted. “It’s only gambling when you put up an ante, when you risk something. What have
we
got to lose? I mean, say I’m wrong, okay? It still wouldn’t cost us anything.”

“It would cost us
time,”
I said. “That is our only currency, and we have precious little to risk. What have we to lose? Why say ‘we’ if you mean only yourself, my brother? Would
you
lose nothing if Brewster lost all that is meaningful to him?”

Michael deflated, shrinking before our eyes.

“Your concept is flawless, Michael,” I said, addressing my words to all. “This is not about money. It
is
about a mission. A mission we undertake for our brother. By forcing us to examine ourselves, you have shown us the way.”

“No draftees,” Ranger said.

All turned to look at him. The weight of our silence finally compelled him to explain: “I don’t mean how you get into it,” Ranger went on. “I served with draftees who turned into real fighting men. But when the LT says he needs, say, four guys for a mission, you have to hold up your hand. I mean, you don’t
have
to, but you’re
supposed
to, see?”

“Man’s telling it like it is,” Lamont rasped. “No matter where you go, it’s all the same. Life’s nothing but a fucking war. If you can’t be counted
on
, you can’t be counted
in
.“