On Fire (17 page)
“And Dan's not my real name.”
“What about the other one?”
“Iverly? That's not mine, either.”
“Well,” Howard's taken all the plastic containers of jam out of their metal rack and now he's stacking them. When he's built them up high enough that they fall over, he looks at me the way I imagine the king would have looked at Chicken Little, if he'd made it all the way to the castle. Or she had.
“Do you know what your real name is?” he asks.
“I'm afraid so,” I say.
“That means you have more names than you can use. You'll have to get rid of one.”
“I've already tried that,” I say. “It didn't work.”
Howard begins putting all the jam containers back in their support structure. “Which name do you like best?” he asks me.
“Dan Iverly,” I say. “I don't want anything to do with the other one.”
“You're Dan to me then,” he says. The jams are all back in their rightful places. He rests.
“But I have to tell someone my legal name, don't I?” I ask. “I at least have to tell Frank and Matti”
“Why?” Howard asks. “You're not hurting anybody. Hasn't your life been complicated enough already?”
The new wings arrive. I taste one and reach for my coke. “My God!” I gasp. “What's in these? Gun powder?”
Howard's face is flaming. Beads of sweat appear on his upper lip. I hear them popping out like corks from tiny bottles of champagne. “They are pretty hot,” he says.
When he's on his fifth or sixth wing, he begins to wheeze and Crystal suddenly appears. “Beer?” she asks. “It'll coat your throat.”
Howard waves her away and runs to the bathroom with tears running down his face.
“Are you trying to burn us alive?” I ask her.
“Don't blame me,” she says. She blows a day-glow bubble.
“I'm not the cook.”
I get up and follow Howard into the bathroom.
When we come out again, a small, sharp-faced man is waiting for us by the cashier's desk. I'm guessing he's the manager. “Who's paying for the cokes?” he asks. I can see the tips of his eyeteeth when he talks.
Howard's face is puffy and pink-streaked. He's got a rattle in his chest. He looks ill and shocked and basically like someone has attacked him. But this little snotty man is worried about money for cokes?
I'm suddenly as angry as you can get when you're on medication to even out your emotions. “Who's paying for the hole in his throat?” I say.
“He asked for heat and he got it,” the manager tells me. “Cokes are three dollars each during happy hour. That's twelve dollars you owe me.” He holds out his hand.
“What?” Howard says. “Cokes are supposed to be free during happy hour.” He fumbles around in his pockets until I tell him to stop.
“The cokes are on the house,” I say. I look at the manager. He might as well be my father standing there. He
is
my father for just a second. “Otherwise I'm reporting you for having rats in your bathroom.”
“What?” He whispers because people are looking our way. “There are no rats in my restaurant.”
“Two big rats,” I say, louder than before. “I just saw them when I was in the bathroom.” I pull Howard toward the door. “And there's another rat by the cash register,” I yell as I close the door behind us.
”Cokes are supposed to be free during happy hour,” Howard says when we're on the bus again. “And Howard thought they liked him there.”
“It's just the manager,” I tell him. “I think the waitress liked you.” I don't say, “I think the waitress liked Howard.” I've decided to talk to him the way I would anyone else.
“She did?” The woman across the aisle from us hands Howard a Kleenex so he can blow his nose.
“Well enough,” I say. “But maybe it's time for you to find a new place to be happy.”
Howard rides back to the hospital with me. “It's my responsibility he says. I was your sponsor while you were in town.” He leaves after that and I get a phone call from Matti.
She's found out I have a weekend pass coming up. She wants me to spend it in Kingman. “It will be like a reunion,” she says. I'll get Frank and Marsh to come down from the village. Frank needs to talk to you, anyway.”
The last part sounds ominous, but I agree to go.
W
HEN
I
MEET
M
ATTI AT THE
main terminal in town, I look like I've been on a three-day drunk. The electric razor Morris let me use has sharp holes in the mesh cover. I have scraps of toilet paper stuck on all the nicks I made in my skin. My hair has faded to something you could call puke-brown And the shirt I'm wearing isn't as clean as I thought it was when I put it on.
Matti still seems genuinely glad to see me. She doesn't even mention my appearance.
We board another bus together, then get off and start up a steep sidewalk that takes us to the place Matti calls
the palace
. After about a block and a half, I need to stop and get my breath.
Matti stops with me. She shields her eyes to look at something farther up toward the top of the hill. “Do you see her?” she says.
“Who?” I say.
“It's Mrs. Stoa,” Matti says. “She's been anxious to meet you. I guess she couldn't wait.”
We work our way up slowly as the lady in question works her way down. “What took you so long?” she calls when she's still half a block away.
”Life,” Matti calls back.
Mrs. Stoa is very small, but even with my one good eye I still couldn't miss her. She's wearing something long and bright green. A coat maybe? A long dress? And there's a band of gold standing out wide around her face.
She's slightly out of breath when we meet up. So am I.
“What have you got on?” Matti asks the lady.
“My good coat,” the lady says. “And hat.” She tips the gold band further back from her face. “Introduce me, please.”
“Mrs. Stoa,” Matti sighs, “I'd like you to meet my cousin, Dan Iverly.”
Mrs. Stoa tilts her head back to look at me. “So you've made your way through, Dante,” she says. Her voice is antique silver. “You're younger than your namesake, but still I knew you would.”
She holds her hand out to me. It's tiny. The fingers are slightly curled.
“Welcome.”
T
HE PLACE WE'RE STAYING IS LARGE
enough to hold the population of a small country. When we get there Mrs. Stoa excuses herself to take a nap, and Matti shows me my room. It's upstairs, at the opposite end of the hall from hers.
“I'll hang out here for a while,” I say. “If it's okay.” It's taken a lot for me to get here and I'm exhausted.
The room is quiet. There's just the sound of birds outside in the tree branches. At one point I think I can make out a face in among them. I let it be.
I go back downstairs just before five. Matti's pulled stools up around a counter in the middle of the kitchen. She's set out place mats, candles and wine glasses. “I can't drink with this medication,” I tell her.
“I'm not old enough to drink,” she says. “But I think the glasses look fancy.”
“They do,” Mrs. Stoa says. She steps into the kitchen yawning. Holds her hand up against her ear like she might hear things herself. “Am I supposed to do something?”
“Maybe go back upstairs and take off your bathrobe,” Matti says.
“This is not a bathrobe.” Mrs. Stoa makes a wobbly turn in front of the refrigerator. “It's a caftan. And I was referring to something I was supposed to do about dinner.”
“I've ordered pizza,” Matti says. She looks at me and rolls her eyes. “It's supposed to come right at six. Frank will be here by then and he can pay for it.”
The doorbell rings. It's the pizza delivery guy. He comes in with three boxes, each inside its own red thermal envelope.
“You're an hour early,” Matti tells him. “My father isn't here yet with his credit card.”
The delivery guy shifts his attention to the only other male in the room. “Don't look at me,” I say. He does, anyway.
I pull my pockets inside out to show him all I have in either one is holes. He starts to pack up the pizza boxes again.
“Just a moment,” Mrs. Stoa says. “My nephew will have a card at King Koffee we can use. You,” speaking to the pizza guy, “will drive this young woman down the hill to get the card in question. You will leave the pizza here.”
“But . . . ” he says.
“Matti will be your security.” He gapes at her. “Hostage then, if that's clearer to a person your age.”
We sit in the living room while we wait for Matti to come back. The pizzas are staying warm in the oven until everyone gets here. Our delivery guy insisted on taking his thermal envelopes back with him.
“You must be hungry,” Mrs. Stoa says. She sets down a bowl of something that looks like breakfast cereal on the coffee table between us. “Bits and Bobs,” she says. “I make it myself.”
Bits and Bobs actually is cereal, as near as I can tell â two or three kinds, with nuts and pretzels thrown in. I take a handful and fill my mouth.
“Lots of food value in this,” Mrs. Stoa says. She picks out a piece of something square and puts it in her mouth. “Vitamins in the cereal. Protein in the nuts.”
She watches me while I take more. “That's an interesting ring you're wearing. Where did you get it?”
I look down at the snake ring on my thumb. “I don't have any idea,” I say. That's the complete truth.
“Matti found it on the beach the day you left. Did you know she thought it was a sign you'd decided to take your own life?”
I shake my head. It's a little hard to swallow after hearing that.
“I have always felt things would work out for you,” Mrs. Stoa says, “since I first heard of your arrival and saw your face. But you will have to seize this opportunity.” She leans forward and looks at me intently. “My given name is Beatrice. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Well . . . ” I've given up on the Bits and Bobs. “Does it have something to do with . . . ”
“Your story?” She nods. “You'll understand it all in time.”
I definitely don't understand it now, but I have the feeling she wants something more from me. “Are you saying you . . . do you want me to call you Beatrice?”
“Certainly not,” she says. She plucks some of my letters out of the air. The B, E and A. The T. The R. She leaves I, C and E glistening between us. It takes a while for them to melt.
M
ATTI GETS BACK JUST BEFORE
F
RANK
arrives. Marsh comes in after them. Another minute later, Chuck joins us. He owns the palace, apparently. Or his father does. We finally eat.
Mrs. Stoa wants candles lit and the lights turned off to create what she calls, “the proper atmosphere.” I think she intends for us to eat slowly and engage in conversation.
The reverse happens. Nobody seems to feel like talking in the dark so it's all loud chewing and swallowing and grunting. At one point Matti says, “Yuck! What this little fishy thing?”
“Anchovy,” Frank says. He and Marsh reach for it with their forks at the same time.
When there's nothing left but salad, Chuck leaves to go back to work. Frank stands up, stretches and says, “I think I'll go out and get us some ice cream.”
“I'll come with you.” Marsh pushes back from the table. “And then I have to hit the road back home.”
“I thought I'd take Dan with me,” Frank tells him. “I'd appreciate it Marsh, if you'd stay here and help Matti clean up.”
Frank may be the mayor and whatever of Blackstone Village. He looks like an explosives expert to me. I'm expecting him to drop a bomb on me in the car, but all he does is light a small firecracker.
“Matti's got her heart set on you coming back to the village when you get out,” he says before he starts the engine. “There's work for you to do. Mostly pick and shovel to start with, but Marsh won't push you too hard until you get your bearings. He knows more than you think about your situation.”
“I could probably do pick and shovel,” I say.
“Probably?” He eyes me suspiciously. I'm still expecting him to light the fuse that will blow me apart.
“I could,” I say. “Definitely.”
Frank runs his hands back and forth over the steering wheel cover. “Somehow you've managed to convince my daughter you're a good person. She's usually right about such things. All the same . . . ”
“I would never hurt Matti,” I say.”
“I know you wouldn't. Not if you valued your life.” He turns the key in the ignition and I break out in a sweat.
Too much firepower in the car and most of it isn't mine.
When we're standing in front of the counter at the ice cream store, Frank says, “You care for butter brickle?”
“I don't know,” I say.
He asks the girl who's waiting on us to give me a taste. It isn't like Matti's fudge, but it's sweet with a lot of crunch. Frank buys a quart.
We sit for a minute after we get into his car, both of us facing forward. Then Frank turns and looks at me. “I found out something about your past,” he says.
“My what?” I start to sweat again.
“I . . . ” Frank hesitates. He actually seems embarrassed. “I got hold of your fingerprints. I sent them in to someone who owes me a favour. I know who you are.”
This is more like the bomb I was expecting, although it's not just a bomb. It's a stealth missile. “You got my fingerprints?” I croak. “How did you manage to do that?”
“Marsh went back to the cafeteria and took the glass you were drinking from that day we visited.” I put my head down in my hands. “Look,” he turns toward me. “I'm not apologizing for doing that. It's part of how we clean up after a disaster like this one. And I thought you'd be glad to know.”