Recovering Charles (17 page)

“Just on my camera. Some powerful shots.”

“Mind if I see?”

“Really?”

“Photography has always been a hobby, but school’s had to come first.”

“Very cool. Come up and I’ll download them on my laptop.”

Bela followed me up the stairs and we settled into the soft cushions together. I set my computer on my lap and powered it up. I dug in my bag for my USB cable and attached my camera. iPhoto launched automatically and began importing the newest pictures.

“Mac guy, huh?”

“Always.”

“My friends, a lot of them anyway, have them for school. I always thought they were for creative types.”

“They are.” I smiled. “And for future social workers.”

“One day—when I win the lottery.”

“Here we go,” I said. “They’re up.”

Bela slid over to my side of the couch and leaned in to me.

“I didn’t take as many today as I thought.” I scrolled through the frames one-by-one, clicking quickly through the morbid photos I was almost ashamed to have taken. I didn’t stop at all on the picture of the funeral taken the day before. “Sorry,” I offered.

“You’re a professional photographer,” she said. “I understand.”

We viewed all the photos I’d taken since leaving Manhattan. “That’s a classic,” she said of the sign I’d seen on the edge of New Orleans:
Still no fuel. Ride a bike.

“Can I see more?” Bela asked.

“Of course.” I opened the second most recent album, the pictures from Ground Zero I’d taken just days before my trip to Verses began.

“You knew them?” she asked, pointing to the Indian couple.

“No. Good people though.” I took a moment to privately admire my own work. The photo of the couple walking away from the camera was strong.

“How about happier times.” I opened an album labeled “Machu Picchu.”

“Is that Peru?”

“It is. It’s Machu Picchu.”

“I have
always
wanted to go there. What a place, right?”

I enlarged a photo taken from the ancient guard shack
overlooking the ruins. Even after viewing the photos over and over, the images of the ancient Incan city astounded me.

“Look at these peaks—there are two of them, Machu Picchu, that means ‘Old Mountain,’ and Huayna Picchu, or ‘Young Mountain.’ There are these single buildings, see here.”

She leaned in closer.

“You have these right next to terraces and plazas. A lot of these were homes. Most of the buildings are residences made from white granite. The stones are just enormous, and no one is quite sure how the Incas moved them and put them in place. Other buildings—hold on, let me find a better photo. . . . See, these were actually carved into the bedrock. It’s miraculous. They made something out of nothing up there.”

I pulled up a photo of myself atop Huayna Picchu, the mountain that so many tourists climb to overlook the ruins and the Incan trail.

“You went with someone?”

“No, solo.”

“Who took this?”

“A girl I met at the top of the mountain. A med student from Kansas, I think. I honestly don’t recall.”

More pictures.

A man and an alpaca eating opposite ends of the same piece of straw.

Another alpaca, this one looking like Bob Marley and almost smiling at my camera.

A Peruvian man along the side of the road, weaving a red-and-yellow blanket.

Two young girls in the most richly-colored dresses I’d ever seen. They posed with their llama. I’d given them each a dollar.

Finally, one of my favorites. A photo of me and a man I’d never forget, Valentine. He sold artwork outside my hotel in Cuzco and harassed me every day of my trip until I bought a painting.

I moved from Machu Picchu to black-and-white shots of my apartment. A photo of Jordan sitting at my desk with her feet propped up didn’t stay on my screen long.

“Girlfriend?”

“Friend who’s a girl.”

“Hmm. She’s pretty.”

So are you,
I thought. “She’s a good friend. Maybe the best I’ve had since grade school. Plus I’ve known her for years so we’re comfortable.”

I changed the subject with pictures of Bangkok and Vertigo, one of the highest open-air bars and restaurants in the world. “That’s on the sixty-first floor. We ate dinner up there. No roof, almost no rails, fantastic view.”

Practically right in my ear Bela made sounds and said things that indicated she was
very
impressed.

I liked that.

“Ooooh . . . Those girls were soooo adorable . . . Wow, look at that . . . That was sweet of you . . . You
ate
up there? Not me . . .”

For almost an hour I’d completely forgotten why I’d come to New Awlins.

My cell phone reminded me.

Fountain Realty

Always punctual.

“Get that. I’ve got to take off and say good-bye to Castle anyway.”

I flipped open the phone. “Hang on, J.” I covered the mouthpiece and looked up at Bela.

“You need me to walk you home?”

“I’ll be OK.”

“You sure? I don’t want Jerome on my case later.”

“It’s fine. There are still people around downstairs; I’ll find someone to walk me.”

“All right then. Thanks for listening.”

“Thanks for talking,” Bela answered. “It was fun, given the circumstances.” She pointed to my camera. “You’re talented, Luke Millward.”

“Thanks, really, that means a lot.”

“And buy me one of those some day, would you?” She pointed to my laptop with one hand and slapped my knee with the other as she crossed in front of me and disappeared down the spiral stairs. I waited until I heard conversation from the first floor.

“Hey, Jordan.”

“Hey, bud.”

“You get into my place OK?”

“Without a wrinkle. The picture of you two is up and everywhere.”

“Thanks. I hate to ask you to do all this.” I couldn’t have meant it more.

“Stop it. This is what I’m here for. I’d do this for you—and more—even if we weren’t friends.”

“Really?”

“Really. Listen to me, you’re going to figure this out. I know it. I have faith in you, Luke. I
believe
in you.”

“Thanks, Jordan.” I had to admit the woman always knew exactly what to say.

“And I miss you.”

Chapter
23

I dreamt someone was shaking me.

“Luke, get up, son.”

Someone
was
shaking me.

“We got us a boat.”

I sat up and rubbed sleep and surprise from my eyes. Jerome was standing over me.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Six.”

“Where are we going?”

“Your dad’s place.”

“What?”

“The five-four. Let’s go, son. Get up. We’re waitin’ on the street.”

I sat up and pulled my shoes out from under the end of the couch. I used the bathroom, splashed water on my face, matted down my hair, and ran back down the hallway and down the stairs.

“Camera,” I said and scurried back up. I put it in its bag and slung it over my shoulder.

“Good morning,” Jez greeted me when I walked out of the club and onto the street. Jerome stood next to her. Tater and Hamp were talking to Officer Rostron. Four others I’d seen at the club but not met yet stood to the side and talked quietly. It felt like it was seventy-five degrees already.

“Morning there.”

“Hey, Frank,” I answered, curious that he was there but too numb and tired to ask.

“Jerome tell you?” Jez approached me. She was wearing the same clothes she’d worn the day before. But then so were the rest of us. “We’re going to your dad’s place. Frank found us a flat-bottom boat not spoken for, and Tater and Hamp know some of the Coast Guard and FEMA guys at a staging area on Rampart and Elysian Fields.”

It suddenly hit me. “You haven’t checked Dad’s place yet?”

“Yes, they did,” Jez answered. “Early Monday morning, before the levees broke. The house was empty.”

“You haven’t gone back?”
Incredible
.

“Lots of people have been by, Luke, but the house has been empty. Sweetheart, there are still people down there, people who might still know something. That’s why we’re going.” She looked at Jerome. “Plus we thought you might want to see his place. Maybe take whatever’s dry.”

It was a morbid and entirely rational suggestion.

“So it is possible my father is inside that house?”

Jerome hesitated. “No, son.”

Something is telling me otherwise,
I thought.

“And this is OK,” I asked, “that we get in a boat and do this on our own?”

“It is if I’m in tow,” Frank said. “I’ll get you launched.”

I didn’t doubt that. His telephone-pole biceps were on full display under his painted-on blue T-shirt.

“Morning, Bela,” Jez said, looking past me.

I turned around.

Bela wore a tan tank top and blue nylon basketball shorts. Her hair was back in a ponytail, tucked under a Tulane baseball cap. Her hat looked wet around the sides where it fit snugly. When she turned, I saw that a stream of water had dripped its way from her ponytail halfway down her back.

“Good morning, Jez,” Bela answered. She seemed to smile a “good morning” to me, too.

I smiled a “good morning” back.

“How’d you sleep?” Jez asked.

“I didn’t. Hallie is the only one left in the apartment, and she’s finally leaving to meet her parents up north. We talked all night.”

Before Jez could respond, Jerome raised a hand in the air. “All right, you see these people ’round you, son?” He referred to them but looked straight at me. “These people are here for you, today. Let’s see what we can find. Let’s find some hope.”

“That’s right,” Jez chimed.

“’Course you know me, Jez, Bela, Tater, and Hamp. Tha’s Joe Call and his girl, Cherie.” He motioned to the four bystanders. “The tall guy is Baldwin, and I don’t know the other one. They’re friends of Castle.”

They all waved or nodded. The man Jerome didn’t know shook my hand and whispered, “Chuck.”

“Luke, all these people have lost someone. Every one of ’em knows someone who’s dead this mornin’.”

Do I say thank you?
I thought.
Or I’m sorry?

I said neither, asking instead if we could take a photo.

“A what?” Jerome asked though he’d obviously heard me. He was checking his shirt for stains. There were a lot.

“A photo. I’m a photographer; this is how I record life.” That wasn’t the first time I’d used that phrase.

“Well, get it over with.”

“I’ll snap it,” Frank offered.

I gave him a ten-second tutorial, and we gathered in a gangly semicircle. Jez stood at one end, next to me, and Bela, by chance, stood on the other side. The rest fanned out to her right.

I was grateful Frank didn’t ask us to say “cheese.”

“One, two, three.” Click. “You want to check it?”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I said, taking the camera from him. I viewed the image before it disappeared into my camera’s memory. It was more than fine, it was outstanding.

“Thanks, Frank.”

Jerome took over again. “Let us pray.”

We gathered in a circle in the middle of the street and held hands. I stood between Bela and Jez.

“Dear Lord,” Jerome began. “We love Thee. We thank Thee, dear Lord, for the blessing of this day. We thank Thee, Lord, for our friend and brother Toby Castle. Get him safe to D.C.,
O Lord, and let his sister live until he stands by her side. Or longer, Almighty Lord above, if it is Thy will that she be healed. And Lord, we thank Thee for Luke and his mission here in New Awlins. Let us find what he is looking for, Lord.”

Jez and Bela both squeezed my hands.

“And Lord, let us be safe while we look. Bless
all
those still missin’, Lord, and bless all those still lookin’.” He paused and finished thoughtfully. “Forgive us, Lord. Forgive us all of our trespasses. Forgive what we do today. Forgive what we do
every day.
”

There wasn’t much I could imagine anyone in that circle needing to be forgiven of.

“Amen, Lord.”

“Amen,” we repeated.

“We’re goin’. Frank will drive a few of us in his cruiser. I’ll take the rest in Jesse.”

Frank opened the passenger’s door for me and I climbed in. Jez and Bela shared the backseat.

We sat quietly while Jerome and the others walked through the alley and loaded up in Verses’ fifteen-passenger van. As soon as the nose of the van appeared in the alley, Frank pulled out and rolled around the corner onto Toulouse. We took the road north, away from the river, toward Rampart, then turned east. Rampart became St. Claude and, three blocks later, Frank parked us on the side of the road behind a dozen trucks with empty trailers and law enforcement and EMT vehicles of every conceivable make and model.

Jerome parked Jesse right behind us.

“We’re here,” Frank said.

I opened my door and watched a crew step onto a boat in a foot of water and begin paddling east.

“You OK?” Bela said, putting her hand on my arm.

“Mm-hmm.”

Frank found a man standing by a long johnboat hitched to a trailer. The trailer’s wheels kissed the edge of the water. I watched intently as Frank shook the man’s hand and pointed to us.

Then he handed him three packs of cigarettes.

A moment later, he flagged us over.

Frank and Jerome pulled the boat into the water and guided it clear of the trailer. The boat didn’t seem big enough to warrant a name, but along its side the owner had spelled
Pangle
in mailbox-style adhesive letters. I quickly snapped a photo.

Jez and Bela boarded first, then Jerome, Tater, and Hamp. When it became clear we wouldn’t all fit on the three benches, two of Castle’s friends volunteered to stay behind. “We’ll find somewhere else to help.”

I gave both Baldwin and Chuck a man-hug. “Thanks. Thanks for being willing.”

Frank shook my hand next. “Good luck, kid.”

He got a man-hug, too. “Thanks, Frank.”

I boarded
Pangle
and Frank pushed it with his foot. Tater started the outboard motor and began navigating toward deeper water.

Frank lifted his hand in farewell.

I never saw him again.