The Storm (26 page)

              As I approached my exit from the railroad tracks, I looked down the line toward the end that housed the cars that Mohammad had loved so much. Life wasn’t fair. It was arbitrary and could be cruel. Nature’s balance, I reminded myself. Peaks were matched by valleys. The good times in life must be matched by challenges. If some playboy trust fund millionaire could live an exotic life of luxury, then someone else must have been stomped on and beaten under nature’s boot to suffer their whole existence. Civilization had climbed so far in such short time the previous centuries, now only to crash back below where we even were a couple hundred years before. It felt like civilization was in free fall, and our speed was approaching terminal velocity. That was nature’s balance.

              When I was a boy, my mother had a poster of the Ten Commandments on my wall. Anytime I ever did something wrong, she would ask me if I had broken one of them. If I got clever and told her that talking back to a school teacher wasn’t in the Ten Commandments, she could fall back on her “what would Jesus have done” line. The Ten Commandments had always been the fundamental cornerstone of law in much of the world. Thou shalt not murder came to mind. I guess the Ten Commandments had as much relevance now as electricians had employment. What was it Adam Greenleaf had mentioned before? Natural law. I guess this is what he meant. Only my gun and the threat of retaliation were my legal shields now.

              Pushing through the woods, I arrived back into the neighborhood. Looking around from left to right, all was quiet. Except for the birds chirping and occasional rustle of leaves due to the gentle breeze, life was still in stasis from the day before and hadn’t woken up yet. I used to get up at 6:00 a.m. daily and loved sleeping in until 8:00 a.m. on the rare occasion that I can. Now it felt like an entire day could be consumed before 8:00 a.m. This day was spent, as was I.

              Gradually I walked up the main road in the neighborhood and climbed the hill. The houses around me were lifeless, like they were hibernating or had just given up already on this world. Emotion still flooded out of me like water pouring through a hose. The more I tried to seal it off, the faster it flowed out. I had completed a “successful” mission, as Samantha might say, but it didn’t leave me any warm fuzz. Quite the opposite, I felt numb and cold as I continued to bury any emotions that tried to burst forth.

              The first stop I had to make was Mohammad’s house. His sudden death still seemed abstract to me. I knew he was dead and saw it at arm’s length, but the reality had yet to set in. I would grieve later, if ever I could permit myself. His wife needed to know first, and I continued to pound my boots on the pavement in a march forward that would make any drill sergeant contented. After Chumi, I figured I would drop the seeds with Samantha and then let Stacy know what had transpired. She used to worry and bite her fingernails when I had a quarterly review at work. How would she take this?

              As I walked up the hill, I failed to notice Zeke walking down toward me. His hands were in his pockets, and he was looking straight down at his feet as he walked forward. It was an appearance that screamed guilt at something. It would appear out of place on a crowded street but was way out of line early in the morning when we were the only people bustling about. His face also betrayed him. His cheeks were puffed up almost like he was about to whistle but held back.

              I had noticed him at maybe fifty feet and watched as he melancholy marched forward, trying to pretend he didn’t see me. In a past life, he probably would have had headphones on and used that as an excuse, but for now he just daydreamed to a distant place. At fifteen feet of distance, I spoke up in a fairly haggard voice, but it was all I could muster. “Hey, Zeke. What’s up?”

              Suddenly he looked up and at me as if to confirm he knew I was here all along and just didn’t want to be bothered. He then spoke, “Hey”, as he kept walking forward.

              I’d been through too much this morning and stared death in the eyes. If my heart had been gentle and pure before the storm, it was now black and felt like it was puffing smoke throughout my soul. Zeke was going to walk past me and keep going until I stuck my left arm out forward and stopped him abruptly. Authoritatively and directly, I spoke, “What are you doing out here this morning?”

              Zeke was annoyed but was still young and respected authority when it stared him in the eye. Whatever he was up to, it wasn’t worth fighting over, and he started to let it out. “I’m just walking home, man. Had a long night. I’m not doing anything wrong, and I’m tired. Can I go now?” As he finished, he nodded his head a few times gently as if to say “F you.”

              I was tired of this shit. People had died, and I wasn’t in the mood for taking crap from some kid. Suddenly I realized how a twenty-year veteran on the police force must feel and why they have to be so careful not to overstep their bounds. For me now, there were no longer any boundaries. “What were you doing all night, Zeke?” I said it in a voice that was quite calm but denoted a degree of seriousness. It was like I was answering his nods with a “don’t F with me, Zeke.”

              “You really want to know?” The way he said it made me believe him that I probably shouldn’t ask, but I couldn’t help myself by now. I wanted to get home, and all this was a distraction.

              “Yes!” I was contrite.

              Zeke looked at the ground again, and a sense of guilt came over his face for a brief moment. He breathed out quickly and then looked at the top of the trees. As he went through his bullpen motion, I stood silent and awaited whatever fastball was coming. “I was with Puba,” he finally conceded and then looked away again.

              “Okay . . . Doing what?” It was kind of what I expected to hear, but I didn’t know why he was keeping it a secret.

              Angrily, he retorted suddenly, “What the fuck do you think we were doing?”

              I took a step back a second and rubbed my eyes again as I dropped the seed bag to the ground. My brain was running on fumes and it took me a second. “Okay, sorry Zeke. Didn’t realize you two were a couple now.” I at least genuinely meant it.

              Zeke again broke eye contact for a pause and moved his head left a bit while shrugging his shoulder. His lips puckered for a moment and it was as if he had a sudden cramp in one of his back muscles. “Well, we aren’t a couple,” he conceded.

              “Oh?” I was too tired for this garbage. Maybe I should have whistled past him as he wanted to begin with.

              “Yeah, she just gives all of us sex.” Suddenly he showed the immature grin that was hiding since he had last thrown up toilet paper onto the trees. “It’s a pretty sweet deal. She will do anything for food. She’s got a whole price list of different sex acts for different food items.” Zeke’s enthusiasm was now reemerging from its hiding place.

              I was a bit confused, but it all dawned on me like a eureka moment. “Puba is giving sex for food, really?”

              “Three times last night . . . just with me,” he answered proudly.

              I took a second to reflect on this. Suddenly I realized I didn’t want her looking after our kids anymore, even if what she was doing was a necessary but evil moment of her life. “Just you?” I asked Zeke.

              “A few others, I think. She has talked about a schedule. Her prices are going up too. A can of green beans got me all I wanted a few days ago, but now it takes that and a couple more.”

              A few seconds passed, and I wanted to tell Zeke he was a moron and to save his food, but human urges have almost always won over what the logical mind might say to the rest of the body. Like any addiction, pleasure was obtained once and returning to that nirvana would dominate actions going forward, regardless if they are in the long term interests or not. I was glad to know all this, but it was just a distraction from what I needed to do. “All right, just don’t tell anyone. I won’t either. I’ve got too much going on and need to go.” I gave him a gentle tap on his shoulder, which almost became a back pat but he had turned just enough to absorb it on the shoulder.

              “You all right, Josh?” I guess my face was a case display for how awful I felt. Zeke would find out about the shootings, just not yet.

              “Yeah, gotta go,” I answered. I then continued up the hill without looking back at him. My thoughts turned to Chumi and what I should say.

**********************

              The rest of the walk up the hill was a blur. Flashes of Tom’s head exploding continued to seep out to the front of my brain, and I could feel a breakdown coming.
Not yet, Josh,
I kept thinking. Maybe when I crash in Stacy’s arms later, but not yet. In this new godforsaken world, I needed to at least appear strong in public, lest anyone be watching. Mohammad’s house was quiet and well maintained. Land was so scarce in his country that they invested one hundred percent of their ability into maintaining a great-looking yard with landscaping and flowers throughout the summer. Nobody had ever complained about Mohammad not cutting his grass.

              The final approach was painful. My legs felt like they were in quicksand, with every step slowly pulling my body forward but lower. I should have thought about what to say to her, but clarity of mind and focus was completely absent for the time being. Their door was solid black, with only a mail slot in the middle to break it up. I opened the screen door and went to knock, but then paused while my fingers were a few inches from the door. She deserved to know, and I gathered what little was left of myself and then pounded.
BOOM BOOM BOOM
, my fist connected harder against the solid door than I had anticipated.

              I heard a noise on the other side of the door but then just silence. It was probably only a few seconds, but it felt much longer. Finally she answered by politely shouting, “Yes, who is there?”

              “It’s Josh . . .” I exhaled deeply and then filled my lungs to maximum capacity before continuing. “We need to talk. It’s . . . it’s . . . urgent, Chumi.” My voice was a touch tinged with emotion but conveyed the urgency I wished to express.

              The door then swung wide open. Her face was confused, while her eyes were serious. She had obviously taken time to dress in one of her nicest, vibrant with colors, beautiful outfits from the old country. Apparently she wanted to give Mohammad a big warrior’s welcome when he returned home. She looked at me and then past me. Within a fraction of moment, I knew where her mind was going. “Where is my husband?”

              “Well . . . he’s . . .” Truthfully I had wanted to soften the blow but was at a loss for words and then just laid it out there bluntly. “He’s dead, Chumi.”

              A moment passed as she stared into my soul to seek confirmation. Suddenly she blinked, and her hands went to her mouth as she took a step back. Seeing her breakdown suddenly almost was contagious, but I held my ground, even if stumped on what to do next. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Her scream cut through me sharper than any knife could ever hope to do.

              I started to take a half step forward to console her, but she grabbed the door and half closed it, standing behind it as a shield against any further terrible news. I respected this action and stepped backwards. Her eyes were filled with tears, and it was already smearing the eye makeup she had probably just applied shortly before. With one hand on the door and another moving from her mouth to wipe the tears, she angrily asked “How did he die? What happened?”

              Might as well stay the course and give her straight answers I felt. “We were ambushed. He . . . he wasn’t right. He was sick or something and was slow to run when the bullets started flying. Tom and Randy died immediately, but Mohammad and I sought cover, but he was slow-moving and took a bullet in his chest.” I couldn’t hold the tears back any longer and a couple slipped forth running down my cheeks. “Chumi . . . his last word and thoughts were of you. I am so sorry. I wanted to save him, but he died a few feet from me. I couldn’t even bring him back here. We were being shot at from all angles.”

              She could see how choked up I was over everything. Who knew why I was spared and he was dead. Was it God’s plan or a flip of a coin? Suddenly she slammed the door, and I heard the bolt locks clicking in a couple of places. I stepped forward as if to ask her to reopen it but could hear her cries of agony only a few feet away through the solid door and thought better of it. She needed to know, and now she did. Somehow I didn’t think she would be the last one to lose a loved one, but I couldn’t dwell on it. I had to dump this bag of seeds with Samantha and get home, before I suffered my own meltdown.

              Samantha’s house was just down the street. My mind was becoming a carousel and continued to spin rapidly. Flashes of several things continued to surface and then disappear. No more than a snippet but each carried the impact of an emotional bullet. My head was low and shoulders shrugging as I walked up to Samantha’s house. I hadn’t even noticed that she had probably been looking for our return and was standing on the front mini-porch waiting for me. She was already dressed up, complete with makeup and had somehow managed to fix her hair and look presentable despite our water and shower shortages.

              I looked up and saw her there. She must have seen how haggard I looked, as her face showed a deep sense of empathy. Samantha was taking small steps toward me. “Josh! I’m so glad to see you. I have been up for hours pacing around waiting to hear news. We could hear lots of gunshots in the distance. What happened?”

              I have always been a quick talker and generally disdained people that are slow in their responses or take a while to think about answering before doing it. Today, I stood there and stared at her. This must be how a soldier feels returning to base camp after a skirmish with the enemy. The solider is trying to make sense of his day and how they are still alive while mourning their comrades while the commanding officer is indifferent and wants reports. Suddenly, I could relate to those soldiers who I had thought were burned out by war. I was on the same path.