The Visiting Privilege (43 page)

He studied the parrot, which was staggering across the grass to retrieve a bit of melon. “I don't like it, there's something wrong with it,” he said. “I don't like that dog, either.” The dog had been straining toward them soundlessly on its rope all the while, panting wildly.

“Well, just stay away from the dog,” Abby's mother said. “Play with your trucks.” She whispered to Abby, “We're just going to slip away now.” They left and Parker sat down on the grass, dropping his head rather dramatically into his hands.

Howard went into his room and brought out an almost full bottle of Jägermeister. There was still the possibility, which they all embraced, that the liquor was made with opium. This had not been utterly discounted. “Hey, Parker,” he said. “Would you like a drink?”

Parker raised his head. “I like iced tea,” he said. “The kind you get at home, at the store, in a bottle. My favorite is Best Health's All Natural Gourmet Iced Tea with Lemon, and you wouldn't have that in a million years.”

“He's into iced teas,” Caroline said. “Isn't that scandalous.”

“There's one that tastes kind of like fish,” Parker said. “Sort of like rusty fish. But not right away. Just a little afterwards.”

“They actually make an iced tea like that?” Howard said. “Cool.”

“That is so radical,” Abby said.

They drank the Jägermeister, ignoring Parker. The mosquitoes arrived. The parrot was coaxed onto a broom handle by the guardian's wife and taken in. Howard lit the paper trash and scraps of wood in the fire pit, a short, shallow trench he tended every evening. He was a big, meticulous young man. Each day he would set off with a burlap bag and scavenge for his fire pit. He kept the fire calm, he was very particular about it.

“What are you thinking, June,” James asked.

“Do the Chinese really eat nests?” she said.

“Just those of a certain bird, a kind of swift,” Howard said. “The swift builds the nests out of its own saliva and the stuff hardens.”

“You're kidding!” Caroline said. “Those damn Chinese.”

June blushed.

“Oh, what are you thinking
now,
June?” Abby said. “You're so funny.”

June had had a dream where a boy was kissing her by spitting in her mouth. He just didn't
know,
she thought. It was awful, but in the dream she was unalarmed, as though this was the way it had to be done. “I was thinking about picnics. Didn't you used to have the best picnics when you were little?”

“You're too nostalgic, June,” Caroline said. “Nostalgia nauseates me. I lack the nostalgic gene, thank god.”

“Why do you ask her what she's thinking?” Parker demanded.

“Why, because it's a game,” James said. “Because she'll tell us and nobody else ever does.”

“I wouldn't tell my thoughts,” Parker said. “They're mine.”

“But you don't have any thoughts,” James said. “You're too little.”

“I do too,” Parker said. He was angry. He had broken one of his trucks. It was not by accident that he'd broken it, but even so.

“Well, what's one of them?” James said.

After a moment Parker said, “I like ants.”

“Ants are great!” Howard said. “Ants live for a long time. I read about this guy, this ant specialist who kept this queen ant and watched her for twenty-nine years. She laid eggs until she died.”

“Eggs?” Parker said.

“Occasionally she allowed herself the luxury of eating one of them,” Howard said. “This guy just watched his ant. What do you think? You want to do stuff like that?”

The sky was full of stars and they were beneath them, contained as if in a well.

“I'm sleepy,” Parker said.

“We should have the picnic,” June said. “What about the picnic?”

“What's it feel like to be adopted, Parker?” Howard asked. “You can hear me from over there, can't you?” He sprinkled out the last of the Jägermeister into their glasses. The bottle's arcane label had a stag's head, over which there was a cross.

“I was chosen by Mommy and Ralph,” Parker said.

“Ralph!” Abby laughed. “Why don't you call him ‘Daddy'?”

“Daddy,” Parker said reluctantly.

“Why don't you call Mommy ‘Joanne'?” Abby said.

“They got to
choose
me,” Parker insisted.

“When you take a dump, do you save it in the bowl for Ralph to see before you flush it down?” Howard asked. “That's what I remember. The prominent throat specialist had to see mine and tell me it was good or it didn't go away. It
stayed
until the prominent throat specialist came home.”

“Poor Howard,” Caroline said. “That's what you remember?”

“Fondly,” Howard said.

The guardian and his family were hammering away in the corrugated shed attached to their kitchen. Each night there was the sound of grinding and hammering. They made door knockers, June thought. But no one knew for certain. Those pretty door knockers in the shape of a lady's hand.

They began discussing, mostly for Parker's benefit, the rumors of a gringo ring that trafficked in the organs of Guatemalan children. This rumor had been around for years.

“There's a factory where the organs are processed,” James said. “It's behind the video bar in Panajachel. It's just that everyone's too stoned to see it.”

The gringo entrepreneurs didn't take the whole kid, they recounted loudly. Except in the beginning, of course. They took just a kidney or some tissue or an eye, which left the rest of the kid to get along as best he could, which usually wasn't very well.

“Parker,” Howard said, “I hope Mommy and Ralph were sincere tonight as to their whereabouts. I hope they're not, in fact, kidnapping little Guatemalan children so they can have parts on hand for you, should any of your own parts fail. They could land in big trouble, Parker.”

“I think he's asleep,” James said.

“Wake up!” Howard roared. But Parker slept. Howard moodily raked his fire and then announced he was leaving to get some beer.

“I'll go with you,” Abby said.

June would never have gone off alone with Howard. There was something cold and clandestine about him.

“What are you thinking, June?” James said after what seemed like a long while with Abby not yet back with Howard.

“I was thinking about that great, swaying float and how quiet everyone was when it passed.”

“The
anda,
” Caroline said. “The Anda de La Merced.”

“That thing weighs three and a half tons,” James said.

“It really was impressive, wasn't it?” June said.

“Well, duh,” Caroline said. But she smiled at June as she said this.

“The drumrolls are still in my head,” James said. “They provide the necessary cadences. The men probably couldn't bear it forward without those cadences being maintained.”

“I can still hear the drumrolls too,” June said gratefully.

“What's the word for the men who carry it?” James wondered. “I should keep a glossary.”

“Cucuruchos,”
Caroline said. “One of them looked just like that cute dishwasher at the pizza place. I'm sure it was him.”

“Look who we found!” Howard called from the gates.

It was the bottle boy from that morning, the one who'd eaten June's pancake.

“He was just outside,” Abby said, “the beggar boy. Howard wanted him to share our picnic.”

“He is not a beggar,” Howard said. “His eyes lack the proper cringe. He is my brother, come to visit. That Bailey brat you met before was the false son and brother. A substitute substituted. Soul and body alike are often substituted.” He was very drunk.

The boy was shivering. His shirt was torn and he wore a small silver cross around his neck. The shirt had not been torn that morning, June didn't think.

“Where's Parker's sweater?” Abby demanded. “I'm giving it to this one, that's what I'm going to do.” She dug a red cable-knit sweater from Parker's bag and pulled it over the bottle boy's dark head, then pushed his arms through the sleeves. “I hope I don't get fleas now,” she said.

Parker was sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Give him a sandwich,” Caroline demanded.

Abby gave the bottle boy a sandwich thick with ham and cheese. He ate it slowly, watching them. Howard smoothed his fire with a stick. They drank beer.

“This is good,” June said.

“It's the same kind we always drink,” James said. “It's from Cuba.”

They stood or sat drinking beer while the boy slowly ate the sandwich and watched them.

“I've been thinking about this for a while,” Howard said. He threw his empty bottle down and pushed the sandals from his feet. “I have.” He made fists of his hands, rolled his eyes upward and quickly walked the length of the fire pit.

“I don't believe it,” Caroline said.

He turned and walked the fire again. “Cool moss,” he screamed. “You think
cool moss.
” He sank to the ground laughing, unharmed.

“You're loco,” James said.

“Feel my feet, feel them,” Howard said. “I ask you, are they hot?”

Caroline boldly touched the soles of his feet and pronounced them not warm at all. They were clammy, in fact.

“It doesn't have anything to do with belief,” Howard said. “But if you have doubts, you burn. It's an evolutionary stimulant. I am now evolutionarily advanced.”

“That is a fire that should so be put out right now,” Abby said.

“I want to walk,” Parker said. “I'm gonna walk.” He stood and made small fists.

Abby yanked him toward her and slapped his bottom. “You are going to bed!” Abby said.

The fire winked radiantly at them all. Howard was laughing. He was deeply, coldly happy, and the revulsion June felt for him shocked her. She looked at Caroline uneasily.

“I do not believe this,” Caroline said.

The Guatemalan boy had been collecting the empty bottles strewn about. He held them against his chest, against the bright red sweater. Then he put them down and, smiling furtively at Howard, stepped onto the fire. He screamed at once. Howard pulled him back, the boy screaming thinly. “You're all right, man, you're all right,” he said, pouring beer over the boy's feet. “You were distracted and doubtful, man, and when you're D and D, you burn.
No tenga miedo. No es nada.
” He held the boy's feet and crooned
No es nada
to him mournfully, but he looked pleased.

Whimpering, the boy reached blindly for his bottles and clutched them once more to his chest.

“Get him out of here,” Caroline said. “Give him the rest of the food. Give him the whole damn basket.” She ran to the gates and opened them.
“Váyase! Váyase!”
she yelled at him.

As the boy stumbled out, he almost collided with the fortune birds being escorted home on their motorbike. The man of the remarkable vein steadied him with a snarl and then, regarding them all grimly, pushed the motorbike across the courtyard.

June ran up to him, digging coins from her pocket. “My fortune,” she said,
“por favor.”

“In the morning,” he said distinctly.

June looked closely at the tiny prophets clinging wearily to the bars of their cage, at their tiny breasts and dull feathers. Only a few rolled papers tied with rough string were on the bottom of the cage.

“More in the morning,” he said. “Better for you.”

“No,” June said. “I need it now. Morning no good.
No está bien,
” she said cautiously. “That one, Planeta, I want her to do it.”

“Importa poco.”

“What?” June said.

“It makes little difference.”

“Planeta,” she insisted. She pointed to the little one with the dark, opaque eyes that looked as though they'd been ringed in crayon.

“That is Justicio,” he said. “Justicio,” he sang softly, “Justicio…”

The bird dropped to the soiled floor of the cage and seized a tiny scroll as if it were a seed of much importance, one that could nourish it throughout the night. June pressed her fingers to the crookedly woven bars, almost expecting to receive a slight shock. The bird knocked the paper against her fingers. Once. Twice. She took it and the bird fluttered upward to its perch, where it crouched like a clump of earth.

“Oh, June,” Abby called. “What does it say?”

She turned toward her friends and walked slowly toward them, unrolling the paper. The writing was florid and crowded. There were many unfamiliar words. Caroline knew the language best, then Howard. What a mistake this had been! She would need time to study it and there was no time. Everyone was looking at her.

“Oh, it's just silly,” she said, and threw it in the fire, where it burned sluggishly. No one attempted to retrieve it.

“God, isn't it late, where are my parents?” Abby said, yawning. “I want to go to bed.”

June sat with them all a little while longer before going to her room. She lay on her bed discouraged, uncomfortably, listlessly awake. She heard a wailing from far away, but when she listened closely she could not hear it. She listened avidly now. Nothing. She could not recall the cadence of the drums. She had lied to James about that. But she could picture the
anda
being borne down the streets. That she would remember. It was fascinating to have seen the designs so meticulously created and then the
anda
passing, being borne on, swaying, and in its wake the designs smeared, crushed, a scattered wonder. And that part, the after, had been fascinating too.

But she didn't really believe it was fascinating. It wasn't good to deceive yourself. She thought about Howard, hating him and his cold grin. He was fleshy, did he not know that? Fleshier than most. He was not attractive. That was a lie, what Howard had done. It could hardly be anything else. She thought of the mannequins praying in their cell. A lie, too, but one that was funny. Things had to be funny.