American Rust Part 2

"Isaac, there was blood coming out of his eyes and the way he was moving around it was just reflexes. If you hit a deer in the spine it does the same thing."

"We're talking about a person, though."

"We call an ambulance, the cops will be right behind them."

Isaac could feel his throat get tight. He thought again about how the Swede had gone over. He'd made no effort to stop his fall, and then the way his arms and legs kept moving afterward. A person knocked out didn't move at all.

"We should have gotten out of there when those guys showed up."

"I know that," said Poe.

"Your mom is friends with Bud Harris."

"Except technically the guy you hit wasn't doing anything. It was the guy holding me."

"It's a little more complicated than that," said Isaac.

"I dunno," Poe told him. "I can't really think right now."

Isaac began to walk faster.

"Isaac," Poe called. "Don't do anything stupid."

"I won't tell anyone. You don't have to worry."

"Hold up a second." Poe grabbed him by the shoulder. "You did the right thing, we both know that."

Isaac was quiet.

Poe nodded up the road. "Anyway I need to cut off here to take the back way to the house."

"I'll walk you."

"We need to split up."

Isaac must have had a look on his face, because then Poe said: "You can go back to the old man's for one night; it won't kill you."

"That's not the point."

"You did the right thing," Poe repeated. "In the morning when our heads are straight we can figure this all out."

"We need to be figuring it out right now."

Poe shook his head. "I'll meet you at your place in the morning."

Isaac watched as he turned away and made his way up the dark road toward his mother's house. He paused once and waved. Once Poe was out of sight, Isaac continued down the tracks in the darkness, alone.

2. Poe He went up the muddy road toward his mother's trailer. He'd tried to keep his head on in front of Isaac, the last thing Isaac needed to see was Poe going bats.h.i.+t. But it was a definite possibility. At least it was dark, it was comforting, there was no one to see him like this, he thought about the way the knife had felt to his neck and the man's hand on him. The rain had picked up again, back into sleet and then flurries. He was extremely cold, he'd left his jacket at the machine shop where the big one named Otto was lying dead. He was so cold he would have given anything for a jacket or even the s.h.i.+ttiest hat you could even imagine, he would give a gallon of blood for just a s.h.i.+t wool hat and good Christ anything for a coat, a plastic garbage bag, even. He thought he ought to run to get warm but he could barely manage a walk. He thought he would make it to the house. It occurred to him he had not split any of the wood for the stoves, as always he'd left it to the last minute then gone off with Isaac and the house would be freezing, out of wood and the electric heaters costing thirty a day, his mother would never turn them on and with her hands all rheumatoid she couldn't swing the axe.

He hoped his mother wasn't too cold for having a s.h.i.+t son like him. Sitting in that doublewide with her hands all clawed up from the arthritis you are a s.h.i.+t a genuine s.h.i.+t who cannot even keep your own mother warm, a f.u.c.king chickens.h.i.+t punk can't even keep his hours at a G.o.dd.a.m.n hardware store. He wondered what Isaac had thrown at that p.r.i.c.k, something heavy, a big rock, it had smashed his face in he'd seen it. Pushed his forehead back into his skull. Puke if you remember it too much. Big f.u.c.king rock it must have been. Isaac and Otto, a match from heaven. Thanking Christ for his arm like that. Saving my life. Getting c.o.c.khandled by those b.u.ms and p.i.s.sing your pants the cherry on top.

Now the one night he needed the house to be warm it would be freezing, needed that heat for being an accessory to murder, really self-defense only it was murder now, walked away from the body but good Christ if anyone thought he would call the cops on those f.u.c.ks with that dead one Otto a smile on his face wide as a G.o.dd.a.m.n stadium walking toward me, walking toward me while I had a knife to my neck and someone's hand crus.h.i.+ng my nuts, not much question on what he was thinking about. Yes he thought this is what girls must feel like when a stranger puts hands on them. Not a feeling that goes away in a hurry.

The thought of Otto lying there rotting a G.o.dd.a.m.n coyote eating his face it made Poe feel almost warmer, if you'd asked him that morning he'd never hated anyone but now by Jesus he hated the dead one Otto the way he smiled seeing Poe getting held literally by his b.a.l.l.s and even more he hated the one with the beard who'd cut his neck and held him like that and as for the third one, the older one, he had not meant to kick him so hard. He couldn't remember his name, the older one who had tried to keep the fight from starting, the older one who smelled so bad. He wished he hadn't kicked him so hard. Yeah he was the good one. The one you hit hardest.

It was not murder but what they were doing it did not look good. He knew he had started it. He knew when Isaac went out to p.i.s.s he wasn't really p.i.s.sing. It was the old Billy Poe fire going and it was not the first time it had caused a predicament. He'd wanted to lay hands on those f.u.c.ks. Thought I'll take all three of them, thought that will be f.u.c.king something I'll take all three, only they'd nearly killed him and it was little Isaac English who ended up on top, literally killing and not even just hurting that big Swede. With the stone and not the sword, as they said. Christ he thought they will give you the G.o.dd.a.m.n chair. Don't give a s.h.i.+t, wish it was both of those f.u.c.ks dead, the one Otto and the bearded Mexican who cut my neck and G.o.dd.a.m.n c.o.c.khandled me, felt his fingers on my p.e.n.i.s. He touched himself between his legs, it was very tender and even jostling it sent waves up into his stomach and he had to stand still a second. He would clean himself with soap. Soap and hot water. Hot bath and soap. It was a big f.u.c.king knife but Jesus it was a serious knife. You're alright now. He saw the lights of the trailer up ahead. He thought he would make it.

He got closer and saw his mother's shape watching for him in the window and he realized he would have to tell her what happened, how his pants got reeking like p.i.s.s and his neck cut and his walking in a snowstorm nearly frozen to death in a T-s.h.i.+rt. He moved slowly off the road into the trees at the edge of the yard, he would wait until she went to bed, can't tell her those things. She'd tell his father though Christ this town he'll hear anyhow. He thought his mother might be letting that old b.a.s.t.a.r.d move back in. Seeing him out with that f.u.c.king math teacher, twenty- four f.u.c.king years old. He winks at me. Didn't tell Mom about it only I should have because now she is letting him back. Only she is in a bad state and maybe it is what she needs, the other a.s.sholes she's bringing home aren't any better, that older guy was fine but the rest of them sitting on the G.o.dd.a.m.n couch watching TV while she cooks their dinners, acting like king of the castle, couple of those I should have beat with the axe handle for treating her like that. Look on their faces like they thought they could do better. Told that fat one with his Honda motorcycle this ain't your f.u.c.kin house this ain't your f.u.c.kin house and he stopped smiling when he realized I'd break his jaw. Should have done it but Jesus the look on her face when she heard me say that. Didn't speak to me for days. Mental note if you make it to forty remember on how all those f.u.c.ks treated her. Stop being an a.s.shole while you're still young. and he stopped smiling when he realized I'd break his jaw. Should have done it but Jesus the look on her face when she heard me say that. Didn't speak to me for days. Mental note if you make it to forty remember on how all those f.u.c.ks treated her. Stop being an a.s.shole while you're still young.

He sat down under a tree. He watched the flurries land on the gra.s.s, had a faint awareness that time was pa.s.sing and he began to feel warmer, sitting there under the hemlock. The miracle being it was Isaac who'd saved him. He didn't look like much, his wrists and hands were so thin. Delicate, that was the word you would use for Isaac, his face as well, he was light- boned, it was not a man's face. It was the face of a boy bugeyed, people teased him about his eyes. He was an easy target but Poe had always defended him, he had a much easier time because of Poe. Poe was king back then, glory days. Two years gone by since. Now Isaac was the only one who didn't look down on him. The others were all happy to see the king come back to earth, he had been someone and now he was not-that was a story everyone liked to hear. The human race-they despised anyone they thought was better than them. The sad thing being it was all in their own minds, he didn't think he was better than anyone. He had no such illusions. He had always known it wouldn't last. He had made friends with Isaac, who had no other friends-and why? Because he liked him. Because Isaac was the smartest person in the Valley, maybe the entire state, Pennsylvania-it was not a small place. Though possibly, he could admit it, he'd known that hanging out with Isaac would get him points with Lee.

The wind, he thought. Getting out of that wind was all it took. He kept sitting and felt warmer. He felt better and he thought it must really be warming up now, it was definitely warming up, so why could he still see the flakes swirling in the porchlight. He had not always defended Isaac, that was the truth of it. Isaac did not know about those moments but they had occurred and there was no undoing them.

Except that things equaled out. Two months back the river had been frozen over, skim ice, Isaac had looked at him and said you dare me and then stepped off the rocks and only made it a few steps before he broke right through and disappeared. Poe had stood panicked for a minute and then jumped in after him, cras.h.i.+ng through the junk ice, he'd dragged Isaac out of the water, both of them soaking wet and nearly frozen to death, Isaac who had gone swimming in the river like his mother. If that wasn't a sign, he didn't know-he had saved Isaac and now Isaac saved him. It showed you there was a reason for all of it.

He looked at their trailer, his mother had not wanted to buy it but there was a lot of land and his father had wanted the land. Somehow he won that one, but then they split up and his mother was stuck with the trailer in the boonies. His mother, who talked about moving to Philadelphia, who'd done several semesters at college. Who used to roll out of bed looking good but now goes shopping in dirty old sweatpants and her hair tangled up. That and her husband leaving her. Your own situation not doing much to ease her mind, either, should have gone off to college if only for her. He decided to think about something else: all this wetness and sun the gra.s.s will be fresh tomorrow and the rabbits will be out. Wild meat heals you. Stew and a beer for lunch. He thought maybe there was some of last year's venison in the freezer but nothing was as good as a fresh rabbit, stew it a couple three hours falling off the bone. Or pound it flat and dip it in Bisquick and fry it. Yes it was the wild meat, before the games he ate it and now it would sort him out as well. So get up. He watched himself from a great distance. English won't tell anyone they grabbed you like that but so what, saved you-owe him now. Whatever he says you have to do. Probably tell his sister about it. She won't care, though. He didn't want to think about Lee. He had trouble thinking about Lee anyway but especially right now, not to mention she'd gotten married, she hadn't told him, she hadn't told him a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing about that, even though he'd always known it was just fun and games between them. He watched the flurries in the light, it was warm under the tree watching the snow come down, something is wrong, he thought, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, everything was quiet.

Grace Poe was sitting in the trailer in the shapeless gray sweatsuit she wore nearly every day now, even when going to town. She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there, staring at the brown panel walls inside the trailer. She'd turned the TV off to let herself think, it might have been nearly an hour, recently she'd come to prefer it to the television, just sitting and thinking, crazy thoughts, she was imagining herself on a trip to the Holy City, a trip she knew she would never take. She imagined herself on a steep rocky coast in Italy, all the old castles and the hot sun, hot and dry. Easy on the bones. Lots of wine and everyone suntanned.

Outside it was not quite as dark as normal, the storm clouds carried light from the town. She thought she'd seen her son coming up the road. Maybe she'd just imagined it. You're turning into an old lady, she thought, you're going a little bit crazy. It was either tragic or funny. She decided it was funny. She was annoyed at her son-they were out of firewood and she was wrapped under two blankets and it wasn't so much to ask, keep the wood split and the house warm. It was okay to be angry about that. It wasn't as if they were going to freeze, there were electric baseboard heaters but they cost a fortune, it was out of the question to run them. The best thing would be installing propane or oil heat, but she hated living in a trailer and for years she'd been hoping to move out of it. Buying a real furnace, sinking money into the trailer, was like giving up. It was better to be cold. She got up and went to the window, looking through her reflection, but nothing was moving in the road or the field, just the quiet emptiness that was always there. She had never expected she would live in a trailer, never expected she would live in the country.

She looked back at her reflection. Forty- one and her hair had gone mostly gray, she'd stopped dying it when her husband moved out, to spite him or herself, she didn't know, but she'd put on weight, too, it was bunching up under her chin. She'd always been a little heavy but it had never showed in the face. It seemed to her that even her eyes were going dull, burning down like old headlights. Soon enough she would have the kind of face you saw and could not imagine as anything but old. Cut the pity party, she told herself. You could take care of yourself a little better. She was right to let Virgil come back. Virgil would not have let the stoves sit empty.

As for Virgil, she had her hopes but it was getting not to matter-the ones her age, if they had jobs, would stay around a few weeks, months at most. Each time she'd gotten her hopes up and each time it'd spoiled, they all wanted to be taken care of, for dinner to appear in front of them, it should have been a joke but it wasn't. Half of them didn't even put any effort into s.e.x, you would have thought there'd at least be the dignity of that, but not even. At the library she'd signed up for an Internet dating service, but all the men her age were looking for women much younger, and even in the bars it seemed there was nothing for her but the fifty- and sixty- somethings, men expecting to screw women they could be the fathers of. So at least Virgil was coming back. Yes, she thought, now that it's convenient for him, quiet little mouse that you are.

The snow was beginning to fall harder and she saw someone moving at the edge of the yard, drunk, she thought, playing around, p.i.s.sing his name in the snow while the stoves are out of wood. Years earlier, just after Virgil left, she'd gotten a job offer in Philadelphia and she'd nearly taken it but Billy was doing so well in school, playing football, and she'd still had hopes that Virgil would come back to her quickly. She knew what that life would have looked like- thirty- five, apartment in the city, night school, single mom-like a movie. She would have married a lawyer. Finished her own degree. Instead she was living in Buell in a trailer with her spoiled child, man, whatever he was now, her son who had nearly had everything, a football scholars.h.i.+p, but had decided to stay home with his mother, going hungry if she didn't cook his dinner. She wondered why she was in such a bad mood. Maybe something was happening.

She decided to go out to the porch. Her feet got cold and wet but it was beautiful outside, it was all white, the trees, gra.s.s, the neighbor's empty house, it was like a painting, really, a spring snowfall, a month out of season, you could see the green underneath, it was very peaceful. "Billy," she said quietly, as if her voice might disturb the scene. He was sitting under a tree at the edge of the yard. Something was wrong. There was snow in his hair and he didn't have a coat. She leaned over the porch railing. He didn't look up.

"Billy," she called. "Come inside."

He didn't move.

She ran out into the yard in her bare feet. When she reached him his eyes moved slowly, focused on her, then looked at something else. His face was white and there was a gash on his neck and blood had come down onto his s.h.i.+rt and stained it. She shook him. "Get up," she said.

She tried to pull him up but he was dead weight, no, she thought, this is not fair, she got an arm under him but he still wasn't helping her, he was so heavy, she wouldn't be able to lift him, he barely seemed to know she was there. He was so cold he could have been a log or a rock. "Get up," she shouted at him, her voice muted by the snow. He pushed weakly with his legs and then they were standing and she told him we are going to walk now, we are going to walk to the house.

She got him to the bathroom, set him in the bathtub in his clothes. She ran hot water into the tub and took his shoes off.

"What happened," she said, but his eyes were somewhere else. The hot water was pouring into the tub but he stared numbly ahead. He didn't know her. The water turned the color of mud. There was a strong odor; she wondered distantly when he had washed himself last, he had not been taking care of himself, she knew that, getting laid off from the hardware store had sent him into a tailspin, she should have done more. She had decided to let him find his own way. She had made the wrong decision. His skin was white and icy to the touch and she pushed his shoulders deeper under the water.

The steam filled the room and the scab on his neck loosened and his cuts were running and the water nearly black from dirt and blood. She was kneeling and splas.h.i.+ng the warm dirty water on his face. His body had cooled it and she drained it partially and ran more hot in. After a few minutes he began to s.h.i.+ver as he warmed up. She couldn't remember if you were supposed to warm a person this fast. She knew there was something you were not supposed to do, you warm them too fast and they die. She sat him up and wiped the scratch on his neck with iodine, the brown stain ran down into his s.h.i.+rt.

"Let's get these clothes off," she said, the soft mothering voice she hadn't used in years. He let her take his s.h.i.+rt off. She undid his belt, undid the b.u.t.ton on his filthy jeans, tried to get them off but he was holding them up with both hands-he would not let her take his pants down.

"Billy."

He didn't say anything.

"Let go," she said.

He did and she took the pants off with some difficulty, careful to leave his underwear in place. The cut on his neck was bleeding again, it was straight and deep, done with a knife, she realized, like a piece of cut meat, she saw a hint of whiteness, unnatural- looking, she knew it must be the tendon or some other kind of tissue. She tried to remember if she had locked the door. Virgil had left a shotgun but she didn't know where the sh.e.l.ls were.

"Is someone coming after you?" she said. She shook him. "Billy. Billy, is someone going to be coming here?"

"No," he said. He was waking up.

"Look at me."

"No one is coming," he said.

She saw spots in front of her. It is too hot in this room, she told herself. Her head was getting light. Next time you see him like this won't be in this house, he'll be laid out on a table in a hospital bas.e.m.e.nt. She picked up his wet pants and began folding them, he had p.i.s.sed his pants when they cut him. Now he was lying there flushed and awake and looking at his pants in her hand.

He sat up and reached and she leaned over the tub to hold him. He took the pants from her hand.

"I can wash them myself," he said.

When she left, Poe stripped his shorts off and scrubbed himself where the b.u.m had grabbed him. The cut on his neck stung and he remembered knowing Isaac had left him, for a second all he'd thought was f.u.c.king Isaac he left you here and then he'd felt the cutting burning on his neck. He'd felt the cutting and he'd gone loose, done what was expected of him. Would have cut me all the way, Jesus his name was, Jesus the c.o.c.ksucking Mexican who is still alive now somewhere, he was not a cruel person but help me Father I'll find him I'll put a stick through his ankles and hoist him up and skin him. Poe could imagine him screaming and the thought of that, of old Jesus screaming as Poe skinned him alive it nearly gave Poe a hard- on or maybe he would gut him first, field- dress him, as it were, leave his guts all hanging out so old Jesus could get a long look. Christ, he thought, listen to yourself. Your f.u.c.king brain is out of adjustment. He splashed water on his face. The Mexican had squeezed on his b.a.l.l.s so hard he'd tasted the puke come up. That was when he p.i.s.sed himself. I ain't kiddin, I ain't kiddin, said Jesus. said Jesus. I'll cut these off you don't settle down quick. I'll cut these off you don't settle down quick. He'd felt the air going in and out of him and the man's heart beating against his back the way you feel a girl's heart beating when you're on top of her it was f.u.c.king disgusting and he'd let it happen, he wanted to sink back under the water and never come up. He'd felt the air going in and out of him and the man's heart beating against his back the way you feel a girl's heart beating when you're on top of her it was f.u.c.king disgusting and he'd let it happen, he wanted to sink back under the water and never come up.

He remembered that enormous f.u.c.king crack, though, it sounded like a pistol and the Mexican let go and Poe took off toward the door. He saw Otto, the eyes all bulged out Otto was crying blood and it was swelling from his mouth and ears. Isaac was waiting for him by the door, he was a good man Isaac no doubt about that, a f.u.c.king standup human man. Though he might say otherwise he was not sure, when the moment of truth came, that he himself could have done that for someone. He was not that kind of person, that was the truth of it. That was a thing he knew about himself. Whereas Isaac-Poe would have wanted to but he might not have been able. Might not have been capable of making his feet take him in the direction. He had always suspected that but now he was sure. Except I would have gone back for Isaac, he thought. Maybe not for someone else but definitely for him.

He knew Otto must still be right where he fell. They wouldn't try to bury him-burying a dead body, you're f.u.c.ked if you get caught doing that. He wondered if they would go to Harris, everyone knew Harris hated b.u.ms but maybe these guys didn't know. Maybe they would tell him and Harris would have no choice but to check it out. Went with Mom for a while. He wondered if his mother had done it with Chief Harris. There was no question about it. Bud Harris had gotten Poe out of an a.s.sault charge. Everyone knew about that-that Poe had gotten a free ride for what he'd done to the kid from Donora. This time Harris would not be able to help him.

After a time he got out and dressed and went into the living room. He was so exhausted he could barely keep his head up. The house was dark, she'd turned nearly all the lights off, but it was warm and he could tell by the singed dusty smell that she'd turned the baseboard heaters on. He felt guilty but also relieved.

She said: "Was anyone else with you?"

"Isaac English."

"Is he okay?"

"Better than me."

"Your father is coming over."

"Did you tell him?"

"No. I just thought I should warn you."

"Does that mean he's back for good?"

"I don't know yet," she said. "We'll see."

He sat on the opposite side of the couch from her and then she pulled him over and he laid his head in her lap. His head was against her belly. He let his eyes close and he stopped thinking about the Mexican, he could hear her breathing in her belly and everything was going to be fine and he fell asleep immediately.

He slept like that for half an hour and then they heard his father's truck in the driveway. Poe got up and his mother gave him a hurt look and he tried to smile at her but he didn't think he could stand taking any s.h.i.+t from Virgil right now. He went to his room.

He could hear Virgil and his mother talking. Soon they would either be yelling or s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g. He figured the yelling would come soon enough- he'd seen enough of his father to know where this would go. But the next sound Poe heard was the maul ringing against the wedges, the sound of Virgil splitting the wood that Poe himself was supposed to split. s.h.i.+t he thought s.h.i.+t s.h.i.+t s.h.i.+t, it should have been him going out there and doing it but it was too late, he'd f.u.c.ked it up and now the old man would get the credit.

He thought about Otto again, thought you should call Chief Harris, he got you out of the last sc.r.a.pe, only it was too late for that, too-now they would look guilty. It was not that simple anyway. Technically, the big Swede hadn't been doing anything. He was about to, that was for G.o.dd.a.m.n sure, but really all he'd done was toss a couple of punches. He thought about him there on the floor of the machine shop with his head all bashed in and he felt guilty. He was supposed to be in college right now, going to cla.s.s, his coach at Buell High, d.i.c.k Cannedy old d.i.c.k had gotten Poe into three colleges, that one Colgate in upstate New York looked good but he wasn't ready. No, the truth was he'd been plenty ready, if they'd left him alone he would have gone. But when everyone is shouting at you to do something ... He'd flipped them all off, given the entire town the middle finger, turned down college for a job at Turner's Ace Hardware. And he'd flip them off again when he disappeared suddenly and went away to college. The coach at Colgate had told him to call anytime, anytime you change your mind, Mr. Poe. Well, he thought, I have changed my mind. I am going to call him.

It seemed his head was getting clear, things would be alright. Then he thought: my coat. My letter jacket is sitting in that machine shop with my name and player number on it, right next to a dead man and probably covered in blood. They would find the body it was only a matter of time and it would not be Isaac English they'd come after. It would be him, Billy Poe, the one who had a reputation, he'd nearly killed that boy from Donora, it was self- defense but that was not how anyone else saw it.

They would get his jacket and the body as well. We will drag it to the river, he thought. How many deer had he dragged out of the woods-it would be no different. Only he knew it would be. But there was no choice about it. They would have to go back.

3. Isaac Isaac didn't sleep and in the morning he could hear the old man moving around downstairs. When he'd come in the previous night, he and the old man had looked at each other and nodded and the old man hadn't said anything about the stolen money.

From the window of his second- floor room he could see that the snow had already melted on all the hills. He remembered looking out this same window in the dark when the mill still ran and the night sky was enormous with fire. It was a faint memory from youth. It was not the first dead b.u.m that year. The other they found in that old house, January. Froze to death. Except this one didn't die-was killed. That was the difference. This is the one they won't let go.

It was a strange time of year, not quite spring and not quite winter- certain trees were already leafed in while others were still bare. It would be a warm day. All the hills and hollows and nooks-it felt comforting. There wasn't a flat piece of land for a hundred miles. Hidden away wherever you were. That will not help you with the Swede, he thought. They will find the Swede eventually and they will not be on your side-see a dead man, think mother father brother sister man. Think I am a man like him. Don't let dead men lie without asking why. Dog left to rot-man is different. Do dogs look at dead dogs and wonder? No, you've seen it, they walk by without looking. Nature of a dog to accept a dead dog.

He could feel things were changing. This is your room but soon it won't be. A picture of his mother over his desk, smiling, young and pretty and bashful. A few awards from the science fair, first prize in seventh, eighth, ninth grade. No more after that-they didn't understand your projects. You knew they wouldn't but you went ahead anyway. Quarks and leptons, string theory, and then you learned your lesson. Half of them think the earth is four thousand years old. The others aren't much better-Colonel Boyd telling the cla.s.s that humans had once had gills but the gills disappeared when we stopped using them. Actually, Actually, you tried to suggest, you tried to suggest, that's cla.s.sic Lamarck. I'm not sure people believe that anymore. that's cla.s.sic Lamarck. I'm not sure people believe that anymore. Gave you a C for making him look stupid. Only C you ever got. Naturally Colonel Boyd loved your sister. Why? Because she tells people what they want to hear. Didn't care if all her cla.s.smates were being taught things that weren't true. Gave you a C for making him look stupid. Only C you ever got. Naturally Colonel Boyd loved your sister. Why? Because she tells people what they want to hear. Didn't care if all her cla.s.smates were being taught things that weren't true.

He went back to looking out the window. He had always admired his sister for her easy way with people, tried to learn from her. Only now you see the cost-she lies more easily than you do. Same as the old man. No, he thought, the old man is different. Doesn't understand or have interest in anyone but himself. Meanwhile ask yourself if you'd act any better in his shoes-spine broken at L1, progressive neuropathy. Or take Stephen Hawking-your favorite crippled genius abandons his wife. Twenty- six years of changing his bedpan and then-sorry, honey, I think it's time for a newer model. He and the old man would understand each other well.

He looked at the clock and tried to remember when Poe was coming. Did we set a time? He couldn't remember. That was unusual. He made a note of it.

There was the sound of a car turning up the driveway and he jumped up and ran to the window to see a white sedan-cop? No. A Mercedes. Lee's car. She must have left Connecticut in the middle of the night to be getting in now. He watched her park next to the house. Knows you stole the money, is why. Christ. He began to feel even worse. I don't care, he said out loud. She's done a lot worse herself. But had she? It was hard to explain exactly what she'd done. Left you here, he thought. Promised she'd come back for you but she didn't. Meanwhile that car she's driving is worth more than this house.

He heard her come into the house and greet their father downstairs and a few minutes later he heard her on the stairs, coming up to see him. He slipped quietly under the covers and pretended to be asleep.

She hesitated outside the door, listening for a long time before opening it silently, just slightly. He felt the air coming in. She stood there, she must have been looking at him, he didn't open his eyes. He felt himself choke up but he kept his breathing even. He could imagine her face, nearly the same as their mother's, the same dark skin and short hair and high cheekbones. She was a very pretty girl.

"Isaac?" she whispered, but he didn't answer her.

She stood a minute or two longer and then finally she closed the door and went downstairs.

Was that right? he thought. I don't know. How many promises can someone break before you stop forgiving them? There had been a time, most of his life, really, when it had been very different. When he and his sister could finish each other's thoughts, when at any given time each would know exactly what the other was doing, whether at school or just in a different part of the sprawling brick house. If he had a bad day, he would go to his sister's room and sit on the foot of her bed while she read or did homework. He went to her before he went to his mother. The three of them, Isaac, Lee, and their mother, had been like a family within the family. Then their mother had killed herself. Then Lee went off to Yale. His one visit, she'd taken him around the campus, all the tall stone ivy- covered buildings, and he knew it was where she belonged, and where he would someday follow her, but here he was, twenty years old and still living in Buell. And now, he thought.

None of it was permanent. The Swede will go back to the soil, blood goes from sticky thick to dust, animals eat you back to the earth. Nice black dirt means something died here. The things you could trace- blood, hair, fingerprints, bootprints-he didn't see how they would get away with it and there was a picture fixed in his mind of the Swede with his face s.h.i.+ning and the b.l.o.o.d.y color of the light on him. He had never stopped looking at the spot between the Swede's eyes, even after the shot was gone from his hand. Made it go into him. With my mind I made it hit him there. He tried to call back the Swede's hands to see a weapon but he couldn't. His hands had been empty. Unarmed man, worst words there are. Why did you throw that thing at him? Because he had a look on his face. Because I couldn't get at the Mexican-might have hit Poe. The Mexican had a knife to Poe's neck but that was not the one you killed. The dead man was the one standing there doing nothing.

Basis of everything, he thought. Pick your own over a stranger. Dead Swede for living Poe. Ten dead Swedes or a hundred. Long as it's the enemy. Ask any general. Ask any priest-millions die in the Bible, no problem if G.o.d says thumbs- up. Babies, even-dash em on the rocks say Jesus made me do it. The Word of G.o.d and the hand of man. Done the deed now wash your hands.