Jonah Havensby (8 page)

As he walked he tried not to think about the cold and he tried not to think about food. He failed at both. He found himself walking faster and faster toward the warehouse.

As he turned on Main Street, he slowed. There was a police car with its lights flashing, stopped just up the block. They weren’t looking for him, obviously, but he felt no need to draw attention to himself.  He was glad he flipped up the hood of his coat when he walked out of the mall.

He tried to maintain a casual speed as he walked past the car just on the other side of the street, but he couldn’t help looking.

The front window of the hardware store had been broken through. Jagged pieces of glass remained, but it was evident that someone had smashed the window in and not out. He could see pieces of the window all over the display case covering the backpacks and hunting gear that looked like it was trampled over.

The shop’s owner, a pudgy, balding man in a turtleneck and an old hunting jacket came out of the store’s front door, which seemed to be intact. He was red-faced and followed by the Sherriff, a tall man who looked to Jonah like a blonde-haired cowboy.

“I’m telling you, it was some kind of animal,” the angry shopkeeper said as he locked the front door. The action seemed silly to Jonah, with the window busted out, why bother to lock the door?

“Fred, I’m telling you,” the Sherriff answered, “An animal wouldn’t know to knock down a security camera, much less two of them. It had to be some guy wearing a costume so he couldn’t be recognized. It might even be some kids messing around. Is anything missing?”

“It wasn’t kids!” Fred shouted. “You saw that tape! It was some kind of big ape! And how can I tell if there’s anything missing? You saw the inside of that place! It will take me a week to sort all that out!”

“Take it easy, Fred,” the Sherriff said in an effort to cool the man’s temper. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll take the tape to the station and see what we can find out. Just do the best you can with an inventory and let me know what’s missing. You said there was no money in the till, right?”

“No, every night I empty the register. And the safe is still there. That’s what I’m telling you. I don’t think this was a robbery, it was some big gorilla. You’re going to have to issue a warning. And alert animal control.”

“Alright. Alright, Fred.” the Sherriff said. “We’ll take a close look at the tape. I’m not alerting anyone of anything until I know for sure. I still say it was someone just looking for some money or stuff to sell.”

Just then, they both seemed to notice that Jonah was standing across the street. Jonah himself became aware that he’d stopped to listen to the conversation. He pulled his hood up farther over his head and started walking again. The two men went back to their discussion.

The electric blanket was all he could think about the rest of the walk. Hadn’t he seen one in among the camping gear in the window? The same color and everything? Had his father survived the explosion and broken into the hardware store to take it for him? That didn’t make sense. His father wasn’t a big man. Surely even if he was horribly disfigured from the explosion he still couldn’t be confused with an ape.

He looked up and down the alley when he got to the warehouse and tried to search every window before he pried open the tiny door under the stairs. His backpack was still there, and it took some effort to unwedge. He unzipped it and made sure everything he left was there.

When his feet hit the floor of the warehouse with a crunch of broken glass, there was a flurry of activity over by Grouchy’s nest. Jonah, who was deep in thought, was caught off guard. He spun in a panic, and made a small cry, but then got caught in his twisting legs, and went down hard on his knees, his arms up in a defensive posture.

It wasn’t one of the dangerous men. It seemed Grouchy was caught off guard too. He wasn’t in his nest, but a few feet from it. It was the first time Jonah saw all of him. He wasn’t as big as he seemed. He was only about two feet long and he was kind of scrawny, even now, up on his hind legs and staring directly at Jonah. When Jonah didn’t move, Grouchy wiped at his nose with the back of one paw, then went back down on all fours and ran into his nest.

Jonah got up, wiping dust, glass and dirt from his jeans and said as he headed up the stairs, “Sorry Grouchy. Didn’t know you’d be out and about.”

He threw the backpack on the roll-top desk and checked to see that everything was exactly the way he left it. Nothing seemed to have been touched. Then he saw the two loaves of bread and the peanut butter. He was so hungry at this point, his mouth watered. He unzipped the backpack. He could have the last can of beans, or the last can of peaches, or he could have a peanut butter sandwich.

He took out his bottle of water and the spoon he had saved from the caves and plopped himself down on his nest.

He took one of the loaves of bread, turned it this way and that, examining the packaging. It didn’t seem like it had been tampered with. He opened it and found that it had an inner plastic wrapping which had not been opened. He judged the package to be safe.

He put down the bread and looked at the peanut butter. It was the crunchy kind. His favorite. This did nothing to quell the urge to rip it open. But he did the same thing as with the bread. He examined it closely for tampering. He slowly opened the lid and found the safety seal intact. He very carefully rubbed his finger all over it, looking for any small holes. When he found none, he peeled back the safety seal and the smell overwhelmed him.

He opened the bread and took out a piece and then smeared peanut butter all over it. He practically devoured it without chewing. After a week of nothing but canned fruits, this almost felt like the best thing he’d ever eaten, except maybe chocolate mousse cake.

Soon enough, the peanut butter began sticking in his moth as he tried to eat the whole piece of bread at once. He stopped, gulped some water and got back to it.

Once he’d finished it, he waited. Waited for death. Waited for his stomach to explode. He waited, anticipating the worst.

He began to feel foolish after a few minutes. Sitting stark still with only his eyes roaming around the office as his brain made constant checks for discomfort of any sort. When nothing happened, he tore at the bread packaging and made himself a peanut butter sandwich. When that was done, and after another few more minutes of fearing the worst, he made himself another.

He couldn’t remember meals with his father ever being this satisfying; although he was sure they had been that and more. The fullness made him relaxed. Being relaxed made him feel tired. He slumped against the bookcase.

His eyes fell upon the electric blanket.  He was sure it was stolen from the hardware store.

“Well,” he thought, “we are a family of thieves, after all.”

He got up, and pulled off his coat, and then he emptied his stolen change from his pocket without even a second glance. He took the blanket and laid it over the nest. He plugged it in and sat down on it while he sealed up the loaf of bread and screwed the cap on the peanut butter. The blanket began to warm, making him feel even more tired.

VI

He awoke with a start the next morning, sitting straight up. He had been so tired and so full it had made him feel too relaxed and he had let his guard down. He looked at the office door, it was closed. He looked to see if anything new had been brought in and he found nothing.

Jonah had been having a vivid dream of flying through the trees of the surrounding forest. From branch to branch and then diving down and running through the brush. An entirely freeing feeling, like he could go anywhere. He felt his hands dig into bark and hold tight. He could feel the wet leaves on his feet and hear the crunch of twigs.

He thought for a moment that what had awakened him so suddenly was that it was too quiet. He looked at the large clock on the wall and found that it was after two-o’clock in the afternoon. He had not woken up to the ten A.M. truck pounding its way down the road full of potholes. He had come to rely on that as a sort of alarm clock, but he hadn’t even heard it this morning.

His vision blurred and then the pain came. The sharp dagger of pain, drilling its way through his left eye. He grabbed at it and cried out in pain. He sat in the nest doubled over in pain, both hands over his eye now. And then he threw his head back and cried out again. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he shouldn’t be screaming so loud. He would attract attention. But the pain - There was so much pain!

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and rubbed them with the balls of his hands. It seemed to help a modest amount. He didn’t know how long he sat like that, rocking back and forth, willing the pain to stop. When he looked at the clock again, it was ten minutes later.

He winked his right eye, the one that didn’t hurt. Then winked the left. Then both of them together. He did this several times and found that the pain had subsided, although it seemed to have shot to the back of his head, like the drill had finally found its target and was making its way dully back there. He wondered briefly if he had some sort of brain tumor, but the thought was too overwhelming, so he pushed it away.

When the pain finally stopped altogether, he found that he was sweating even in the crisp winter air. He unplugged the blanket and he pulled off his sweater. That’s when the smell hit him.

He only had two full changes of clothes and had been alternating them on a daily basis. The two sweaters and his coat seemed to have masked the point that his undershirts had become pretty rank even though he’d been trying to keep himself pretty well washed.

He peeled the red t-shirt off and went into the bathroom. He wet it under the tap of the large work sink and then scrubbed it with his bar of soap, twisting it every which way, scrubbing at it, and then unfurling it and rinsing it out as best he could. He went back into the office and hung it from the long, extended microphone at the control station.

The other t-shirt, the tan one with the surfing logo on it, was still in his backpack. He smelled it. It wasn’t quite as bad as the other one. He would wear this one today and then, if the first dried out by tomorrow, he’d wash this one too.

He took out his second pair of jeans and tested them as well. At least the jeans seemed to be holding up. He knew he’d have to wash them both at some point, but they seemed so heavy, he wasn’t really sure how long they might take to dry in the air. He took the green gem out of his pocket and laid it on the desk.

The second set of clothes he took into the bathroom. He washed himself, then washed out the boxers and the socks he wore last night. He dressed in the clothes he had brought in and then laid the boxers and socks on the control panel in the office.

The brown sweater in his backpack was the thinner of the two he had. The blue one was double-knitted and had a crewneck. The brown one had a v-neck. The sweaters were holding up seemingly as well as the jeans, but he’d have to be more careful about rinsing out his underclothes.

He found the basketball shorts at the bottom of the backpack. There was a dirt stain across the thigh. He took them and washed them in the sink, but not a lot could be done about the stain that had already been set. They definitely looked better. He laid them over the office chair.

When he moved the backpack again, he spotted the change he’d thrown on the desk. It seemed to be less than a handful. Still, it seemed to be a glaring reminder of wrongdoing. He absently sorted it into pennies, dimes and nickels. He even came up with two quarters. After he sorted it, he counted it. He totaled it to be one dollar and fourteen cents.

He wondered what he could do with it. He was sure it wouldn’t get him food, maybe just a candy bar. But then a funny thought had occurred to him. In the newer part of the mall, all the soda machines gave out bottles of soda and they cost two dollars. But there was a machine in the older part that still gave cans, and he was sure the cans were only seventy-five cents. He decided he’d go to the mall and get a soda. At least he’d be returning the money to the mall in some way, even if that wasn’t its intended purpose.

He put the change in his pocket. He was going to start his normal routine of packing all of his belongings into the backpack, but remembered that most of his belongings were now wet and strewn around the room. So he left the electric blanket where it was and put the loaves of bread and the peanut butter in the backpack with the spare vegetables. He rinsed the spoon in the sink and returned that to the pack. And then put the green gem around his neck, under his sweater.

When he zipped up the pack today, it felt somehow deflated, with the second set of clothes all laid out there was a lot of room to spare. He hated to leave them, but knew that nothing would dry inside the pack.

He had one minor last thought and checked his breath, catching it in his hand. It was overwhelmingly peanut buttery. He went into the bathroom and rinsed his mouth numerous times and made sure to gargle and spit. Then he brushed his teeth with his index finger and repeated the whole process three or four times. When he checked his breath again, it was better, but by no means clean. He wondered if he could buy toothpaste for a dollar and fourteen cents.

He left the bathroom and pulled on his coat. He was just on his way out when he stopped, unzipped the pack and dug out one piece of bread. Then he zipped it back up and put it on his back. The bread he pressed into a hard little ball.

He hesitated at the door, but didn’t know why. When he turned the handle and heard the lock pop, there was a subtle relief, another confirmation of safety. He closed the door behind him and went down the stairs.

At the bottom step, he pitched his little ball of bread toward Grouchy’s nest. It hit the wall behind it and ricocheted into it. There was a screech of surprise and some activity, but Grouchy seemed to have buried himself deep in the barricade of debris this afternoon.

“Just say thank you and shut up!” Jonah said to the nest. And then he went out.

Jonah began to fall into a pattern, of sorts. Some days he would wake up to the sound of the big truck rumbling down the street. On others he would wake up late in the afternoon and suffer through the debilitating pain behind his eye which could last as long as twenty minutes.