Something in My Eye: Stories (12 page)

“I'm not sure,” I said.

He offered me a drink from his jar, which was full of tepid tap or perhaps river water. I drank one sip, and then told him that I would be fine for a while. I was particular about my drinking water.

“I had a pretty good time last night,” I said.

“I'm not sure I like sitting here,” Moany said. “You better hurry up and tell me about your New Year's Eve.”

He really wasn't the kindest of listeners, but it was rare that I had one at all, so I kept going. “I was downtown for the festivities,” I said. “Usually, I stay here under the bridge during holidays, because
they tend to get me a little down, and I don't like having to put on a public face when I'm having trouble wearing my private one. But last night, though I was feeling just about as down as ever, and though I tried to sleep it off, all the exploding fireworks kept snapping me awake, and I decided that if I was going to get through the night I needed to be around some kind—any kind—of life, so I went down to Big Square. I also decided that I wasn't going to let my mood spoil anyone else's that night: as I walked, I put on a smile, and held it there, and if ever I felt it slipping a little, I would do my best to raise it back up for the benefit of those around me. There were crowds of people there, in Big Square, all dressed in costumes and acting out of character in a fun way, and with my wide smile I think I fit right in. The strange thing was, at some point—right around the time a complete stranger gave me a paper bag with a party hat, a noise maker, and a warm bottle of beer inside—I realized that the public face I was wearing was equal to my private one, that the smile I was smiling was actually genuine, and that I was having a good time without even trying. And after that, I found that my legs were more limber than I was used to them being, and I started to dance, first just by myself, but then with everyone close by, until, gradually, a circle formed around me, and I saw that every public eye had fallen on me and every smile was directed toward me.” Moany's face began to darken when I described the dancing—out of jealousy, I supposed. I started to think twice about continuing with my story. He was in pretty bad shape.

“Go on,” he said. “It's fun for me to live through your fun.”

As long as he was willing to hear it, I really was more than happy to tell it. “Well, by the end of the night, I was up on people's shoulders, and they were telling me that they were going to make me their king, and all sorts of other friendly promises that I never really expected that they would make good on. And then the hour grew really late, and I found that my only company left in Big Square was the garbage that people had left behind, and I came back to the bridge, still smiling wide even though I was alone.”

Moany didn't make any real effort to hide his frown. “That does sound like a good time,” he said. “Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

“I don't know,” I said. “There was an old woman who used to lean over the bridge and show me her breast every day for a while, but I'm not sure if you would count that.”

“I wouldn't count that,” said Moany.

I sensed a sad story coming on and shifted my hips a little lower into the couch to get more comfortable.

“While you were out dancing with the crowds,” Moany said,

“my girlfriend and I were roaming the streets, doing our dancing act for money.”

“I've always wanted to dance professionally,” I said. That I haven't really is one of the major regrets of my life.

“It was just regular dancing,” he said bitterly. “I would lie on the concrete, my girlfriend would press play on the boombox, then she would climb on my back and sway. When I couldn't take her weight anymore, I would tap her ankle and we would switch.”

“Moany,” I said, “I am not a dancing authority, but it seems like this dance was very simple.”

“We tried the more elaborate stuff before,” Moany said, “but no one donated. So we settled on the dance I just told you about. Ugliness is in, anyway. And we did well last night, until the boombox broke. After that, we started to head for home.”

“Where do you live?” I said. I wanted to make sure he still knew that I was interested in him and his story.

“My girlfriend and I live in Balltank, not far from here. We live under a bridge, pretty much the same as this one. Last night, my girlfriend and I were walking home after making a good amount of money, and we passed by a shop, where we saw the most magnificent dog in the window. I asked my girlfriend several times how much she thought the dog cost, but she assumed I wanted to buy the dog, and told me that we needed a new boombox before we went ahead and got a pet. But that wasn't what I wanted at all. I just wanted to know the price of the damn dog, just to get an
idea. She told me if I went into the shop, she was going to leave for the electronics store without me and start shopping for a new boombox. I didn't believe her, and went in the shop, and I found the manager in the back. He had more dogs around him, but none were as good as the one in the window. I asked him how much the dog was, and he kind of sniffed at me and told me I couldn't afford it. I told him I didn't want to buy it, but that I wanted to know the damn price. He told me fourteen dollars. I was satisfied, for the moment. When I left the store, the streets were empty, and I found my girlfriend at the electronics store a couple blocks away. She was talking to a clerk and choosing between two boomboxes. She asked me for my opinion, but I didn't want to give it. I was just thinking about the dog. I told her that even though the manager at the shop sniffed disdainfully at me at first, he quoted me a price of fourteen. She still thought I wanted the damn dog, even though I told her again that I didn't. Then she held up two boomboxes and told me to pick, and I told her I'd rather get the money we made that night and take it back to the shop and just show the manager that we could afford the damn dog. She told me that if I went back to the shop with the money that she would leave me and I could find my own way home. Like a fool, I ripped the money out of her hands and ran back to the shop, which the manager had closed, and was locking up. I showed him the money and proved that my girlfriend and I could afford it, but he told me to put my money away because he'd just sold the damn dog to a loving owner, and when I asked him if he could see that I could have afforded the damn dog in the window, he told me that he didn't give a damn. He made me really upset.”

“Some people really don't want to get to Heaven,” I said, though I felt bad about casting judgment on a person who was only real to me as a character in Moany's story.

“You're right about that,” said Moany. “But it gets worse. When I got back to the electronics store, my girlfriend was gone, and so was the clerk, and by the time I made it back to the bridge in
Balltank, they were already done making love, and were talking sweet to one another. I knew I had no say, and the whole thing was my fault, so I gave the money to my girlfriend and started walking. I made the Hernville city limits just as the sun was peeking up, and then I saw you frolicking as I was crossing the bridge.”

“What did the dog look like?” I said. “I was not frolicking.”

“The dog in the window was beautiful and proud,” he said. “I'd seen others that good in my life, but not for a long time.”

“Moany,” I said, “Tell me the truth. Did you really want to buy that dog in the window?”

“No.”

“It's OK if you did. Sometimes I want things that I shouldn't have, like a big brass bed, for example, instead of this couch. I think that's pretty normal.”

“I didn't,” Moany said, “and what made me leave my girlfriend was I realized that no matter what, no matter how long we stayed together or how many people we entertained over the years, I knew I'd never be able to convince her that I didn't want that damn dog. Now, if someone would have given me the damn dog for free, I certainly would have cared for him, but I just couldn't justify spending money on him, beautiful as he was. ”

“What do you do now?” I said.

“I don't know,” said Moany. “I don't know, and I don't really care what happens.”

“You're depressed, aren't you?”

“I guess so.”

“The doctors at the clinic will give you free trial packs of medicines,” I said.

“What clinic?”

“The one in Big Square.”

“I like medicines,” Moany said, “when I can get them.”

“Now, they don't always tell you what the medicines do, so you have to be careful, but I'm sure they could give you a couple of trial packs to experiment with until you find the one you like.”

“How many medicines are in a trial pack?”

“Two or three tops,” I said. I was happy to have gotten him off the subject of the dog. “And when they run out you can go back to the clinic, and if they have any more trial packs, they'll give them to you, no problem.”

“What if they don't have any more of the medicines that I like?”

“Well, doctors and drug companies are always working hard to develop new medicines, so they'll have something comparable, I bet.”

“What do you take?” said Moany.

“Oh, I don't take anything at the moment. I pray.”

“You sure know a lot about medicines.”

“Well, when I get really down, financially speaking, and when my prayers take a little longer to get answered than I had originally expected, the clinic lets me take out their garbage and restock the paper towel dispenser for a little change. The doctors try to push those trial packs on me, but I always tell them that trial packs don't put hot meals in my stomach.”

“So are you saying I should pray, or go to the clinic for medicines instead?”

He had me in a tough spot. I had been given a lot of medicines from doctors before, and they did work pretty well, until the clinic had to shut down for a while, and I had to learn to live without them. It was hard, but I made it through, thanks to prayer. When the clinic reopened I didn't need the medicines at all, just the money they would give me for my janitorial work.

“I guess either some praying, or some medicines, or a combination of both would be good for you,” I said. I wish I could have been more helpful to him, but at the end of the day, people just have this sad private pain that is impossible for anyone else to access. That's exactly why I get so excited about Heaven and its promises.

“The more I think about it,” said Moany, “the more I realize how much I wanted that damn dog in the window. I don't know why I couldn't be honest with myself.”

I wanted to respond, but thought there was a good chance that my words would not have been kind ones, so I started looking at the river, just watching the trash swirl around. When I turned back to look at Moany again, I was surprised to see that he'd taken a knife out from his pants. I thought there was only about a fifty percent chance that he was going to use it to murder me, given how little I had, but I didn't want to offend him, so I got up from the couch and casually pretended that an insect had bitten me under my jeans. But then Moany just kind of dragged the knife across his own throat, until he bled so much that he lost his balance and fell off the couch and onto the rocky bank. It was all over quickly. I really hope that was the most nonsensational way to tell you about the death of Moany. It was a surprising moment for me, and I wanted to make you feel my surprise, but not to the point that you thought I enjoyed talking about it. It was a terrible thing to see.

I buried Moany and the knife behind some shrubs that were growing along the bank. I really didn't know what to think. I had just met this man about an hour before, and we had had a nice conversation, and now here I was throwing the last of the topsoil over his bald head because his bandanna had come off in the fall. I began a prayer over his grave, a long and sweet one, because I thought that Moany, especially because he was able to admit his desire for the dog, deserved to get to Heaven. About three quarters of the way through the prayer, though, I got this spooky feeling, and I decided to stop, because the last thing I wanted was for Moany to wake up one fine morning in a place that he never wanted to be at all. Some people are scared of Heaven, and you have to respect that.

I tried to go about my day as I normally would: I cooked a modest breakfast, replayed all the positive memories from my life, and continued to list everything I was thankful for. I considered another bath in the river, but didn't feel like disrobing again, and besides, the morning had only grown colder since Moany's demise, so I settled for just rinsing the blood off my hands. After I dried
them on my bandana, I got back on the couch and tried to take my mind off the image of Moany's empty eyes just staring at the dirt over him. I knew his brain was not getting oxygen anymore, but for some reason, I really believed that his eyes could still see. Before falling asleep for an afternoon nap, I was finally able to formulate my New Years resolutions. They were:

I don't want you to think that Moany had a negative effect on my life. And I don't want you to think that it was significant that Moany's death happened on New Year's Day. Actually, looking at it one way, although the relationship hadn't been given time to develop, I had already made a good start on keeping my second resolution. Really, all I mean to say is that Moany's death was certainly sad, but I was sure it didn't have any symbolic meaning or anything terrible like that. To the living, death doesn't bring symbols when it comes, it just brings death. But I also don't want to suggest that his death was meaningless, as some might argue. It might have been meaningless, in the grand scheme of things, but even now I find it hard to refer to Moany's sudden death that way. I'll say it this way: the meaning of Moany's death has yet to become clear to me, but I know one day it will.