The Waking (28 page)

We always said to him, “The Reaper’s gonna get you,” and he always said, “The Reaper got to catch me first.” There wasn’t anything you couldn’t bet The Reaper to try. When we were kids, he’d run out into traffic and dare cars to stop. He got sideswiped a few times, even rolled over a few hoods, but he was always able to limp back over to us to collect his money. He was the kid who pulled the fire alarm right in front of the principal, the kid who snorted the chalk dust from the eraser right in front of the teacher, and the kid who set a trashcan on fire in the faculty men’s room while some teacher was doing his business in the stall. He wasn’t dumb, and he wasn’t necessarily bad. He was just bored. I may as well try to rhyme this one. I have nothing on my hands but ice and time. What rhymes with “reaper”?

Whoa. Where did those last two lines come from? We were all broke. And why is this starting to sound like R&B? I re-read what’s on the page. Am I writing about him or me? Maybe all us boys were interchangeable on the Hill.

This is freaking me out. Reaper and I kind of led parallel lives for a while until he walked straight into a city bus coming down Centre. The folks that were there
swear
Reaper’s last words were, “I won that bet, now gimme my money.”

That could have been me.

More TV, more sleep, and all I have to show for almost a whole day is a bag of cold water and two little poems. The boat has stopped, too. The passengers are probably out exploring some plantation or other, trying to get in touch with their glorious, racist pasts. They actually give tours of plantations, institutions created to keep my people down, and they wonder why we’re so angry. I don’t feel like writing, and despite the throbbing in my hands, I feel like punching something. I need the hours, I need to be working, and I don’t need to be by myself. This really—

Sucks, doesn’t it?

Yeah.

You do the right thing and you’re still down and out. Ain’t life grand?

You saw me?

Yeah. The Hill would be proud of you the way you beat that boy down.

Yeah, they would.

Too bad you changed your ways, Manny Mann, or you’d know the cure for everything that ails you.

It ain’t no cure. It’s a death sentence.

How do you know your friend Reaper didn’t find the cure, huh? Maybe he saw God on the grill of a city bus and wanted to have a little chat.

That’s crazy.

What have you been saying? That sometimes crazy works?

Don’t listen to me.

Can’t help it, bro. We’re kind of in this thing together.

I hate it when The Voice makes more sense than I do.

The next morning, I report for work and painfully wash some dishes using long yellow rubber gloves. The heat building up inside them leads to sweat, the sweat trickles into my cuts, and the hot water doesn’t help at all. My hands feel like they’re on fire.

“
Uh-oh,” Rose whispers as she places more plates in the sink.

“
What?”

“
Look who’s here.”

I turn and see the Human Resources Coordinator standing in a doorway. “So?”

“
So? The HRC never comes down here.”

The HRC. I don’t even know her name. She’s just a bunch of initials. I nod at her and return to my dishes.

“
Mr. Mann, come with me,” she says.

Uh-oh.

I peel off my gloves as carefully as possible, but I know I leave skin and scabs inside. “Yes ma’am.”

Rose steps between us. “What’s this about?”

“
There’s a problem with Mr. Mann’s paperwork.”

I roll my eyes at Rose and smile. “I must have spelled something wrong. Don’t worry.”

But I’m worrying the entire time that I follow the HRC, who doesn’t say a single word, to see Doc Agee, who gives me a mournful look when I enter. Oh yeah, it must be time for the drug test.

“
Doctor Agee, why hasn’t this man been given a drug test?”

Doc Agee fiddles with his files, eyeing me occasionally. “I was, er, examining him about the time, um, Mrs., um, Mrs. …” He snaps his fingers. “Mrs. Something with the blond wig, you know, the one who got sick from the salmon?”

Doc Agee is a terrible liar, and I try not to laugh.

The HRC can’t keep her hands still, and they flutter all around her like a butterfly. What is she so nervous about? “That doesn’t matter now. Just give him a drug test.”

“
Now?” Doc Agee looks at me. “Right now?”

I swagger over to him. “Give me the cup.” It’s been twenty days or so. I might be okay.

He hands me a cup. “You sure?”

“
I’ll try not to miss.”

But I can’t pee right away once I’m in the little bathroom, mainly because they’re on the other side listening, and partly because I don’t have to pee. So while they listen out for me, I listen to them.

“
I am in so much trouble, Doc.”

“
There, there.”

“
I mean, if Rose Neal vouches for someone, I don’t have to do a background check. That’s the way it’s always been. Anyone she’s ever recommended has turned out just fine, and some have been with us for years after her recommendation.”

“
Rose
is
an excellent judge of character,” Doc Agee says.

I look down. Nothing yet.

I hear the rustle of paper. “But look at his application, Doc. Did you have any idea at all that he was a drug user?”

“
Why no.”

Oh, now I can pee, and though I don’t fill the cup, the sound keeps the next part of their conversation from me. I open the door and hand out the cup first so I’ll have two hands free to zip up my pants. Doc takes the cup and sets it on his desk while I manage to pull up the zipper.

“
Here, I’ll show you,” Doc says, and he winks at me. He motions me over and rolls up my sleeves. “No track marks here, just two tattoos. How’s that dog bite doing?”

Oh yeah, the stamp. “Almost fully healed. Thanks for asking.”

I then follow the HRC to her office where I stand still while she fidgets in her chair. “I know what really happened in New Orleans the other night,” she says.

“
Oh.”

“
So I ran a background check on you. Usually these take up to ten days, but imagine my surprise when I find out today that you’re on probation in Pennsylvania. Your name came back that quickly, Mr. Mann.”

I point at my paperwork. “If there was a spot for that on that application, I would have marked it. I told the whole truth on that application. And as for what happened in New Orleans, I was defending Penny’s honor.”

“
That’s not what the New Orleans police told me. They told me you maliciously wounded a man who was minding his own business dancing.”

I shake my head. “Yeah, I roughed him up, but he was clawing at Penny’s more than dancing.”

“
Well, this company doesn’t like that sort of thing at all. The company prides itself on its staff.”

“
And it should have pride for me, too. I’ve been working hard on this boat.”

“
That’s not the point, Mr. Mann. I’m sure you’re a good worker, it’s just that … you will have to be terminated.”

Ain’t life grand.

“
We can’t have it get out to the passengers that one of our staff has a criminal record. It’s not good for business.”

Terminated. Criminal record. Not good for business. Just like that. I don’t speak because I’m used to it. I bull my neck and nod my head instead.

“
You’ll get your last check, and because you have direct deposit, you’ll have to close your account.”

I’m good at closing accounts. “Anything else?”

Her hands start to flutter again. “Um, you’ll need to turn in your uniform and your badge.”

“
Fine. Anything else?”

Her hands tremble as they fly. “When we, um, get to Memphis, I’m, uh, I’m supposed to turn you over to the authorities.”

“
For breaking probation or for breaking that guy’s face?”

She catches her right hand with her left and settles both back to the desk. What, she’s afraid I’ll steal on her, too? “For both, I think. I’m not sure.”

I can’t go back to Pittsburgh like that, and I sure don’t want to go back to New Orleans in handcuffs. I’d lose another year, maybe more for an assault conviction, even if I pled guilty, and maybe another six months just for skipping probation, and there’s no telling what would happen to me in jail in New Orleans. I’ll bet the white boy is the son of some rich guy who can buy a jury rigged especially for me. And I don’t want my son’s first glimpse of me to be at a jail with me wearing a jumper and a number.

“
I, uh, wasn’t supposed to tell you that, Mr. Mann, so, um, don’t let on that I told you to anyone, okay?”

Which is another way of saying, “Please get off the boat before we get to Memphis so I can keep my job.”

I laugh in spite of the situation.

“
What’s so funny?” she asks.

“
Nothing has changed,” I say with a smile.

You took the words right out of my mouth.

“
Are you looking out for me, or are you looking out for your job?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer.

“
At least one of us is honest,” I say.

And now I
have
to get off this boat and the sooner the better. Closing my bank account takes a few signatures, and I have nearly ten bundles’ worth of cash in my hands.

Now we’re talking!

Shut up.

After what could be my last hot shower for a long while, I’m changing out of my uniform into my old “captain’s” clothes and collecting my notepads when Rufus busts through the door.

“
I heard,” he says.

“
It was bound to happen sooner or later.” I just wish it had happened later. What did I get? Three weeks of freedom? I should have enjoyed those days more.

“
What you gonna do?” Rufus asks.

“
I could get off at Tunica.” Because of the rain a few days ago, not many passengers went to Tunica, a casino town in Mississippi, but those who did said it was wall-to-wall people. I could get lost very easily there.

“
Tunica? We’re almost there. We should be arriving in less than an hour.”

I point at my traveling clothes. “I’m ready.”

“
Lots of police there.”

“
It’ll be okay. It’s easy to get lost in all that neon.”

Then Rose shows up with a backpack full of fried chicken, sandwiches, brownies, and a half-gallon of sweetened iced tea.

“
How’d you know I’d be leaving?” I ask.

“
I know you,” Rose says, “and I know that if I was you, I wouldn’t let someone just take me, especially if I was innocent. Besides, you ain’t finished yet, are you?”