City Kid

I walked across the street to my car. Not really thinking yet, just ordering my stomach to be still. I drove straight ahead. There it was, Jefferson. I parked my car and got out and walked down the street. Most of the buildings were empty, or else the windows were covered with grimy sheets concealing whatever went on behind them.

The factory was immediately recognizable. There was an unpleasant acrid smell and then the sight of burned grass and piles of blackened tubes. Automatically I touched the outside of my front jeans pocket. I could feel the tube that Luke had given me for luck. I had carried it to each exam.

I looked at my watch. Three-fifteen. Nothing to do now. I felt better, though. The walk had cleared my head and I went back to the car to wait.

By four o’clock the last of the school kids had passed. At four-thirty the factory whistle blew and a dozen or so workers poured out. A few minutes later, what were evidently secretaries or bookkeepers or office personnel left and the plant seemed empty. I waited a few more minutes and then opened the car door and walked back toward the factory. It was quiet and in the dark, late winter afternoon, the ancient street lights were the only illumination.

I walked without hesitation to the back of the factory and nudged the charred piles of metal with the toe of my boot, waiting, listening. Luke wasn’t here. I knew that, but somebody was. I walked in close to the building, leaning against the old bricks, invisible against the wall.

A small, dark figure scurried past. Good. Not the police. Not Luke either, though. Maybe Higgins. Judas Higgins. The one who had ratted on Luke. I went out to the metal pile, once again stirring the empty tubes with my foot to make enough noise so whoever was there would listen.

“Give Luke a message,” I said to the darkness. “Tell him to be at the doughnut place at ten tomorrow morning.” Not a sound. Not good enough. Think of something more. Ah! “Tell him I will give him two dollars to give to the person who brings him the message.”

I went back to the side of the building and waited. There he goes! The same small figure scurried even faster across the back of the lot, this time not stopping by the piles of tubes.

Chapter 9 (#u042f5711-346d-5f23-a1b5-d9f6af79f374)

I was parked outside the Dunkin’ Donuts by 9:45.

March had turned lamblike and April continued soft and warm, with white woolly clouds tumbling across the blue sky. I rolled the car window down and waited.

I had surprised myself the night before. We had finished dinner before I mentioned the fire or Luke to Cal. I had even thought, for a little while, that I might not tell him at all. Cal, of course, knew nothing of what had occurred and attributed my silence to weariness or exams or the flu.

I didn’t understand yet what had happened myself. I wanted to talk to Luke before I tried to explain it to someone else. In the end, I told Cal, briefly, almost abruptly. He listened, asking only for facts, not interpretations. He didn’t even remind me of what I knew, that it had been foolish to wander alone in the back of a factory after dark.

Unexpectedly, I slept soundly, deep in a dream that I could not remember. When I woke, the last residue of the flu was gone and I was ravenous and wide awake.

Now every inch of my body was alert. Where was Luke? Ten o’clock. He should be here.

A small dark head appeared in the open window.

“Luke say gimme the two dollars.”

“Who are you?”

“Wendell Higgins.”

“You’re the one who said Luke lit the fire, is that right?”

“No. I never said nuthin’.”

“Listen, Wendell. If you know where Luke is, you go tell him to get himself down here right away. No money till Luke shows up.”

“I dunno if I kin find Luke,” Wendell Higgins whined.

“Well, you just try, Wendell. I’ll wait till twelve.”

Wendell was instantly gone. He moved so fast I hadn’t seen him arrive or disappear; with Wendell he was either there or not there.

At eleven-thirty he was back. Alone.

“Luke’s skeered to come here.”

“No two dollars then. Sorry.”

“You know the park? Luke’ll come there.”

“Okay. Get in. You can show me the park.”

We drove for about a mile with Wendell Higgins crouched, wary and intent beside me. “Cops don’t come near here in the A.M. Stop here. I’ll get him.”

Within five minutes Wendell was back. Luke walked behind him, his face expressionless.

He was so small. Seven and a half. My own son at almost that age was tying knots for a cub scout badge, and Luke was dodging the police.

“Hello, Luke,” I said, trying to keep my face as expressionless as his. I took out my wallet. “Here’s the two dollars I said you could give to Wendell.”

Luke passed the bills to Wendell and once again Wendell Higgins was instantly out of sight. Luke looked nervously around him.

“Will you get in, Luke?” I asked.

Luke quickly stepped into the car and closed the door behind him, obviously glad to be out of view.

I started the car and drove without any particular thought as to direction. Because it was the route I took most often, I headed back toward college. Luke huddled close to the door on his side of the car, but at least he had come to meet me. That was a beginning.

I had no plan of what I would do or what I would say to Luke. I concentrated my entire energy on trying to feel what he was feeling, trying to listen with the “third ear.” I let the car drive itself.

Suddenly Luke sat up straight, leaning forward, peering intently out the front window.

I, too, strained forward trying to see what he saw, but there was nothing. Only the road cutting through the hills on the way to State. Even the trees were bare, except for the pines.

I could feel Luke looking at me. I kept driving, looking straight ahead. Give him time. He’s almost ready. Don’t look at him now; that will make it harder.

“How’d you know about the mountain?” Luke whispered the question.

What did he mean? What mountain? The hills? These hills must seem very big when you’re as small as Luke. And then I knew. This is where he had been. This was his hiding place. Was this also where he had set that large fire last fall?

I drove until I found a flat place where I could pull off the road. After I’d parked I turned toward Luke.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “I’m sorry about this week. I was sick and couldn’t drive down. I called school and explained, but somehow the secretary got mixed up –”

Luke nodded, barely listening, intent on something beyond the car.

“Let’s walk awhile,” I said. There were evidently no answers to be found inside my old convertible.

Luke was instantly out of the car, running down the way we had just come. I followed as fast as I could.

About a quarter mile back he jogged off the road onto a small path, turning once to look back at me.