By Edward Harkness · the acoustic tiles forever. They picked a Sunday. My aunt recalls they looked...

SayingtheNecessary

ByEdwardHarkness

eBookEdition

Producedby1827WaldenOfficeSquareSuite260,Schaumburg,IL60173,USAEnquiries:info@ebooks2go.netwww.ebooks2go.net

ePubISBN978-1-5457-2228-2

CONTENTSFlyingFortress

Goldenrod

1964

CheckingtheWellatNight

TheNightKidParetwasKilledonTV

Helen

RightField

FlyingFortress:MyFatherSurvivestheWar

Nap

BuryingtheAfterbirth

PuttingThingsBy

ANotetoMySons

TheWorldsIKnow

MySon’sDrawingofaSmilingDeer

HisNightLight

SevenStarSpoon

ANotetoMySons

DragonKite

DragonKite

AudeninChina

WatercolorPaintingofaBambooRake

SupermaninChina

AloneontheGreatWall

Qin’sClayArmy

MusicinTonglouPark

Shanhaiguan:EastEndoftheGreatWall

BlackButterflies

Spain,1938

LincolnBrigadeReunion

OnReadingoftheHangingofBenjaminMoloiseinSouthAfrica

BlackButterflies

AttheSiteoftheUndergroundMissileSilo

WomanwiththeEgg

KennyAtkisson,K.I.A.,KheSanh

Rifles

HighCountryClimb

NorthofOrcas

CometHayakutake

TheManintheRecreationRoom

HighCountryClimb

TossingaRain-SoakedJournalBackintheBurnBarrel

Tonight

CliffAbovetheYakima

Kaylyn,HermistonElementary

Cutthroat

WinterWren

SayingtheNecessary

SayingtheNecessary

Acknowledgments

FlyingFortress

Goldenrod—forLinda

Hereisharebell,herethesnowyblossoms

ofserviceberry.Alongthecrumblededge

ofthebank,foxfireglowswildwithsummer,

roseredasitburns.Thesmellofsage

brightensanafternoonlitbylupine,

sweetensthissandbarthenextfloodwillruin.

TheNachesglittersontheleavesofanaspen,

colorscloudsoverTimberwolfMountain.

Frompineshadeyoustepouttomeetme.

HeatshiversoffthebonesofClemensRidge.

Whichweedsarethese?Iask.Youslipfree

fromyourmuslinskirtandspreaditontheledge.

YousayGoldenrod,andthewordtakesroot

inthesandwherewelie,transientaslight.

1964Thisistheroomwheretheyfoundthem,

heinthecheapwoodenchair,hislegs

crossed,headback,thewallbehindspeckled

withhisblood.Shelayonthemotelbed

inafloweredhousedressasifnapping,

glovedhandsfoldedonherchest,

thepillowsoaked,herblondehairprim,

hardlymussed,hereyesopentocount

theacoustictilesforever.TheypickedaSunday.

Myauntrecallstheylookedasthoughthey’d

justreturnedfromchurch.Sheneverreplaced

thecarpets.Myjob:tomakethebeds

allsummerforpeoplepassingthroughBijou

onthescenicdrivetoReno,stoppingforanight

attheParadiseMotelonLakeTahoe,

watersopurepeoplepumpitstraight

totheirhouses.Leaningoverarowboat,

youcanseeyourshadowonthebluesand

thirtyfeetdown.Behindthechairthestain

stillshowswhereshescrubbedandbleached.

Petsokay.Myuncleinstructsifcoloredscome

I’mtosayI’msorry,Imusthaveleft

thevacancysignon,we’refull.

Mycousin,whohasfouryearstogethigh,

floatthroughhighschool,become

ajourneymancarpenterwithhisfather,

screamathismother,discoverThoreau,

getengaged,designandbuildahouse,

anddieinQuangTinProvince,

isupstairsstompingto“IWannaHoldYourHand.”

Noone’shome.He’sgoneberserk.

Thehi-fithumpsthewalls.

Myaunttaughtmetuck-and-pull,

sheetsfoldedbackfourinches.

Threehoursamorning,ninetycents.

Ihavetopayheranickeleverytime

Isay“huh?”NightsIwashdishes

atBurgerHeaven,ownedbyCarlJensen,

abeet-facedrightfielderfortheRedSox

untilalinedrivecrushedhisknee.

Hechar-broilsthepattieshimself.

Smokefromburntmeattrailsacross

thehighwayandontothelakewhere

waterskiersleanintolongglasswalls.

Carlhasabatinhisofficeinback,hisname

inscribedinthescuffedbarrel.Peoplefool

withCarl,hesays,Ishowthemthis.

Underthesweatshirtsinmydresser

hidesaspeakerfromtheBijouDrive-in.

Mycousinpoppedtheclutchinhisdad’spick-up,

windowstillrolled,rippedthespeaker

fromitsstand,cordandall,astoryIwilltell

foryears,asifitmeantsomethingbig.

InoneversionLucyJensensitsbetweenus,

herpaleeyeswide,herfingerstight

onmywristasacopchasesus,sirenwailing,

abovethelake,acrossDonnerPassanddown

intoNevada,starssogreenandsilver

intheincandescentdesertairI’vebegun

tobelieveIreallysawthemtracetheirslow

unalterablearcs.Inthisversion,

Idon’tscrapegrease,friesandgobsofcatsup

fromheavywhiteplates,Idon’tmakebeds,

Idon’tchecktoseeifthestain

isstillbehindthechairinunit#7.

InthisversionIdrivemyuncle’sburgundy

GTOconvertible,Ioutrunthecopsalltheway

toCarsonCity,pulloffInterstate80wherewepark

breathlessinthedustthatfollows,

ourheartsbangingtheircagedoors,

andwelaughuntiltearscome.

Fromasaguaroastrangebirdcries.

Aquartermoonsailsandfades.

Noonesaysawordaboutthespeaker

stillonthewindow,itsblacktaildangling.

OntheclimbbacktoCaliforniathesun

flaresinmyeyes.AtseventeenI’moldest,

soIletthemsleep.Thetreeschangeshape,

thelightsharpens,andIknowIwillendure

twolives:oneIinvent—Igiveitawayfreely.

TheotherIrevealhaltingly—eventomyself—

inbitsandpieces.Sometimestheyalign

asthesamestory.Sometimes,thesamelife.

CheckingtheWellGrampalowered

thelongcord

andbulb.

Waydown.

Waydownthewater

madeaperfectmirror.

Aboy’sfacegazedup—

palemoonwithacap.

AmIthatsmall?

Grampasmoked.Hisforehead

glowedlikeorangewax.

Icouldalmostseeinside.

Hetalkedabout

levelsofwater.

Bekindathirsty

comeOctober.

Analderleaf

tumbled.

Rings.

Mossysmell.

Flakesofcementwent

shunkshunk

Echo.

Ifasmallboyfell,

wherewouldhego?

Intohiseyes?

Grampaheldmybelt

andIleaned.

TheNightKidParetwasKilledonTVAgaintheskyhasgonetoseed.

Damnblackberries!

Idodgemyway

throughMrs.Roat’sorchard,

scratched,

imaginingherbigdog.

Eddie?Thatyou?Door’sopen.

Joewatchesthefights,

thebluescreen,sipsanOly.

Jeanstuffsclothes

inthedrier.Iredden

atLinda’sbra

andfilmyunderpants.

Who’sfighting?

Joesays

BennyParetandsomeothernigger.

TheKidistrappedinacorner.

Hardright.

Anotherboomingright.

Thecrowdcomesalive!

Lindasays

YouwannaCoke?

Idon’tcare.Yeah.

TheKid’sheadsnaps,

lollslikeadoll’s.

Solidleft,right.

HisheadshakesNo.

ShakesNo,no.

No.Seven,eighttimes.

Lopinghome,

themoongrowls,

caughtintheteethofadeadfir.

Ifeelmyhead,thenew

softplaces,

fistsofairslamming

somelovelyhumminginmyear.

HelenIseehertearingstrips

fromasheet,tying

sweetpeashootstochickenwire.

HerhairisAsian,wistful,

teasedbyAprilwind.

ShesingsBeautiful,Beautiful

BrownEyes,looksupandwinks

theywayjauntywomendidbackthen.

Thatfallherblossoms

witheredwithouther.

Grandmatookmetotheroom

ofthedeadsmell.

Proppedbypillows,Helen

grinned,shrunken,thebleached

branchofherlegexposed,

nakedtothethigh.

Onthebedsidestandwerepills,

Kleenexandapapercup.

Shefumbledwithlipstick,

pokedinplacethelastwisps

ofherhair,winkedandrasped,

Heythere,good-lookin’.

Shetriedtolightacigarette.

Grandmahadtosteady

herdanglingwrist.

It’sakick,Erm,shewheezed.

Ain’titakick?

Redstainedheryellowteeth.

Whatbecameofthemaroon

Schwinn,chromeandcreamtrim,

IgotthatChristmas?

Whereisthesnow

Itriedtorideitin?

Fromherkitchen,

Grandmastudiedthesky’s

graysheetsfoldandfold.

It’sSundayforever,foreverJuly.

Morningisagirl’sdress

floatingoverhouses,trees.

Itiemyownsweetpeas

tochickenwire,

leanforwardtowaterthem

andenteraroomthecolor

ofhospitalbroth.

Igrewtheseforyou.

Letmefillyourcup.

Helen,whyareyoudying?

Openyoureyes.It’sme.

RightFieldNokidIkneweverhitareallylongball—

toleft,maybe,butnottomyisland,

myabandonedkingdominright.

I’dpickdandelions,

rubspitinmyglove,

studythefrayedlacing.

EventhenIwaswaitingforsomething:

acloud,rain,ahugecrowtoflutter

ontothediamondandliftme

beyondthedullacheinmyribs.

Theywereahead,noouts.

Idreamedofawarmpurplelakeand

thwack,

aballbegantorisetowarddeeprightcenter.

Nooneknewaboutmyappendicitis,

notmymother,andnotmycoach,

Mr.GlenBitterbender,

thefirstgrownmanIheardutter,

“Jesus,haveagotahard-on!”

Thatballclimbedtheafterdinnersky,

peakedasawavesurgedthroughme.

GlenBitterbenderbellowed,

“Hustle,youlittlebastard!”

Isprinted,howling,mygutonfire.

Therunneratthirdwaltzedin;

behindhimjoggedtheguyfromsecond.

Inthatexpanseofparchedgrass,

myanklefoundthelonesprinklerhead.

Ididthisdanceofdeath,

tribal,aninsanecontortion.

Theballdroppedlikeameteor,

smackedmyleftbigtoe.

I’llneverknowhowIgotmyglovedownthere,

neverevenfeltitslapthepocket.

“Tosecond!”thecoachbarked.

“Throwthedamnthingtosecond.”

Ilobbeditinontwohopsforthedouble,

andfromsecondtherelayandforceatthird.

Tripleplay.

Wedidn’twinthatgame.

Wedidn’twinanygame.

Aftermysurgery,CoachBitterbender

broughtmethreelemoncupcakes.

Nextseasonhecalled,hisvoicecracking,

totellmeI’dbeencut.

Theseasonafter,

drowsinginhisrecliner,

sportspagedrapedacrosshiseyes,

hishearttoreloosefromitswornstitching.

Onceagain,

throughthesummerdusk,

highabovethebackstop,

abovethestubbyhemlocksalongFremontAvenue,

theball,mysecretstar,isrising.

IgotitIgotit

Andthemothers—notmine—

jumpfromtheirfoldingchairstocheer

thepaleboytheythoughttoosmalltoplay.

Theywatchmehobblein,nimble,

clutchingmyside.

Myfaceisamask.

Paintomeisnormal,awayoflife.

GlenBitterbenderpatsmycheek.

“Sweet,Eddie.Nowthatwassweet.”

Ishakemystinginghandandgrin.

FlyingFortress:MyFatherSurvivestheWarIimaginetheroarassilent

aftersevenhoursinthesky

overAustriaorDresden,

theFortsinstackedformations

ofahundredlumberingbombers

withpayloadsoffivehundredpounders.

Everyairmaniscertainthisisnot

themorningwhiteflackexploding

frombeloworblackflackraining

fromabovewillsliceafuelline

orshatterapilot’sfaceorneatly

amputateanaluminumwing

andsendelevencrewmenspiraling

likeIcaruscrazedbythesun.

Ifhit,myfatherhadnowayout.

Hisparachutewouldn’tfitinside

theturret—hisplexiglassworld

spikedwith.50cal.machineguns,

anopentargetforanyMesserschmit

flashingthroughkeyholesintheclouds.

Theydidthisalwayslikebees

aswarmofbeesononeSundaymorning

inparticularoverBerlin,

he19andsweatinginhisheatedsuit,

theplanejoltedfromartillery

hecouldnotsee,onlysee

inalldirectionshisdeath,fuck,

after33missions,thewar

almostoverandluck’sgone.

Seethecurvedhorizon,

puffsofdustfivemilesbelow

wherebombshit,a17totheleft

breakinhalf,nochutes.

Okay.Okay.GoodbyeMom,Pop—

theMesserschmitshowlastheypass

fallingbacktopickoffstragglers

lostorlowonfuel,hisownship

pitching,bombsawaylikebabiescradle

andall,himsqueezingthetriggers—

Didhehitone?—theygleamlikeknives—

JesusifYoulovemeshowYourself

theshipturningblindtowardthesun

squeezethetriggersturnyousonofabitch

specksofsunlight

spikingthefuselageperforated

fromburstsofbitsofmetal.

Iwillbebornandhearthesefragments,

howtheskyopenedoncemore,

howtheGermanfightersvanished,

scatteredbyasquadronofTuskeegeeAirmen.

Theyescortedthe17shome

acrossthescallopedAdriatic,

abovetheAlpswheremanyships

onearlierrunswentdowninfog.

Inhisred-tailedP-51,oneTuskeegeeflyer

pulledasidemyfather’sbomber.

Dadtookoffhisoxygen.

Sodidtheotherflyer.

Dadwaved,gavethumbsup.

Thefighterpilot—amanwithkindeyes

isallmyfatherrecalls—

nodded,tippedhiswingsandflewaway

asthebaseinFoggiacameintoview.

Dadmadeithome,married,

livedhislifeincontraryAmerica.

Ineveraskedhimdidhekillpeopleinthewar.

Hedid.Whowashissavior?

OvertheAlps,blocksofice

spangledlikebrokenbluecities.

Inthatworldabovethisone

thefourPratt&Whitneysdroned.

Upthereheglimpsedhissaviorforamoment—

aguyfromAlabama—theclosest

toablackfriendmyfatherevergot.

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