Theo (33 page)

What happened to everyone.

Yeah, that’s always the question, isn’t it. Adrian laughs, coughs.

Why did you make Colin go to jail.

Adrian breathes deeply, purses his mouth, grins with half his mouth. You know what I am aside from being your dad.

Theo’s puzzled – is this like a riddle.

Adrian half smiles again. I’m a person. I’m inordinately fond of myself, lazy, selfish, weak, arrogant – ask your mother, who could give you a list of things I’m not. And of course, she’s a person too, aside from being your mother. And I’m a coward. I make friends take falls for me.

You mean Colin.

Adrian nods, exhaling smoke.

So when I was your age and I learned stuff I didn’t like about people I loved – your grandfather was a right bastard, I thought – I built my own perfect human, out of parts, an arm, a leg, left eye – I cut up pictures of people I liked and made one person out of them and taped it to the wall. It was ugly but it was paper so you couldn’t break it. Every now and then I’d stick somebody new in there, swap out somebody, so it was like it was alive in a way. Does that make any sense to you. Do you understand what I mean.

I guess.

Or, instead of building an idol, you could, you know, put up a mirror.

So you can look at yourself.

Well, like maybe you don’t need an idol. Maybe it’s just in the way. You know.

I guess. Is this like church.

Ha. No.

Do you think there’s a god.

Hmm. Me. I do.

Adrian pointed with his big hand at Theo’s head, and at his own head. I think god’s in here. A little piece. And all the pieces together equal god.

But that’s just us.

Yep.

Theo’s dad squints through the smoke, the handrolled cigarette wrinkled and bent, and wider at the burning end than the mouth end, then grins around the cigarette, at the corner of his mouth. We’ve all got a little of the fire in us, a little piece.

Even bad people.

You know, Adrian says, rubbing his nose, I’m not sure they’re bad as much as they’re just confused.

Some people like doing bad things. They think that’s good.

You know, mate, sometimes people can be damaged, or sick. They might have had bad things done to them that broke them. But humans are pretty amazing. Sometimes even the brokest toy can be fixed, even if it’s just for a little bit. But sometimes fixing makes it worse, because then they see what they’ve been before. Did she put on his knowledge with his power, before the indifferent beak could let her drop.

What.

Old poem I learned in school. About a lady and a swan. Adrian took a deep drag on the cigarette. I’m sorry, mate.

For what.

Pretty much everything. I’m trying. I want to be a good father to you.

You are. The best.

What else are you gonna say. You’re a peacemaker, that’s your nature, especially after growing up in so much war. Later you’ll go grumbling about what a full cockup your dad was, tell your wife about it.

Adrian reaches for the guitar and slides it into his lap, the way he pulls Theo into it, or used to. Theo is too old for that now. Adrian looks at Theo and starts playing: Theo knew it was the blues.

It’s okay, dad. I won’t say that.

Adrian’s eyes are closed and Theo isn’t sure if he hears. The dust in the air is like snow.

Adrian says, you know, there’s somebody you need to meet. You should have met her by now. It’s time for you to meet her, I think.

Theo says, who is she.

Adrian tilts his head back and shakes it. Her mother was mad at me. And she’s not anymore.

Why was she mad.

Christ, Theo. There’s a list. Just check stuff off and whatever it is, it’s there. Look, mate, I’ve never had a job except being in this band, and it’s the only thing I know how to do. I’m still learning about everything else. Maybe I’ll get it right eventually.

When can I meet her.

Soon.

How soon.

We’re figuring it out, okay. It has to be neutral territory. And the recording’s off here. The vibe’s not right, the house’s dead.

So you’re leaving again.

Not immediately, love.

I want to go to a school. And I’m getting out of here.

Out of here. This house.

Yes.

How do you plan on that.

I don’t know yet.

Making your break, eh. Okay. I hear you. I hear you.

Theo thinks about what he can’t live without, and what he can let go, let sink into the dark underneath ocean, even if something has to drown, die. But that’s too hard, he doesn’t know how to think about it. What does he live with: he’s not sure. Maybe he doesn’t want to stop being a kid. Everything else is blank and big and. And.

I need to find something for Paz’s grave.

Theo waits, but Adrian says nothing. He’s staring at Theo, and just takes a deep breath from his cigarette, looking like he is deciding something. Ah. Let’s give her a good sendoff. Come on.

You mean you want to see it.

Yeah.

Adrian stands straight up from his crossed-leg position, leaning on the guitar for an instant and shaking his head. Then he sinks again, to crouch between his spread legs, squatting.

What are you doing.

Getting my bearings. Alright, let’s go. We’ll bring an offering, a libation.

Theo doesn’t know what that is: I don’t want any other people. Just you.

Okay, that’s cool.

Not even Billy.

Got it.

A libation’s like an offering, something to help the dead cross over.

Cross over what.

Adrian’s opening the door: From here to there. Billy, take five. I’m going out with Theo.

You sure.

Yeah.

They move down the hall, dark wood and gold light.

You mean being dead.

Crossing over is just an expression. Humans have a million views of death and ways of describing it. The ancient Greeks believed when you died you crossed a river, and you were ferried across the river to the land of the dead by Charon, the boatman, and they buried you with coins so you could pay Charon to take you across.

What happened if you didn’t have a coin.

You were doomed to wander the shore, not able to rest yet.

The dark hall flows and leads to the delta of ballroom and then the wide lawn ocean and Theo and Adrian are crossing the terrace, and everyone outside has found shade. Theo notices how pale Adrian looks, how white. Theo looks at a man, white as his dad, limp in a brown wooden chair with arms splayed wide like he’s been shot, head turned, mouth open. All these people, so pale. Adrian turns back to the doors and says, come on. We’ll get some wine and some oil, make it a proper homage to Paz.

What’s wine and oil for.

We’ll pour them on her grave, it’s an offering. To her spirit, and to the spirits she’ll be joining. Is that okay, do you think.

I guess. She didn’t drink wine.

All the better for her. But it’s more a gift for the spirits, to show respect, something to honor her by pleasing those she’ll be joining. Let’s check out the kitchen.

People drinking Cokes, people with coffee, food on dirty plates, someone pouring something on a woman’s stomach and licking it off. Conversation about galleries, fuckers, projects, the jets, Tribeca, shit, copper wire is warmer sound, product. People talking at Adrian, Adrian talking back, Theo drifting through, drifting. Leslie the caterer and her assistant huddle over a pad of paper in two chairs. Food steams in silver.

Roger enters from the dark back, with people, everyone serious. Hey: Roger’s calling at Adrian. We got another problem. Adrian slowly turns from two ladies, says, so handle it, over the other noise. Nah, Roger says, we have to talk lawyers.

Christ.

Adrian walks over to Theo leaning in the door opening, watching – here, pour some of this on Paz’s grave and get some oil from Leslie there – Adrian pointed at her – and I’ll catch up with you. Promise. He rubs his face with his hand.

Kay.

Theo takes the dusty bottle and walks fast, but he doesn’t think Paz would like wine and passes through the French doors and over the warm tiles of the terrace and onto the grass and turns the bottle over, pouring as he walks in a big curve away from the trees then back toward them, and some people look at him, and the bottle’s empty and he drops it; it’s libation for everything. Everybody.

Theo walks toward the trees, and white feathers on the ground in a patch of gray-green grass, small feathers and bigger feathers, white and gray and brown, and it could be a
pigeon or a gull maybe, or a tern. There’s nothing but feathers, so maybe it wasn’t an attack, and he picks up a couple of the long ones, and walks now toward the trees. Voices, music, and his head is light, floating over his body and he walks.

Through the trees to Paz. He’s crossing to her land and he finds her pile, the wood, and he sticks the feathers in the dirt, and stands for a minute looking. He wants to put something shiny there, but there’s nothing, and he says, good dog.

His pants have a pocket on the back, he remembers, and he jams his hand in it – nothing. Wait – a quarter. Theo’s not sure where it should go, so he just places it flat near the end where her head is. Now she can pay the boatman. Then he weaves out, thinking maybe he should carry coins with him all the time, just in case.

What now. He moves out of the trees, from under the trees, onto the lawn.

Someone’s shooting balls of fire from a cardboard tube at other running people, one of whom is arching and yelling and slapping at his back. Somebody else has the hose out, showering some other people. The man is back on the horse, and a lady in a bathing suit sits behind him, holding onto the saddle, not him, while the horse walks backward, stiffly. A chair is stuck in a third-floor window. A couple of people sleep. In the gazebo, Mingus stares out at Theo or in his direction. Mingus is holding his bow with an arrow notched on the string. People behind him flicker in the shadow there: Theo can’t tell what they’re doing. The sun’s definitely on its way down.

Just below the roof peaks, mountains jutting up and down the line of the roof; from his open windows he sees flakes of color flutter, out and away, up and down on the air like it’s waves they ride. The Italian lady might die, maybe, and Colin’s
with the police – his dad’s sad. And there’s Gus, back in his chair under the umbrella, alone, smoking his pipe.

And there’s the Seal, coming his way, toward the ocean.

Theo says, where are you going.

Going for a swim.

You can swim.

Yes, I can.

Theo notices the stumps of his arms have tiny nubs, like baby toes.

I can also fly.

You can fly.

Yes.

How.

Like this: the Seal stands, spreads his stumpy arms like a penguin and closes his eyes.

There’s another planet that I think I’ll check out. I’ll bring you back a souvenir.

Thanks. Bye.

Theo walks, not scared of Seal, and Theo’s closing eyes now, wondering how far he can go without seeing.

Theo’s blind, hearing everything and feeling things up through his feet, the feelings growing up, dry grass and gritty sand, he knows the lawn’s table-flat; still wants to peek, but doesn’t. Theo walks listening to his breathing, and his heart, which he can imagine but, he realizes, he can’t hear. Last sun on his back.

For a while, just breathing, the sound like under water, and walking in flaming dark behind his eyes. Then what happens tomorrow, he starts thinking. What about next week. Two months. Who will be here. He opens his eyes on the bright back lawn: where is this, what place. Nothing fits, and then it
does. But he doesn’t know what to call it. He is not going to live here anymore.

He steers toward Gus, brown as an American football, his big stomach peaceful and safe, him anchored now in his place, smoking his pipe. He sees Theo and yells: Cheers.

Theo walks over and plops next to Gus. Hi, Gus.

You look a little stormy, what’s on your mind.

Theo’s not sure what to say, because he’s not sure what’s on his mind. I don’t know. Dad’s leaving. Colin’s gone. Is it just me and you now.

Gus nods, reaches for a painted glass full of, Theo knew, rum. He could smell it in the air, see tiny sparkles of it.

Just for a few hours, I reckon, till he makes bail, then that’ll go away, and Colin’ll be back. Tempest in a teapot.

And it’ll be like it was.

Sure.

Theo poked at the ground with a finger, hoping it would wake up and shake, maybe roar, thinking about the way it was. Is. There’s only is. Maybe what he has to give up is the was. But he’s just a kid, how is he supposed to know this stuff.

What’s that, Gus asks, puffing on his weird curving pipe, then looking at the pipe. Smoking is such a weird thing to do; who thought of it first.

Nothing. I didn’t say anything, Theo says. Grownups get to make messes but they don’t have to clean them up, Theo thinks. Then, maybe he just doesn’t see the cleaning up.

Hmm, Gus makes a noise. You say a lot even when you’re not saying anything. You’re upset about – oh, everything. Dad and mum and these weird people and Colin and Johnny Law here after Colin, and the rest of us too if we’re not careful. Something like that.