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fiction
publishes in the American Aesthetic
copyright@paul pekin 2001Better Than a Tractor Pull
JoJo
Start with the Fords, the Chevies, the Dodges, such cars as that, all souped up, all painted up, all decalled and lucky-numbered, their helmeted drivers hunched like automatons, turning, turning, forever turning on a quarter mile oval; start right there; imagine the roar and how people miles and miles away can hear it, even with doors and windows shut, even over blaring televisions; imagine the hot oil, the raw gasoline, the burning rubber, the smoking wrecks shoved to the side; imagine the customers up and screaming, getting every dime out of their eight dollar tickets; think now of the surrounding prairie with its scattered housing and little strip malls and constantly recurring fast food restaurants, with its half empty fields and scrubby little roadside trees, and the traffic that never stops, never stops, never stops; imagine a land where no place in it ever really knows night, not even the dense black and immensely sad sky.
Imagine this and let a story, of sorts, begin . . .
There was a storm working out on the prairie, and the air had grown heavy and still, and there were patches of pale soundless lightning flickering above the invisible horizon, and those who sat high enough could see this if they wished.
But the final race was on its final lap, and survivors were fighting for position, and JoJo was really into it. Stock car racing! It was even better than a tractor pull! He turned to Dovella who had green-blue eyes and tightly curled blonde hair and was she, dear God, was she good looking, or what? Good enough for the movies, good enough for television, maybe even a centerfold, and she was with him!
Then he noticed the empty seat, not quite empty because Danny had left behind his little blue coat that he wouldn't ever wear because he said it was too hot.
What was it with that kid? The minute things got exciting, he had to go to the bathroom."Danny?"
And Dovella, who was good enough for the movies, even a centerfold, said: "He was here just a minute ago."Dovella was very tolerant about Danny, considering she and JoJo were just getting started, just learning the important things about each other. She had a child of her own, a girl that her mother cared for. Dovella understood how things were. When you were young you made mistakes, but that didn't mean you had to stop your life.
"So what can happen to him?" she asked. "He can't get lost, can he?"Oh, yes he can, JoJo thought. And won't Pia have a few things to say about that if he does. Pia was JoJo's ex, Danny's mother. She always had plenty to say.
Once he thought of that, the race no longer mattered. The flag fell, a winner was declared, and the crowd started for the parking lot, three thousand paying customers, eager to get into their own cars and step on the gas. God help any kid who wandered into their way.
"I got to go look," JoJo said. "Jesus Christ, I can just hear Pia."
Dovella was busy behind a little hand mirror, freshening her makeup. "He'll be all right. What could possibly happen to him?"
He could fall into a sewer, JoJo thought. He could be kidnaped by a child molester. He could step out onto the road and . . .
He was thinking like Pia again. Damn her! She even had him doing it.
"Wait for me," he told Dovella, wondering what had possessed him to bring his kid along on a date. Now he'd be lucky if she were here when he got back. He pushed into the aisle and was immediately trapped in the crowd and carried down the ramp. Imagine a kid caught in this. A full grown man couldn't fight his way back. "Danny! Danny!" he shouted, as if a boy who wouldn't turn his head when you called from the next room would respond now. It was her fault, Pia's, and the way she and her mother raised him, letting him sit in front of television hour after hour and never letting him so much as walk down to the corner store or over to the park to play, it would be her fault if he was lost now, but who would she blame it on? JoJo. JoJo, she'd say, and he could hear her plain as piss, JoJo, I can't trust you. No one can trust you. You take your son to a stock car race and you lose him and don't think I don't know how it happened.
That was Pia. Did he know her? You bet he did.
Just as he feared, Danny was not in the washroom. The place was empty except for a couple of guys standing at the urinal. "You see a kid?" JoJo asked them. "I seem to have lost my kid!"
* * * There was a security office beneath the stands and that's where they waited for the police. Once the park had been searched, there was little else to do. Darkened and emptied, colorless and silent, the stadium no longer stood against the night. It became another place, the place it really was, a hastily built set of stands stuck out in the middle of nowhere, waiting for the first good chance to sink right back into the earth. The lightning had moved closer, and a few large drops of dark heavy rain were beginning to fall.
Dovella had a suggestion. "Maybe he went home?"
"What? Twelve miles!"
"Maybe somebody gave him a ride?"
She was smoking a cigarette. One of the security officers had lighted it for her. This was ruining it for them. JoJo couldn't help but wonder if maybe Pia had set it up, told Danny to run off, maybe she had sneaked into the park and carried him away. Maybe now she could take everything back to court and tell the judge how he couldn't be trusted with his own son. Maybe that security guard was getting just a little too friendly with Dovella.
The rain had moved in completely and was drumming overhead when the police arrived, two officers clad in rain gear, one a man, the other a woman so short she at first seemed a boy. "You the parents?" she asked Dovella.
"Him," Dovella said, pointing. "I'm just along for the ride."
The cop turned her attention to JoJo. "How long's he been gone?"
JoJo had been arrested once by a woman cop. They were as bad as the men, and even more unreasonable. This one, when she took off her cap and shook the water from the crown, had short graying hair and a very plain square face.
"I'm not sure," JoJo said. "It was during the last race. I looked down and he was gone."
The cop turned to the security guy. "Where have you looked?"
"Hey. Where is to look? He's not in the stands, he's not in the washrooms, he's not on the track, he's not in the pits. The kid took off, man. He's not here."
The little square-faced cop suppressed a smile. She liked being called "man." JoJo could tell. Now she wanted a description, as if a six year old kid walking around in the rain wasn't enough."He's about that high," JoJo said. "He's sort of blonde but his hair gets real dark when its wet."
"What was he wearing?"
"Well, his little blue coat." JoJo showed her the little blue coat.
The male cop snickered.
"What's he wearing now?""Well, I dunno. Shirt, blue jeans. Shoes . . "
"What's his name?" the male cop asked. "Do you know that?"
But he was being sarcastic.* * *
Danny
The lady was very big. Danny had never known any lady quite so big, she was bigger than his mother, bigger than his grandmother, bigger even than Roassane and Oprah, and she had a huge cloud of pure yellow hair that made her even bigger yet. She smelled of perfumes and bubbly bath soap and flowery hair spray. She had bright red fingernails, and wore a dress with all sorts of glittery things sewn into it. There was a big guitar in the back seat that she moved aside so Danny could sit next to her.
A man who did not talk was driving the van. "And why are you out in the rain, Danny?" the lady asked. "Doesn't your mother know better than to let you wander around in the rain?"
Danny did not know what the word "wander" meant. "Yes," he said.
"Yes? I doubt it. If she knew better, she wouldn't let it happen. Do you agree with that, Henry?"
The silent man in the driver's seat made a noise that was not a word. Danny could not see his face.
"Do you know where you live, Danny?"
"In Grandma's house," Danny said.
"Do you hear that, Henry?" the woman said. "This poor boy lives in Grandma's house. And he walks around in the rain. Danny, you are very lucky Lola found you. Can you say my name? Lola. How would you like to be my little boy? I could sing you songs. I could take all across the country. Don't you want to see the Mississippi River? When you grow up you could marry me. Wouldn't you like that?""Yes," Danny said.
"Hear that Henry?" the woman said. "I've got myself a fiancee."
The silent man did not speak. It was raining harder than ever, so hard it almost seemed the wind would blow them from the road. He was driving with both hands on the wheel.
"What kind of people must they be?" the lady said. "How could they leave a boy like this on the road on a night like tonight? People like that, they don't deserve to have children. The government should step in and take them away. But that would be worse, wouldn't it. How could a government take care of a little boy? Could they love him? Danny, do you know what love means."
Danny knew. It was when people kissed. He saw it on television all the time. But he decided he would be like the man in the front seat and say nothing.
"That's what I thought," the lady said. "Here's a boy who doesn't know the meaning of love. Henry, I've about decided. We're going to have to keep him. How far is it to Rockford?"
The silent man shook his head.
"The first motel," the lady said. "You stop there. We'll get a room and tomorrow we'll go into town and buy Danny some clothes. I want to get him a cowboy outfit. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Danny? I could put you in the act. Would you like to learn how to play the guitar? Let me see your fingers. Come on, now, let me see you move your little finger. Will you look at that, Henry. This boy can't even move his fingers right. There are some things children will never learn unless someone teaches them."
Danny liked the smell of the lady. He moved closer to her and rested his head upon her heavy arm. "Look at that, Henry," she said. "I've found a lover."
When he woke up they were in a motel room, but of course he did not know that, only that there were two beds and he was tucked in one. When he sat up he could see a television set playing a movie. Danny had seen this movie before. Three times.
"Look," the big lady said. "My lover's awake. Tomorrow we're going to buy him that cowboy suit."* * *
Pia
Pia was going to change her name back. Pia Valenti, it all ran together into one word and made people think of that actress, Piazadora. She was no longer married to JoJo, why should she keep his name?
"What do you think, Roger?"
"I think you should do what is best for you," Roger said.
Roger was a heavy set man in his thirties, not good looking like JoJo but sensible. He had a decent job managing a shoe store, drove a solid sensible car, wore neckties and sports jackets. Roger even went to church. You couldn't find a man more unlike JoJo than Roger.
"Yes," she said. "I'm going to change it back. But how is that done?"
They had just seen a movie at the mall, and were sitting in Bascomb Robbins eating ice cream. Roger did not drink or smoke or use illegal substances.
"I imagine you have to go to court," he said. "There's all your identification, you know. Your driver's license, your credit cards, voter registration, that's probably why most women don't bother."
Pia had already considered these things. They could be done. The real problem would be changing Danny's name. JoJo would never sit still for that.
"I don't know why I married that guy," she said.
"We all make our mistakes."
"I didn't make a mistake! He wasn't like that before I had Danny. He changed!"
At this moment a uniformed security guard entered the shop. He was a very clean looking young black man with a shaven head who seemed to be looking for somebody. When his gaze fell upon Pia and Roger, he hesitantly approached their table.
"Excuse me," he said. "I'm looking for a Mrs. Valenti."
"That's me," Pia said. "What's the matter?"
The young man seemed surprised by his success. "Your mother . . . " he stammered. "You're to call home. Some . . . kind of an emergency."
Pia leaped up. Sometimes her mind worked so quickly it even surprised her. There was only one possible emergency. "I have to use your telephone," she told girl who was working behind the ice cream counter.
"Oh, that's not allowed!"
"I said I have to use it!"
"There's a public phone out . . . "
"Don't tell me about your public phones!"
It was Danny. Pia already knew. But what? She circled the counter, picked up the telephone, and punched out her mother's number. From the corner of her eye she could see Roger hurrying to finish his ice cream. He had good strong teeth that could stand the cold. Then her mother was on the phone and Pia was hearing the whole story, bit by confused bit. "Where! Where!" she kept crying, and her mother kept saying something about a racing park. By the time Pia had it straight Roger was wiping chocolate syrup from his lips.
"I knew it," she told him. "God! Oh God! I tried to tell them this would happen!"
"What is it?"
"I'll explain on the way to the car! Come on!"
It was raining in the parking lot, raining hard, and Roger had parked almost a block away; this was no time to worry about that. She set the pace and Roger had to stretch his legs to keep up. "Now let's get this straight," he cried. "He's at Gateway Park?"
"We don't know where he's at! But that's where he was and that's where JoJo is and that's where we're going."
"It'll take almost an hour!"
"I don't care if it takes a week. That's where we're going!"
It didn't take a week, or even an hour, to reach Gateway Park, but it that doesn't mean it was an easy journey. Rain swept over the highway and washed over the windshield and the car rocked with every gust of wind. "On a night like this," Pia said, over and over. "My God, if anything happens to my son, I'll never forgive that man."
Roger, trying to make out the road, was silent. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. Like many decent dependable church-going men, he was not a very good driver.
"Can't you go any faster?" Pia said. "Oh, for God's sake, pull over and let me drive!"
"We won't be able to help anyone if we never get there!"
"It's just rain! Just rain! If you can't drive in it, let me!"
The rain immediately turned into hail. Stones larger than marbles banged over the hood of the car and crashed into the windshield. A truck, ominous as an ocean liner, passed them by setting up a spray that completely obliterated the road. To his credit, Roger did not flinch, but neither did he pull over and surrender the wheel. Pia sank back, clenching her fists.
"I'll kill him," she muttered. "I'll kill him. I'll kill him."
Gateway Park was dark when they arrived, but the rain had eased somewhat and Roger was able to locate the parking lot entrance. A single squad car was parked at the back, next to an old Ford LTD and a heavily decalled Chevy Blazer, JoJo's car. Even standing still it looked dangerous, ready to tip over and spill its occupants on the road.
"Look at that," Pia said. "They're just sitting in there. Nobody's out looking for him. They're probably smoking cigarettes and waiting for the rain to stop!"Roger parked next to the other cars, all of which were unoccupied, and carefully locked up while Pia ran ahead. She could see what looked like a single light bulb burning under the stands, and she went straight to it. A moment later she burst into the little office where JoJo and Dovella were indeed smoking cigarettes. The little square faced police officer was on the telephone, her male partner was smoking a cigarette of his own, and the track security officer was sitting on his desk, flipping an aluminum lighter.
"Why isn't someone out looking for him!" Pia cried.
JoJo leaped up. "We did! We looked all over the place!"
"Well, you're going to look again!"
The square faced officer hung up the telephone and faced Pia. "You're the mother?"
"You're damn right I'm the mother! And why isn't someone out there looking for my child?"
"We've got help coming."
"And meanwhile you're sitting here smoking cigarettes!"
"We're sitting here waiting for you," JoJo said.
"Mam," the little square faced cop said. "My partner and I have been all through this park. We've got help coming. I've called for a supervisor, and a canine team."
"Dogs," JoJo explained.
"Well, what good are dogs?" Pia wanted to know. "How will they know what to look for?"
JoJo held up Danny's little blue coat. "We got this."
"My God! You let him run around in the rain without a coat!"
At this moment Roger finally caught up. He was drenched, through and through, "There's a television truck out there," he said. "They're coming this way with cameras."
* * *
Henry
On television. Reporters were interviewing a rain soaked young woman who was angrily saying, "What do we pay police for? To stand around and wait for the rain to stop? My son is out there!"
"That's the mother," the big lady said.
The silent man, Henry, nodded.
Now the picture changed and the angry young woman was dry and sitting on a couch next to an older woman. "Someone's going to pay for this!" she was saying. The older woman nodded her agreement.
"That's the grandmother," the big lady said.
The silent man, Henry, nodded.
"Aren't they terrible people?" the big lady said. "Imagine having people like that for parents. You'd be better off dead."
The silent man, Henry, nodded.
It was six o'clock in the evening, one day after they'd found the boy at the side of the road. Now he was sitting before the television, eating pizza, watching his own mother in the same way he watched everything else, somberly, soberly, and with no observable emotion.
"Look at him," the big lady said. "He's like a little zombie. He sits in front of that tv like he was sentenced to it. That's how they raise them nowadays. Sit down, shut up, and watch tv. Danny! Isn't that your mother?"
"Yes," Danny said.
The silent man, Henry, was frowning. His thoughts were clear and definite, but private, and his eyes were as dark as the pits of hell.
"That mother gives me the creeps," the big lady said. "Listen to her. She's putting the blame everywhere but where she should. The race track. They should have better security. The police. They should have conducted a better search. The courts. They should never have allowed the father to visit his son. She might have something there. Did you see that father. There's something wrong with a man like that. He's not playing on all six strings. Takes his kid along on a date. What does he expect? Some airhead to help babysit? And a stock car race! Is that any place for a kid? All that carbon monoxide. Cars smashing into each other. Loose wheels flying up into the stands. A cute little kid like that? What about it, Henry? Doesn't he look cute in that cowboy outfit?"
The silent man, Henry, nodded.
"Course it's not a real cowboy outfit. I guess we'd have to be back home to find one of those. But that shirt does have a western look. Maybe we can find him a hat."
At last the silent man, Henry, spoke.
"Got to give him back, Lola."
"I know," the big lady sighed. "But to that mother! Did you hear her. My son, she says. As if she owns him. You think she'll thank us for taking care of him? In a pig's eye. She'll probably sign a complaint against us."
The silent man, Henry, nodded.
"Well, you're right," the big lady continued. "It was a bad idea. I admit it. But I just can't resist kids. If life had been different, maybe I'd have had one of my own. You bet I wouldn't sit him down before television night after night until he didn't know what was real and what wasn't. I'd teach him to play the guitar and sing and lift up his head and look straight into people's eyes. Listen, Danny, you hear me talking to you?"
"Yes," Danny said. He kept watching that television screen. The weather man was standing before a giant map and pointing toward dark clouds.
"You want to go back to your mother, don't you?"
"Yes," Danny said, intently watching the dark clouds move at the command of the weatherman."Hear that, Henry?" the big lady said. "He doesn't any more care if he sees her again than I do. But I have to admit, you're right. He's got to go. They got police looking all over for him and that isn't good."
The silent man, Henry, nodded.
"Danny," the big lady said. "You got to promise me one thing. You won't tell your mama and you won't tell those police people where you were and who you were with."
"He won't tell," the silent man said.
"I believe you're right," the big lady said. "He's such a sad little tyke. Here's what I want you to do, Henry. You take him off to that shopping mall we passed back down the road. You take him in there and leave him somewhere where there's a television to watch. By the time anyone notices him, you and me can be on our way."
The silent man, Henry, nodded.
"But first, we better change those clothes for him," the big lady said. "It's a shame, cause he sure would make a cute little cowboy. Danny? You're going to have to take off that shirt. Your mama mustn't see it cause I don't want to be answering a lot of questions from those police people. You just tell them you fell asleep somewhere, and you don't say a word about Lola. Is that a promise?"
"Yes," said Danny.
"He's a good boy, Henry," the big lady said. "It's just too bad he doesn't have somebody to properly raise him."
Henry was already on his feet. He pulled back the blinds and looked out the window. It was raining again.
While he was outside warming up the van, the big lady helped Danny to change. "You sure would have made a pretty cowboy," she told him. "Someday, when you grow up, you come looking for me, and we'll get married. Would you like that? Sure you would. But remember now, not a word to your mother.
Henry's going to take you somewhere where you can watch television as much as you want, and when they ask how you got there, you just say that you walked. You don't tell them about us. Otherwise, we never can get married. Oh, I wish you had a coat, but it'll be warm in the van. Come on now, give Lola a kiss."As soon as Danny was in the van, the silent man, Henry, took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the lipstick from his face. "You won't tell, will you," he said. "Like hell you won't."
These were the only words he said. After he had said them, he drove out on the road and fell in with traffic just like any other traveler. The rain was light, but steady, and the sky had turned unnaturally dark. When they came upon the shopping mall it was lit up with neon signs and overhead floodlights. The silent man, Henry, did not slow or turn. He kept on driving. Soon the shopping mall had fallen far behind, and it was as if it had never existed.
What existed in its place Danny had never felt before, something cold and terrible that he could not even name. Silently, and very carefully lest he anger the silent man who was driving, he began to cry.
* * *
Dovella
You couldn't hear above the television. It was something in this house you didn't even notice, or think about, until the phone rang. Then you had to shout. Like this.
"Mother! Mother!"
Dovella's mother was a improbable redhead who lit one cork tipped cigarette after another, wore purple slacks, a tight fitting blouse, and makeup, just as if she were expecting company. Some company. Montel Williams.
"Turn it down!" Dovella repeated. "I can't hear the telephone."
Montel was interviewing a group of young women who cheated on their husbands. They looked like they had all gone together to the same beauty parlor to have their hair ruined. Dovella had great contempt for women who didn't know enough to take care of their hair. She walked over the television, turned it down, said, "Sorry," to her mother who did not seem to notice, and returned to the telephone.
"Who?"
"It's Harry!"
"I don't know any Harry."
"Sure you do. Have you forgotten last night?""Please. That's just what I'm trying to do. Forget last night."
"At the park, at the park! You don't remember me? I lit your cigarette."
"All sorts of people lite my cigarettes."
"You were with that weenie who lost his kid!"
"You can say that again. Weenie."
"Yeah, right. And we were all supposed to go out in the rain and look for him."
"Wait a minute. Are you one of those cops."
"I'm the park officer."
"Ohhhh. The security guard. Listen, what's your name again?
"Harry."
"Yeah, Harry." Dovella sat down on the little telephone seat and lit a cigarette. "Listen, Harry. I don't mess around with security guards."
"Nah, nah, I'm only security on my nights off. I'm a regular police officer."
"For who?"
"Wickshire."
"That dump?"
"Okay, but I got my application in for the city. Next year, I'll be big time."
Dovella blew a cloud of pale poisonous smoke out her nostrils. She liked that sensation, smoke through the nose. On television Montel with his shaven head was talking earnestly to one of the bad haired young women, probably lecturing her about adultery. Dovella's little girl, Zircon, was sitting next to her grandmother. Zircon--Dovella had given her that name when the so-called engagement ring had turned out to be a phony--was only two and didn't really understand what Montel was all about, but she watched like a trouper.
Dovella inhaled another cloud of smoke, held her breath, and let it burn into her lungs. Brother. Those assholes who were always complaining about your cigarette smoke didn't know what they were missing. "Okay, Harry," she finally said, letting the smoke drift out with her words, "Exactly what can I do for you?"
"Exactly? You really want me to answer that?"
"Oh, it's that way, is it?"
"Don't go putting words in my mouth, Dovella. Hey, that's a pretty name, Dovella. And you're a pretty girl. Too pretty for that mackerel you were with last night. Where'd you find him, anyway?"'
Harry, the security guard, was a real telephone person, one of those guys who can talk and talk and never tire, but hey, anything was better than Montel. Dovella kicked off her shoes and leaned back. "Yeah," she said. "Uh, huh. Yeah, un huh."
He wanted to take her out. "Come on, Dovella. You're not married to that bow wow are you? I bet he takes you to the wrestling matches."
"Well, there you go. I get free passes. I get free passes for just about everything. Concerts, sports, even the auto show. It's part of being a copper. You want, I can give you for a ride in my squad car."
"Why would I want that?" Dovella said. But she did want it. She liked men who came up with interesting ideas. You could usually count on them for interesting sex as well. And this guy, just a security guard, she wasn't buying that b.s. about him being a cop, but who really cared so long as it wasn't serious?
"I can pick you up in five minutes."
Dovella glanced at the television. Montel Williams had given way to the home shopping network. Adulterous wives had given away to fake pearl necklaces. Why shouldn't JoJo give way to someone named Harry?
"Sure," she said. "Why not? But do me a favor? Don't bring along any kids."
* * *
The Prairie
Imagine the prairie, imagine it dark, wet, and concealed by the night. Imagine it old, as old as the continent, but unfinished even now. Imagine it a place once covered with grass so dense no tree could form, imagined it laced with rich clean streams, bright beneath an ancient sun, imagine the creatures, the tiny field mouse, the soaring hawk, the stealthy coyote, the endless tracts of bison, imagine the people, the Fox, the Illini, the Sauk, the Potowatami, their distant lives, their all but forgotten villages, their mysterious burial grounds, imagine those who replaced them, who broke the sod, who cultivated the grain, who built the railways, who cut the canals, who paved the roads, who surveyed and plotted and bought and sold, who built the farms, the towns, the cities, who covered this land with light, who ceaselessly and tirelessly and perpetually traverse it, imagine their vehicles, the horse drawn wagons, the trains, the automobiles, imagine the emissions, the fluids, the vapors, imagine the sky, day or night, airliners so distant they can hardly be seen, imagine the passengers, the smug thoughts one has at 30,000 feet, imagine the radio and television signals, invisible and uninterrupted, continuously passing through and existing within every object and every creature and every inhabitable space not specifically blessed with the ability to resist the empty meaningless cacophony of a commercial society gone mad, imagine it all on a planet turning slowly in a galaxy that stretches to the ends of time and space, imagine it all, but especially this place, this spot, this square mile of earth, rain soaked and indifferent, imagine the auto track, dark and silent and waiting, the drivers, the mechanics, the fans, scattered, in their homes, at their jobs, asleep, at play, in the acts of love, or birth, or death, imagine in all of this a tiny stream, no more than a drainage ditch, filled now with dark cold water, swollen, dangerous, flowing beside the road, imagine the squad car pulled up on the gravel shoulder, the cops, the little square faced woman and her male partner, taking a break from the endless dull patrol, imagine them sipping coffee, black and sweet the way cops like it, carefully unwrapping their doughnuts, talking their impersonal cop talk, for they are not actually friends. "Do you know what I think?" she says. It is a chocolate covered doughnut she is unwrapping and the chocolate is sticking to the cellophane--she licks it with her short unsympathetic tongue. "I think," she says, when she is ready to say it, "I think, or maybe I should say, I don't think that kid went very far. I think that when all this water goes down we're going to find him right here. That's what I think."
"You may be right," the partner says. "I just hope it doesn't happen on my shift."
the end
