Caravel by Ian Singleton

8/14/2019 Caravel by Ian Singleton

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di spatch li tareview

I S S N # 1 9 4 8 - 1 2 1 7

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[email protected]

C a r a v e l

2009 Ian Singleton

typefaces: Magellan, Accolade, & Friz Quadrata

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Christy Call
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CARAVEL

The bar was dark and covered in a thin industrialcarpeting, crowded with hangdog strangers. A man wholooked like my Uncle sat quietly on a stool by a karaokemachine, clutching his drink and a microphone. Anorange coat came in through a plume of breath into thewarm din. He sat down next to me and ordered in aSpanish accent. How you doing, he asked.

Im all right, I said.

All right, here's to you my friend, he said and liftedhis glass.

Thank you, I said. We drank and set our glassesdown. Behind the bar, on a hutch above half-full bottlesof sundry liquors, hung pictures of men standing on logsor in front of empty dirt fields, as well as a photograph ofErnest Hemingway sporting a mustache and a sage smile.

You know who looks like Ernest Hemingway, I

asked.

Who, replied my friend.

My Uncle. He looks like Hemingway, I mumbled.

That man drank a lot, said my friend.

My Uncle and Hemingway could've been twinbrothers, I said.


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I seen a picture, my friend. He drank, like, a couplebottles of the hot stuff a day.

I drew in my whiskey, savored the burn, and

wheezed, He was a tough dude.

You got it, my friend.

I heard a woman's hoarse laugh behind us and said,You can drink like that when you've been through as

much trouble with women as him.We bought another round, shot it. My friend faced

me and said, I want to tell you a story. I lose my motherto the cancer. She was very special to me. On the nightwhen I lose her, I was at the bar and had one drink. Justone, my friend! I wake up the next day. I was in the alley.

I see, I said nodding at the bartender to pour again.

I am no light drinker my friend.

I spotted a pair of legs two seats away, looked atmy phone, and slid over. My friend chuckled. They were

holding their drinks with gentle hands, watching thebartender open the floor panel. As I approached, one sether glass down and pinched shut the purse in her lap. Inodded and the brunette smiled at me, then flashed blueeyes at her friend. Do you want a drink, I asked.

She sat back and smiled with thin stretched lips.Why don't you buy us a couple and take it easy yourself,hon?

How many have you had, I asked. I realized I had 6


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growled at her and the bar had become silent. I orderedanother drink and raised my empty glass to ErnestHemingway. Looks like my Uncle, I said.

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I woke sitting up from the sofa to reach the phone.

Tommy?

Hello. Who's speaking?

It's your pop.

I didn't reply.

Tommy, listen. You gotta listen to me now, your

Uncle's passed away.

Which, I asked.

My father stopped breathing. He started again slow,Uncle Dem. Uncle Demetrius. Hes been missing for some

time now.Yes, I know that. Fifteen years.

His body was found in a motel down in Bridgman,Michigan.

As the night before came back to me, I almosttumbled into laughter.

I thinkhere my father paused for thoughtI thinkhe was trying to get closer to South Bend. He had a lot ofmemories down there.

So you want me to go? To take care of thisbusiness?

Yeah. You're gonna have to, Tommy. You live8


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closest.

What if I don't give a damn?

Tommy, this is your blood relative.

Aren't you his blood relative too? His long-lostbrother who hasn't seen him in forever?

My father swallowed a deep breath over thereceiver.

I'll go, but only 'cause no one else will. Bloodrelations, I said.

All right.

Bye.He sighed once more.

I said bye.

Bye, Tommy.

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Sunday morning around nine, I left for Bridgman. I set theodometer to zero, planning to drive the highway until Isaw Lake Michigan's reflection on the pavement, thenswitch to the shore road. I put on some music, a faintdwindling guitar and voice.

You wouldn't make the five hour drive back to Petoskey t obeat work Monday morning anyways. You should have calledJessie and told her, even t hough she said i t was over. Themorning sun had paled and sooty clouds butted against

the horizon. That evening you and Jess madeplans to see amovieand met to carpool. On theway, sheasked to stop on thathil lt op while the sun set. There was plenty of t ime, so you pulledin. The sun was a beautiful sherbet color. You peered straight intoit, focused until your eyes quivered and dampened and you had t oshut them. When you opened, the sky was darker and she wasstaring at you. She came closer and you embraced. You made loveon the highway wi thout worrying about passing cars seeing intothe backseat. You even returned to the same spot aft er a fewdrinks and made love again, then slept unti l morning. Right beforethesun roseyou wokeand watched it, alert, waiting and wantingto cry again. But the clouds blocked the li ght.

I eyed myself in the mirror and saw the clouds inthe reflection. Uncle Dem w as always a sad story. A memberof my family died, like my father said. I stretched my backand sat upright. The wedding of cousin Claude, UncleDem's son, came to mind.

You were smoking in an alley by a hotel and ma was after

you. Shespotted you in thelobby and nagged all theway to thetwelft h floor. Even when she came out of t he elevator, her voiceechoed off the walls. Inside the room, Grandpa and Pop and Nealwaited by the window, each i n a suit and t ie. You were ri fl ing 1 0


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through your suitcase for the blazer and ma shook her head as shepassed all us men t hen shut the door to the bathroom. We only gettogether every once in a while and you gotta mess everything up,she moaned, muffled by the door. We're wait ing for you now.C'mon, your father said. The li ght through the window shonedown on grandpa as if he were already in Heaven. You weresliding your arms through the blazer, but then you had to put onthe tie so you took the blazer off. While you were fiddling wi ththat, grandpa said, He was about your age when we moved. Wemoved a lot too. That's probably when he started drinking.

Probably when i t started to go bad for him. That was soon aft erUncle Dem disappeared with his car and a fort y-fi ve, the start offi ft een years without contact. The Family imagined him workingodd jobs, barely living. Ma prayed hewouldn't usethepistol toharm anyone including himself and her prayers were answerednoone heard anything. But all that day, Uncle Dem was the one who

did it fi rstsnuck cigarettes, the ones for moms losing weight;drove around wi th his friends; smoked at the mall and catcalledwomen. You thought you would die in a fi eld dri nking cheap beer.

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At eleven AM, I reached the city of Manistee. in view ofLake Michigan to the west. The sun emerged from theclouds and glistened on the lake through the spokes oftrees, making slivers of the dalliance. I pulled off as soonas I could, but when I stopped at a dirt road and pointedtoward the lake, clouds shrouded the sun and theglimmer on the water vanished.

When I saw a few haggard trees above a dirt lotwith a trailer, I braked and tooled into the parking lot. A

sign read Roadside Cafe. I stepped in the door and found aseat across from a short blonde sitting on the outside of abooth, her legs snug beneath the table in ski pants. Whenshe stood I watched her. She must have seen me from thereflection in the window because she glanced over hershoulder and twitched her mouth. She entered theWomen's. I opened the greasy menu and read the specials,flipping the page, slouching. Three small childrenbounced in unattended. I lowered the menu to see theblonde paying the cashier and trying to keep the childrenfrom hopping into her elbows. There was no glance backas I watched her leave herded by the kids toward a manoutside blocking the sun from his eyes.

You from around here, asked the waitress.

No.

What can I get you?

She was staring away and rolling her shoulders tostretch her neck.

I just want a coffee, I said.1 2


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She huffed as she wrote on her pad, mentioned howquick it would be, and swiveled on her heel.

An old man was smoking a cigarette and looking at

two buzzcuts in baggy jeans and sweatshirts sitting on thecurb next to their bikes. I slid out of the booth and raisedmy hand to signal the waitress. I'm just gonna go over tothat gas station for a minute.

It's gonna be ready in a sec, hon.

I just gotta get some smokes, I said. I boundedtoward the door and pushed through, then clasped mycoat around myself and took long scissoring strides to thegas station.

The boys yelled at me to buy them cigarettes. The

first t ime you bought smokes was at a store that sold to minors.You used the money ma gave you for a t reat before you steppedout the door t hat afternoon. Dem started at about fourt een. Hemust have been smoking in the diner where he met his wife, Fran,and soon after moved into that apartment outside South Bend.She mothered t wo children, Claudeand Belle, aft er fi nding w ork

as a secretary at a lawyer's officea real good job, the familysaid. He must have been sitt ing there smoking and drinking in theli ving room and in comes Fran. It was a hard day at work, butDem got a head start on the drinking. The kids are out playingand it 's a late winter evening so the sun slants through thewindows and exposes all the winter dust in the room. She comesin with a bang of t he door and another bang when she slams her

bags against the baseboard.

You know how much timeI spent on thegoddamn phonetoday?

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He chort les and stretches out his back.

Yeah, I see you give a crap sitt in' there in your chair.

Well, don't bri ng it up if it was such a bad day, he says.You're home now. Have a drinky-poo, he says raising t he glass toher without taking his eyes off the television.

This is about all you do, isnt it , she snarls.

About all you do is bitch, he murmurs. Then the plasticashtray by t he sofa l icks him in the cheek. He's dusting his li ps,the ashes moist in his mouth. He opens his eyes and sees thecigarette butts in his lap. When he blinks the ash falls from hiseyelids. He ri ses, levelling his glare, t osses his beer bott le sloshingin the seat, and takes one step to slap her on her cheek. And itlands hard and knocks her into t he corner where she sinks down

mutt ering apologies and t ouching her face. He raises his handagain but then stops. Instead, heshatters the small window in thedoor w it h his fist, bloodying his hand, and is out t he door.

Then he left and t raveled almost seven years, visit ing lessand less. Until Claude left too and Belle lost touch and the fi ft eenyears' absence began.

I entered through the door again, just as thewaitress approached and set a styrofoam cup down.

Its to-go. I'll just be right here, she said as she satdown at the counter and began to read a book the size of

a pulp novel. After a little while she spoke, You sure youdon't want some eggs or something?

I raised an eyebrow, shaking my head and stirringmy coffee.

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It 's been a year since you spoke to ma except to send her acard on Mother's Day. You left work with some friends who hadstopped at the store to buy cards for their mothers. You watchedthem select theirs then grabbed one yourself. Whi le the three ofthem stood in line you felt a shame deep inside.

The waitress was staring so I turned to her and shefaced the kitchen again.

Hey. Where am I exactly, I asked.

You're just north of Holland. About half an hoursouth of Muskegon.

I'm coming from Petoskey.

Welcome. You doing a road trip?

I hesitated then mumbled, My Uncle died.

She winced and let herself off the stool, Well you'redoing a good thing for your family by coming down here.

She shuffled into the kitchen watching over her

shoulder. The look made me realize I was alone in thediner. I turned to the window and saw that the sun wasgetting lower, the day darker. The metal trailer wallpressed cold against my elbow. A vague inertia kept mesitting there. I lit a cigarette and watched the sunset, thenstood to order another coffee. Timewasted any way you did

it.

The cook came out and set down another cup ofcoffee, then smiled with buck teeth.

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Pop drove you down here. You shouldn't have come this farjust because of him.

I stood again and asked for the check. This time, the

waitress stepped through the door while the cookwatched from behind the counter. She strode up and, as Iwas sitting back down, let the check fall like a leaf ontothe table.

Once in my car again, I wondered if Jessie had

called and opened the dashboard to search for mycellphone. Then I stopped, took a deep breath, and shutthe compartment. The sun was setting. I watched theyellow line on the highway.

One night you locked yourself out on the porch, on the coldwooden two-by-fours. You almost frozethat night.

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When I entered Bridgman after driving all day, my throathad started to close. The coroner's office was the onlybright building on the street. I squealed into an emptyspot and shut the car off. I rotated my shoulders whileexhaling to crack my spine. I looked for another personattending to a dead relative. You were always alone. Istepped out and climbed the many stairs to enter thewarm building, my legs jumping after such a long drive.

The columns echoed my steps as I approached the

window. My words were automatic until the officer onduty chuckled.

You got here just in time. We don't usually takepeople after six.

Thank you, I said.

He led me down a long dim hallway. We passedthrough two sets of metal-plated swinging doors into aroom bright with fluorescence.

In an instant, the mortician had removed the bodyand laid it on a table. I identified my Uncle and shut myeyes. He no longer looked like Ernest Hemingway or theman, real or imagined, in my memories. He looked like myfather. The mortician was watching me when I opened myeyes again.

The possessions are up here. I just gotta get you to

sign. There's not very much.

How was it he died?

We determined it was exhaustion and poisoning

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and the sound of feet on the concrete floor sent mehurrying through the hall.

In the car again, I picked up my cell phone and

peered back at the gray night air under the street lamps.It was black and never-ending and I became dizzy when Istared off beyond the coroners office into the trees. Idialed my father.

Hello?

It's me.

You do it?

Pop Ihe's gone.

Okay. I'll send you money, son.

I hope there's at least one person who can comearrange this when I die, I heard myself say.

He said nothing.

Dad?

What? You don't think somebody else would havecome?

My voice caught in my throat.

Maybe you don't remember. You're not the first oneto come and rescue your Uncle. Your Uncle Demetrius,my brother, I was visiting with him up in Trois-Rivires. Iwent there cause your grandpa asked me. Uncle Dem was

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dispatch is currently seeking a paid culture editor.applicants should be generally on top of current events,both mainstream and alternative, and should have atleast three 210250word dispatches to submit for

suggestion. all applications will be responded to but onlyone will be approved. [email protected]


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As the monstrous steel and glass edificesof commerce cast their ever-darkeningshadows over whole communities, thecrude lottery of day-to-day existencebecomes an ever more complex battle.Penny Rimbaud

seealso: Thi r st For Fi r e
http://thirstforfire.com/

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Caravel by Ian Singleton

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