Thirty Nine
After years of office work, it took a while for Scootie’s
body to adjust to physical labor. In addition, the work was pretty grimy, and
rodents had invaded the garage, leaving a layer of feces over everything. But
to this, too, he adapted.
There was an interesting story in these boxes – one he could
never quite grasp. He found black-and-white photos of Baptist conferences, full
of smiling, neatly dressed Japanese men and women. There were a few of family
occasions – barbecues, birthday parties – and small gifts like inexpensive
watches, a snow bubble from San Francisco. Toward the end, there was a box
filled with with antique copies of Penthouse
and Playboy. There were rolled-up
classroom maps with outdated, fifties-era borders and countries; Scootie took a
U.S. map and hung it on his apartment wall.
But what happened here? An assignment to some far-off
country? A sudden break with the church? A death back in Japan? Why did he
leave all this stuff?
The other end of the trip held its own fascinations. The Ox
Mountain landfill lay in the hills northeast of Half Moon Bay, and if it
weren’t for all the garbage, it would be a beautiful place. But even the
garbage was interesting – the huge tractors smashing the stuff down, the pipes
that released the methane gas from far underneath, the vast flock of seagulls
patrolling the grounds. And a certain liberating quality, to arrive with a
truckload of useless junk, back up to the trash hills and toss it recklessly
from the back. After the sixth of his twelve loads, the Latino kid at the gate
lowered his admission from $7.50 to $3.75. He was a regular.
Fay celebrated the recovery of her garage space by filling
it with junk from her studio. After Scootie transferred the final box, she spun
in place, her arms spread wide, and declared, “I can breathe again!” Then went
to fetch her checkbook.
“This is nice,” said Geoffrey, producing seven rings of
smoke (an art Scootie would never master). “Wee touch of almond in there.
Nicaragua?”
“Brazil,” said Scootie, victorious. “Zino. Fay got it for
me, from that shop in downtown San Jose.” He took a drag from his Don Tomas
corona (a mundane selection, for Geoffrey) and let it out in a broad
fire-extinguisher sweep. “So. Let’s draw letters.”
“Hold on a minute,” said Geoffrey. “This work you’ve been
doing. She’s paying you ten an hour? And it’s four bucks for the landfill?”
“That’s about it.”
Geoffrey folded his hands under his beard. “Scootie, I think
I’ve got a storage shed with your name on it.”
One look at the rusted car parts and splintered boards and
Scootie realized he was going to need some gloves. He reported to Sal’s
Hardware, on the south side of Hallis, and was trying on a pair when he heard a
familiar voice from the next aisle.
“I was thinking terra cotta. Not quite that strong, but
along those lines. Fuddy-duddy Scott, of course, he insists that adobe is
supposed to be white, but I’m tired of living in an igloo! I want something a
little Italian, a little spicy and warm. Ooh, Brenda, take a look at this one.
‘Sourdough.’ Isn’t that gorgeous?”
The last thing Scootie wanted was a surprise encounter, so
he put on his sunglasses and tried on a straw gardener’s hat. He pretended to
study a row of vegetable seeds while watching Juliana through a gap in the
racks.
In the last month, Scootie had begun to lose his memory of
Juliana’s appearance. Now, seeing her so alive, so present, he wondered how
that could have happened. Even in faded jeans and a sweatshirt, she was
ravishing. She had let her hair grow longer, and worked a couple streaks of
light brown into the chestnut. It shaded her eyes as she leaned over to study
the color cards. All he could see were lips, speaking in that rapid way she had
when she was latched onto a project.
Juliana tapped a card with her fingernail, took it out, and
went to the counter to question the salesman. She was out of range now, but he
thought he heard the word “sourdough” again. The salesman mixed three gallons,
placed it in a shallow box with a roller and some brushes, then carried it into
the parking lot, Juliana and Brenda following.
Scootie waited five more minutes, just to be sure, then went
to the color cards and slipped Sourdough into his pocket.
Photo by MJV
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