The Burning, page 3
It was impossible to tell what had killed them. The heat? The cold? Starvation? Dehydration? They were a good twenty miles from the border-at a point where the crossing would have been made without benefit of road or nearby town on the Mexican side- and likely they'd run out of food before they got this far, surviving for days perhaps on desert plants and captured rodents.
She'd stood there for a long time-too long-staring at the dead family, trying to imagine how it must have felt for them to end their lives here in this dry, terrible place. They hadn't died alone-they'd had one another-but in a way that must have been worse, because they couldn't have perished all at once. One of them would have had to go first, and Jolene imagined that it must have been the girl. They'd probably carried her as far as they could, hoping to find a house or a road or someone to help them, maybe even praying at the last for a patrol to find them so they could be deported and thus saved. But they'd wandered farther and farther astray, and finally she imagined the| exhausted parents, unable to carry the girl any longer,| deciding to stay and wait for rescue, then gradually^ giving up as they grew weaker and weaker, as their daughter's body started to rot in the heat.
Who had gone next? And had the last one to dies simply cuddled against the others, praying for an ends to it all? How long ago had that been? How long had they lain here, undiscovered, unmourned? Years, it looked like, and Jolene wondered if the hell they'd endured back home, wherever that was, had been worth the risk of death to them, if they would still have made the trip if they'd known how it would turn out.
She decided then and there to take Skylar back with[ her to Bear Flats. She didn't know if it was because' this family had risked all-and lost-and the only thing she had to do in order to escape her life was pack a few belongings, get in a car and drive; or whether she was tired of seeing death and sufferings and human misery day in and day out as part of her job. Maybe it was just the weariness she felt when she thought of all the paperwork she'd have to fill out/ and the lack of understanding and interest she'd receive from a callous, uncaring Frank.
Whatever the reason, she'd turned in her resignation that afternoon, effective immediately, no two weeks' notice, with the resulting complete abdication of accrued benefits. She'd gone home, packed a suitcase of clothes each for herself and Skylar, loaded up the back of the Blazer with some of her more personal and precious possessions as well as most of his books and toys, written a quick note to Frank, then picked up her son at school and hit the road.
Now they were here.
Jolene drove past the lumber mill with its twin black chimney stacks, corrugated-tin outbuildings, iind pyramids of logs stacked next to the side of the road, then, without thinking, navigating almost by sense memory, swerved down the sloping dirt alley behind the mill, bouncing onto Second Street. A quick turn onto Fir, and they were there.
She pulled to a stop on the gravel driveway next to her mother's beat-up Impala. The place looked the same as always, only more so. The paint on the small house was not only peeling but faded, and the twin T poles holding up the clothesline in the side yard were slanting so far over that Jolene doubted a full-length towel could dry on them without dragging on the ground. The porch was a mess of dead plants in broken pots.
"We're here!" she announced cheerfully to Skylar, feigning an optimism she did not feel. She kept an eye on the ripped screen door, waiting for it to open and her mother to appear, but the door remained closed, the inside of the house dark. "Unbuckle. Let's stretch our legs."
They both unfastened their seat belts and got out of the car. The air was cooler here than in Arizona, but more humid and filled with that wonderful sawmill smell. She felt more comfortable in the mountains than in the desert, more at home. It was as though this was where she belonged, and she wondered if the feelings Skylar was experiencing were along the same lines-or if he simply felt lost and uprooted. Probably the latter, and Jolene realized that it was her responsibility to make the transition easier for him.
The transition?
Yes. They were going to stay here.
She had no intention of going back to Arizona.
The two of them walked across the crunchy gravel to the porch, where the peeling wood creaked and groaned beneath their weight. She'd called her mother yesterday from San Diego and told her they were on their way up, though she'd declined to elaborate on the reasons. Unless her mom was in the bathroom, she had to have seen the Blazer pull into the driveway and even if she was in the bathroom, she had to have heard their footsteps on the creaking porch. The fact that she had not come out to greet them did not bode well. Jolene rapped on the warped frame of the screen door. "It's me, Mom!" she called.
As always, the door was unlocked, and she pulled it open and walked in. Skylar took her hand, a sign of nervousness. He'd been here three years ago for a short visit, but Jolene was not sure how well he remembered it. Glancing around at the darkened room with its drab and well-worn furniture, she couldn't help comparing it with the bright sunniness of their place in Yuma, and she tried to see the house through Skylar's eyes. He probably thought the house was sad and depressing.
It was.
"We're here, Mom!" she announced.
Her mother emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "About time. I expected you hours ago."
No hello for her, no hug for Skylar, no smile for either of them. She'd been in the kitchen, so she had seen the Blazer pull in.
"Frank called," her mother said accusingly.
Skylar looked up at her nervously, and Jolene squeezed his hand, held it tight. "I've decided to-" Leave him, was what she wanted to say, but that was a little harsh to announce in front of Skylar, and it would initiate a conversation with her mother that she didn't want to have right now. "-take a little time nil," she said.
"That's not the way Frank put it."
"Mom, can we talk about this later?"
Her mother threw the dish towel over her shoulder, turned, headed back into the kitchen. "Whatever."
This was starting off badly, and for a brief moment, Jolene thought about walking straight out to the car and driving as fast as she could as far away from here as possible. But the truth was that she had nowhere else to go. She couldn't afford to stay in hotels for more than a week or two, didn't have enough for the rent and security deposit that an apartment would require, and didn't have any friends or relatives in far-fllung locales who would put her up indefinitely. It was either Yuma or her mom.
"I don't think Grandma likes me anymore," Skylar whispered, looking at the empty kitchen doorway. His hand was hot and sweaty in hers.
Damn her, Jolene thought, but she smiled for her son's sake. "Of course she does. She's just busy, is all. Come on, let's go help her out."
Jolene strode confidently forward into the kitchen, where her mother was washing dishes in the sink. "Anything Skylar can help you with?" she asked.
Thankfully, her mother turned around, smiling, and motioned the boy over. "I'll wash. You dry. How does that sound?"
Skylar gave his grandmother a brief, hesitant smile, then accepted the dish towel from her hands.
Maybe it will be all right after all, Jolene thought. Maybe this will work out.
"It was hell," Jolene whispered fiercely. "It wasn't good for me and it wasn't good for Skylar." She glanced instinctively toward the closed door of the guest bedroom-her old room-hoping that the boy really was asleep and not just pretending so he could listen in on the conversation.
"Frank said-"
"Frank lied, Mom! How many times do I have to tell you? Jesus!"
"He just seems like a good man to me."
"He is. In a way. But we're like oil and water-we don't mix. And it was only a matter of time before someone ended up in the hospital." She glanced again toward the door, lowered her voice even more. "And I had to make sure it wasn't Skylar!"
Her mother sighed. "I just hope you know what you're doing."
"Trust me, Mom." / can't fuck things up any more than you did, she wanted to add, but she kept that thought to herself.
"So what are your plans? Are you going to look for a job around here?"
"I don't know. I just got here. Give me a day at least to settle in and figure things out."
"You were on the road for a day and a half. That didn't give you time to think? You didn't-"
"Jesus, Mom. Can't you just try to be supportive for once in your life?"
They were silent after that, the two of them seated on opposite sides of the living room, glaring at each other, and Jolene felt like a kid again, as though she were back in high school and her mom was clamping down on her for one of those unfathomable and unexplained reasons.
Finally she stood, pretending to yawn and stretch. "I guess I'll go to bed. It's been a long day."
"Okay."
"See you in the morning, Mom."
"Good night." "Good night."
"I'm glad you're back," her mother said without feeling.
"Yeah," Jolene lied. "Me, too."
Four
Upper Darby, Pennsylvania
Dennis Chen finished loading the car and looked up at the roof rack. For the umpteenth time, he checked the ropes, pulling on them to make sure he'd tied everything down tight enough. From the porch, his mother watched silently, and he sensed her disapproval even though he couldn't see her from this angle. Inside the front seat of the Tempo, his sister, Cathy, was rearranging his glove compartment in order to fit in the traveler's first aid kit she'd given him.
Dennis was twenty-three years old, and he'd never been out of the greater Philadelphia area. He knew a lot of people like that, knew men and women even older than himself who'd never ventured more than fifty miles from their birthplace, who lived their entire lives within a proscribed radius, and he could think of nothing more depressing. That was not going to happen to him, and it was why he had decided to make this break and to do it while he was still relatively young and unencumbered.
He wanted to travel. Even as a boy, he'd felt the pull of the open road, and though his career aspirations had varied over the years, from train engineer in grammar school to truck driver in junior high to UN ambassador in high school, they all had one element in common: travel.
This was merely the realization of a long-delayed dream.
His mom had cried when he'd told her of his plans, and even though he'd pointed out that she and his dad had traveled halfway around the world to get here, uprooting themselves from their families, their friends, their culture and even their language, she did not seem to understand the parallels. In her mind, what he was planning was a lot more foolish and dangerous.
She'd been working on him for the past month, trying to get him to cancel his trip. "Your job!" she kept telling him in Cantonese. "You can't quit your job!"
But the truth was that people quit jobs all the time, especially in his business. He'd been working for a rental-car agency for the past three years, ever since dropping out of college to his mother's great shame and embarrassment, and he'd worked his way up to manager, not through any great skill or aptitude or commitment or desire, but because he was still there. Amid a turnover rate that averaged about one employee every four months, his staying power had marked him as stable and reliable, and the owner of the franchise had promoted him up the short ladder to manager.
Managing a rental-car office had never been his career goal, however. It had been only a way to earn money while he figured out what he wanted to do with his life. And since he lived at home and had minimal expenses, he'd been able to save quite a lot over the past few years-enough to get him across country at least. If things didn't work out, he could always come back, but for now he was free, and the feeling was liberating.
He just wished his dad could be here to see this.
And to help him with the packing.
He checked the ropes again.
"Don't forget to keep your cell phone charged," Cathy said from inside the car. "And keep it on You always forget to turn it on."
"I will," he promised.
She emerged from the door on the passenger side, having found room for the first aid kit. "Who knows what kind of wackos are out there? We need to be able to get in touch with you, and you need to be able to call the police."
"Don't go!" their mother cried in Cantonese. "Stay here!"
"Mom'll be okay," Cathy promised.
"Thank you," Dennis said sincerely. He and his sister never really spoke seriously, never had the sort of heart-to-hearts that siblings were probably supposed to have, but he thought now that maybe they didn't need to. They understood these things automatically, without saying what the other was thinking, instinctively grasped the real intent behind superficial discussions.
He was going to miss Cathy more than he'd thought.
"If you strike it rich at the Gold Mountain, we're coming to live with you," she said.
Chinese humor.
He pulled on the roof-rack ropes, just for something to do. He was finished packing, there was no real reason for him to remain, and it was already after two. It was time for him to go, but there seemed something small about such a departure. He was completely uprooting his life, seismically disrupting the lives of his mother and sister. Simply saying good-bye, getting into the car and driving away seemed like an anti-climactic way to recognize the event. He couldn't help thinking that his farewell should be more momentous. But he'd said good-bye to his friends yesterday, and his only family was here with him now, in front of the row house.
They were not a family that was demonstrably emotional, that went in for public displays of affection. Nevertheless, he walked over to his mom and gave her a big hug. She was stiff against him and small. He could feel the bones beneath her clothes and skin, and he realized for the first time how fragile she was.
How old.
It shocked him, and the sadness that followed the shock almost made him reconsider. Who knew how much time she had left? Was it really fair of him to abandon her like this? Was it fair to himself to squander the remaining time they had together? He let go of his mom, stepped back.
But then Cathy was hugging him, taking the initiative, and her embrace was excited, exuberant, and he knew once again that he'd made the right decision. He hugged her back tightly, with meaning, and he promised himself that if things did go well for him, he would send for them.
"Drive carefully," Cathy told him. "And keep your cell phone on."
"I know, I know."
His mother made him promise to call them every night at seven, no matter where he was or what he was doing, and he said he would. He was exhilarated to be setting out on his own, but at the same time it seemed good-it seemed right-to maintain the tether.
The time had come, and he got into the car, waving. Tears were rolling down Cathy's face, and to his surprise, his mother was crying as well. His own vision was blurring, so, deciding to speed things up, he
started the engine, shouted out good-bye in Cantonese and with a quick wave was off.
He forced himself to concentrate on the traffic, on the route, on the specific series of steps that would get him to the interstate, purposely not thinking of his mother and his sister and what he was leaving behind.
By the time he was on Route 76, though, heading west, he was thinking about the future rather than the past, and sadness had given way to anticipation. It felt good to be on the highway,
traveling, and he pushed in a mix CD that he'd made just for the occasion, old-school rock songs that dealt with travel and the open road and the lure of new places.
He had no destination, not really, but something seemed to be calling to him out there. He could admit it to himself now that he was alone. Yes, he wanted to travel, and yes, he was using this journey for the cliched objective of "finding himself." But there was something else as well, something more, a purpose to this trip, though he did not yet know what it was. He'd had a dream the other night about driving down a desert road into a wall of smoke. Within the smoke, he could see eyes, hundreds of them, Chinese eyes, staring out at him, filled with a malevolence that scared him. Above the wall of smoke, as tall as the sky, rose a dark figure with a triangular head that beckoned him forward.
Dennis was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a religious person. His mom was Buddhist, as had been his dad, but he and his sister were nothing. They'd grown up amid Christians and Jews, had watched Christmas specials and hunted for Easter eggs at the park with their friends and were steeped in the Western religious traditions of American society, but the two of them had fallen through the cracks, neither fish nor fowl, and as they'd had no formal training in any religion, only this sort of peripheral exposure, nothing had ever taken. They'd never felt the need to explore any of these theories or philosophies in depth, never required an overarching theory of supernatural causation to get along in the world. They'd been perfectly happy to trust in the rational workings of a natural world without anthropomorphizing the laws of science.
But ...
But he had the sense now that there was some sort of ultimate purpose to his journey, that there was an unknown element pulling him on, and while that should have made him feel uncomfortable, it didn't.
It made him anxious to get out there.
Smiling, pushing his old car to seventy-five in order to keep up with the flow of traffic, he headed west.
Dennis tried to run, but the man with the bat swung hard against the back of his legs, bringing him down in a wild explosion of unimaginable agony. The man was screaming at him in English, but it seemed like a foreign language and Dennis couldn't understand a word of what his pursuer was saying. The bat came down again, this time against the small of his back, and Dennis heard something crack, felt something crack, and suddenly his legs no longer worked. His arms were dragging deadweight as he tried to right . himself.
