Pastoralia Read online

  No one pokes their head in.

  When the quality of light changes she stands at the door of her Separate Area and sort of wiggles her eyebrows, like: Pretty good, eh?

  I go into my Separate Area. I take out a Daily Partner Performance Evaluation Form.

  For once it’s easy.

  Do I note any attitudinal difficulties? I do not. How do I rate my Partner overall? Very good. Are there any Situations which require Mediation?

  There are not.

  I fax it in.

  12.

  Next morning I go to the Big Slot and again find it goatless. Again no note.

  Janet comes out and again makes, very quickly, a nice little fire.

  I count out twenty Reserve Crackers each. After breakfast we work on the pictographs. After lunch she goes to the doorway and starts barking out sounds meant to indicate that a very impressive herd of feeding things is thundering past etc. etc., which of course it is not, the feeding things, being robotic, are right where they always are, across the river. When she barks I grab my spear and come racing up and join her in barking at the imaginary feeding things.

  All day no one pokes their head in.

  Then the quality of light changes and she stands at the door of her Separate Area giving me a smile, like: It’s actually sort of fun doing it right, isn’t it?

  I take out a Daily Partner Performance Evaluation Form.

  Again: Easy.

  Do I note any attitudinal difficulties? I do not. How do I rate my Partner overall? Very good. Are there any Situations which require Mediation?

  There are not.

  I fax it in.

  Also I write Nordstrom a note:

  Per our conversation, it says, I took the liberty of bringing Janet up to speed. Since that time she has been doing wonderful work, as reflected in my (now truthful!!) Daily Partner Performance Evaluation Forms. Thank you for your frankness. Also, I apologize for that period during which I was less than truthful on my DPPEFs. I can see now just how negative that was.

  A bit of ass-kissing, yes.

  But I’ve got some making up to do.

  I fax it in.

  13.

  Late in the night my fax makes the sound it makes when a fax is coming in.

  From Nordstrom:

  What? What? it says. You told her? Did I tell you to tell her? And now you have the nerve to say she is doing good? Why should I believe you when you say she is doing good, when all that time she was doing so bad you always said she was doing so good? Oh you have hacked me off. Do you know what I hate? Due to my childhood? Which is maybe why I’m so driven? A liar. Dad lied by cheating on Mom, Mom lied by cheating on Dad, with Kenneth, who was himself a liar, and promised, at his wedding to Mom, to buy me three ponies with golden saddles, and then later, upon divorcing Mom, promised to at least get me one pony with a regular saddle, but needless to say, no ponies were ever gotten by me. Which is maybe why I hate a liar. SO DON’T LIE ANYMORE. Don’t lie even one more time about that hideous Janet. I can’t believe you told her! Do you really think I care about how she is? I KNOW how she is. She is BAD. But what I need is for you to SAY IT. For reasons of documentation. Do you have any idea how hard it is to fire a gal, not to mention an old gal, not to mention an old gal with so many years of service under her ancient withered belt? There is so much you don’t know, about the Remixing, about our plans! Do not even answer me, I am too mad to read it.

  Which is not at all what I had in mind.

  No doubt my status with Nordstrom has been somewhat damaged.

  But okay.

  Janet is now doing better and I am now telling the truth. So things are as they should be.

  And I’m sure that, in the long run, Nordstrom will come to appreciate what I’ve accomplished.

  14.

  Next morning I go to the Big Slot and again find it goatless. Again no note.

  Janet comes out and makes, very quickly, a nice little fire.

  We squat and eat our Reserve Crackers while occasionally swatting each other with our hands. We get in kind of a mock squabble and scurry around the cave bent over and shrieking. She is really doing very well. I pound a rock against a rock in rage, indicating that I intend to toss some dirt in her face. She barks back very sharply.

  Someone pokes their head in.

  Young guy, kind of goofy-looking.

  “Bradley?” Janet says. “Holy shit.”

  “Hey, nice greeting, Ma,” the guy says, and walks in. He’s not supposed to walk in. No one’s supposed to walk in. I can’t remember a time when anyone has ever just walked in.

  “Fucking stinks in here,” he says.

  “Don’t you even come into my workplace and start swearing,” Janet says.

  “Yeah right Ma,” he says. “Like you never came into my workplace and started swearing.”

  “Like you ever had a workplace,” she says. “Like you ever worked.”

  “Like jewelry making wasn’t work,” he says.

  “Oh Bradley you are so full of it,” she says. “You didn’t have none of the equipment and no freaking jewels. And no customers. You never made a single piece of jewelry. You just sat moping in the basement.”

  Just our luck: Our first Guest in two weeks and it’s a relative.

  I clear my throat. I give her a look.

  “Give us five freaking minutes, will you, Mr. Tightass?” she says. “This is my kid here.”

  “I was conceptualizing my designs, Ma,” he says. “Which is an important part of it. And you definitely swore at my workplace. I remember very clearly one time you came down into the basement and said I was a fucking asshole for wasting my time trying to make my dream come true of being a jewelry maker.”

  “Oh bullshit,” she says. “I never once called you a asshole. And I definitely did not say fucking. I never say fuck. I quit that a long time ago. You ever hear me say fuck?”

  She looks at me. I shake my head no. She never says fuck. When she means fuck she says freak. She is very very consistent about this.

  “What?” says Bradley. “He don’t talk?”

  “He plays by the rules,” she says. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”

  “I was trying,” he says. “But still they kicked me out.”

  “Kicked you out of what?” she says. “Wait a minute, wait a minute, go back. They kicked you out of what? Of rehab?”

  “It’s nothing bad, Ma!” he shouts. “You don’t have to make me feel ashamed about it. I feel bad enough, being called a thief by Mr. Doe in front of the whole group.”

  “Jesus, Bradley,” she says. “How are you supposed to get better if you get kicked out of rehab? What did you steal this time? Did you steal a stereo again? Who’s Mr. Doe?”

  “I didn’t steal nothing, Ma,” he says. “Doe’s my counselor. I borrowed something. A TV. The TV from the lounge. I just felt like I could get better a lot faster if I had a TV in my room. So I took control of my recovery. Is that so bad? I thought that’s what I was there for, you know? I’m not saying I did everything perfect. Like I probably shouldn’t of sold it.”

  “You sold it?” she says.

  “There was nothing good ever on!” he says. “If they showed good programs I just know I would’ve gotten better. But no. It was so boring. So I decided to throw everybody a party, because they were all supporting me so well, by letting me keep the TV in my room? And so, you know, I sold the TV, for the party, and was taking the bucks over to the Party Place, to get some things for the party, some hats and tooters and stuff like that, but then I’ve got this problem, with substances, and so I sort of all of a sudden wanted some substances. And then I ran into this guy with some substances. That guy totally fucked me! By being there with those substances right when I had some money? He didn’t care one bit about my recovery.”

  “You sold the rehab TV to buy drugs,” she says.

  “To buy substances, Ma, why can’t you get it right?” he says. “The way we name things is important, Ma, Doe
taught me that in counseling. Look, maybe you wouldn’t have sold the TV, but you’re not an inadvertent substance misuser, and guess what, I am, that’s why I was in there. Do you hear me? I know you wish you had a perfect son, but you don’t, you have an inadvertent substance misuser who sometimes makes bad judgments, like borrowing and selling a TV to buy substances.”

  “Or rings and jewels,” says Janet. “My rings and jewels.”

  “Fuck Ma, that was a long time ago!” he says. “Why do you have to keep bringing that old shit up? Doe was so right. For you to win, I have to lose. Like when I was a kid and in front of the whole neighborhood you called me an animal torturer? That really hurt. That caused a lot of my problems. We were working on that in group right before I left.”

  “You were torturing a cat,” she says. “With a freaking prod.”

  “A prod I built myself in metal shop,” he says. “But of course you never mention that.”

  “A prod you were heating with a Sterno cup,” she says.

  “Go ahead, build your case,” he says. “Beat up on me as much as you want, I don’t have a choice. I have to be here.”

  “What do you mean, you have to be here?” she says.

  “Ma, haven’t you been listening?” he shouts. “I got kicked out of rehab!”

  “Well you can’t stay here,” she says.

  “I have to stay here!” he says. “Where am I supposed to go?”

  “Go home,” she says. “Go home with Grammy.”

  “With Grammy?” he says. “Are you kidding me? Oh God, the group would love this.You’re telling a very troubled inadvertent substance misuser to go live with his terminally ill grandmother? You have any idea how stressful that would be for me? I’d be inadvertently misusing again in a heartbeat. Grammy’s always like: Get me this, get me that, sit with me, I’m scared, talk with me, it hurts when I breathe. I’m twenty-four, Ma, baby-sitting brings me down. Plus she’s kind of deranged? She sort of like hallucinates? I think it’s all that blood in her lungs. The other night she woke up at midnight and said I was trying to steal something from her. Can you believe it? She’s like all kooky! I wasn’t stealing. Her necklaces got tangled up and I was trying to untangle them. And Keough was trying to help me.”

  “Keough was at the house?” she says. “I thought I told you no Keough.”

  “Ma, Jesus Christ, Keough’s my friend,” he says. “Like my only friend. How am I supposed to get better without friends? At least I have one. You don’t have any.”

  “I have plenty of friends,” she says.

  “Name one,” he says.

  She looks at me.

  Which I guess is sort of sweet.

  Although I don’t see why she had to call me Mr. Tightass.

  “Fine, Ma,” he says. “You don’t want me staying here, I won’t stay here.You want me to inadvertently misuse substances, I’ll inadvertently misuse substances. I’ll turn tricks and go live in a ditch. Is that what you want?”

  “Turn tricks?” she says. “Who said anything about turning tricks?”

  “Keough’s done it,” he says. “It’s what we eventually come to, our need for substances is so great. We can’t help it.”

  “Well, I don’t want you turning tricks,” she says. “That I don’t go for.”

  “But living in a ditch is okay,” he says.

  “If you want to live in a ditch, live in a ditch,” she says.

  “I don’t want to live in a ditch,” he says. “I want to turn my life around. But it would help me turn my life around if I had a little money. Like twenty bucks. So I can go back and get those party supplies. The tooters and all? I want to make it up to my friends.”

  “Is that was this is about?” she says. “You want money? Well I don’t have twenty bucks. And you don’t need tooters to have a party.”

  “But I want tooters,” he says. “Tooters make it more fun.”

  “I don’t have twenty bucks,” she says.

  “Ma, please,” he says. “You’ve always been there for me. And I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Like this might be my last chance.”

  She pulls me off to one side.

  “I’ll pay you back on payday,” she says.

  I give her a look.

  “Come on, man,” she says. “He’s my son. You know how it is. You got a sick kid, I got a sick kid.”

  My feeling is, yes and no. My sick kid is three. My sick kid isn’t a con man.

  Although at this point it’s worth twenty bucks to get the guy out of the cave.

  I go to my Separate Area and get the twenty bucks. I give it to her and she gives it to him.

  “Excellent!” he says, and goes bounding out the door. “A guy can always count on his ma.”

  Janet goes straight to her Separate Area. The rest of the afternoon I hear sobbing.

  Sobbing or laughing.

  Probably sobbing.

  When the quality of light changes I go to my Separate Area. I make cocoa. I tidy up. I take out a Daily Partner Performance Evaluation Form.

  This is really pushing it. Her kid comes into the cave in street clothes, speaks English in the cave, she speaks English back, they both swear many many times, she spends the whole afternoon weeping in her Separate Area.

  Then again, what am I supposed to do, rat out a friend with a dying mom on the day she finds out her screwed-up son is even more screwed up than she originally thought?

  Do I note any attitudinal difficulties? I do not. How do I rate my Partner overall? Very good. Are there any Situations which require Mediation?

  There are not.

  I fax it in.

  15.

  Late that night my fax makes the sound it makes when a fax is coming in.

  From Louise:

  Bad day, she says. He had a fever then suddenly got very cold. And his legs are so swollen. In places the skin looks ready to split. Ate like two handfuls dry Chex all day. And whiny, oh my God the poor thing. Stood on the heat grate all day in his underwear, staring out the window. Kept saying where is Daddy, why is he never here? Plus the Evemplorine went up to $70 for 120 count. God, it’s all drudge drudge drudge, you should see me, I look about ninety.Also a big strip of trim or siding came floating down as we were getting in the car and nearly killed the twins. Insurance said they won’t pay. What do I do, do I forget about it? Will something bad happen to the wood underneath if we don’t get it nailed back up? Ugh. Don’t fax back, I’m going to sleep.

  Love, Me.

  I get into bed and lie there counting and recounting the acoustic tiles on the ceiling of my darkened Separate Area.

  One hundred forty-four.

  Plus I am so hungry. I could kill for some goat. Although certainly, dwelling on problems doesn’t solve them. Although on the other hand, thinking positively about problems also doesn’t solve them. But at least then you feel positive, which is, or should be, you know, empowering. And power is good. Power is necessary at this point. It is necessary at this point for me to be, you know, a rock. What I need to remember now is that I don’t have to solve the problems of the world. It is not within my power to cure Nelson, it is only necessary for me to do what I can do, which is keep the money coming in, and in order for me to keep the money coming in, it is necessary for me to keep my chin up, so I can continue to do a good job. That is, it is necessary for me to avoid dwelling negatively on problems in the dark of night in my Separate Area, because if I do, I will be tired in the morning, and might then do a poor job, which could jeopardize my ability to keep the money coming in, especially if, for example, there is a Spot Check.

  I continue to count the tiles but as I do it try to smile. I smile in the dark and sort of nod confidently. I try to positively and creatively imagine surprising and innovative solutions to my problems, like winning the Lotto, like the Remixing being discontinued, like Nelson suddenly one morning waking up completely cured.

  16.

  Next morning is once again the morning I empty our Human Refuse bags and t
he trash bags and the bag from the bottom of the sleek metal hole.

  I knock on the door of her Separate Area.

  “Enter,” she says.

  I step in and mime to her that I dreamed of a herd that covered the plain like the grass of the earth, they were as numerous as grasshoppers and yet the meat of their humps resembled each a tiny mountain etc. etc.

  “Hey, sorry about yesterday,” she says. “Really sorry. I never dreamed that little shit would have the nerve to come here. And you think he paid to get in? I very much doubt it. My guess is, he hopped the freaking fence.”

  I add the trash from her wicker basket to my big white bag. I add her bag of used feminine items to my big white bag.

  “But he’s a good-looking kid, isn’t he?” she says.

  I sort of curtly nod. I take three bags labeled Caution Human Refuse from the corner and add them to my big pink bag labeled Caution Human Refuse.

  “Hey, look,” she says. “Am I okay? Did you narc me out? About him being here?”

  I give her a look, like: I should’ve but I didn’t.

  “Thank you so much,” she says. “Damn, you’re nice. From now on, no more screw-ups. I swear to God.”

  Out I go, with the white regular trash bag in one hand and our mutual big pink Human Refuse bag in the other.

  17.

  Nobody’s on the path, although from the direction of Pioneer Encampment I hear the sound of rushing water, possibly the Big Durn Flood? Twice a month they open up the Reserve Tanks and the river widens and pretty soon some detachable house parts and Pioneer wagons equipped with special inflatable bladders float by, while from their P.A. we dimly hear the sound of prerecorded screaming Settlers.

  I walk along the white cliff, turn down the non-Guest path marked by the little yellow dot, etc. etc.