The Death Bed

  “Luva?” Julia asked.

  The children giggled, and the father repeated, “Lluvia.” This time he pointed up.

  “Lluvia?” Julia tried again and pointed to the water that had congregated on the floor.

  “Fuerte,” the father said pounding his fist on his leg.”

  “Fuerte,” Julia repeated and pounded her fist in her palm. The whole family laughed. Julia didn’t understand what was so funny.

  “Maybe they just need to laugh,” she thought. “Maybe that’s the only way to get through the night when your house leans every time the wind blows.” The wind had picked up, and as the gusts grew stronger the entire room creaked and shook. Julia felt certain that the structure would collapse any minute. She looked up at the ragged roof and tried not to think about it falling on top of her.

  “Lluvia fuerte,” she said again pointing to a hole in the roof and pounding her fist. The family laughed again, and Julia let herself laugh with them.

  A little later Sara and Jason appeared in the doorway. In the time it had taken them to run from the vans to the family’s house, the rain had drenched them. The woman jumped up and ushered them to the bed where Julia sat. She took a few spoonfuls of stew from each of the children’s bowls and added them to the one from which she had been eating before offering it to her new guests.

  “No, no, no,” Sara insisted.

  The woman looked confused and then went back to the family’s side of the room where she took a spoon from one of the children and put it in the bowl, which she brought back to Sara and Jason. She pointed at the bowl and then at each of them as if trying to say that there were now two spoons for two people.

  “If we don’t accept it she’s going to go back and take one of their bowls,” Jason cautioned. Sara reluctantly took the bowl from the woman’s hand. The children took turns eating with the one spoon until the oldest son finished eating and gave them his. “What’s going on?” Julia asked quietly. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “Everyone else went to the vans when the rain started,” Sara explained. “Jason and I thought you were in the other van at first, but one of the girls from that van came over to ours because it was too crowded. When she said that you weren’t in their van we got worried and came to look for you.”

  Jason nibbled away at the concoction the woman had given him while Sara talked. When she finished he offered her the bowl.

  “Your turn,” he said. “Try to pretend that you like it.” Then he looked at Julia and spoke to her for the first time since that phone call. “They’re talking about sleeping in the vans because the roads are going to be too muddy to drive on.”

  She’d expected him say something more personal or profound. The simplicity of his words and the familiarity with which he spoke caught her off guard. A gust of wind blew causing the walls to tremble. Sara and Jason startled.

  “It’s been doing that,” Julia explained. Then she looked at Jason. “You do know that I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” Jason asked.

  “For the way I,” Julia began. “For what I did to you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking then. If you hated me for the rest of your life I wouldn’t blame you.”

  Sara scooted over to give them what little privacy she could.

  “I don’t have anything to hold against you,” Jason answered.

  “Yes, you do.”

  Jason leaned over and whispered into Julia’s ear. Her body tensed up, and she didn’t understand her reaction. As hard as she tried to tell him yes, her mouth wouldn’t open, and her head instinctually shook itself from side to side. “He shouldn’t have asked again,” she told herself. She could see disappointment in Jason’s eyes, but there was something else behind the disappointment that made her feel as if everything would still turn out as it should.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally managed to say.

  “I don’t have anything to hold against you,” Jason repeated.

  Julia turned back to Sara, unable to understand herself. “I’m so messed up Sara, but I’m so glad that I’m here with you. I’m so messed up inside,” she said. She didn’t care that Jason was still sitting next to her. She even wondered if she’d only made the confession for his sake.

  “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” Sara replied, and she wrapped her arms around Julia’s neck.

  “If that’s the case then I’m a million miles ahead of you and I don’t even believe it’s true.”

  “I believe you are.”

  “That I’m what?”

  “A million miles ahead of me.”

  Hours passed and the fire in the clay stove began to die out. The woman motioned for Jason to come. When he’d crossed the muddy floor she pointed to the bed. Then she took her daughter over to the bed where Sara and Julia sat watching. The woman and the girl crawled into the bed and motioned for Julia and Sara to join them. Julia crawled under the dirty covers next to the woman and Sara got in next to Julia. On the other side of the room the men did the same. Julia could hear the rain pounding down on the tin as they lay in the rickety bed under the leaky roof. She watched the shadows dance along the wall as the last of the flames flickered in the furnace and finally died out.

  * * *

  Lewis woke up when he felt raindrops dripping on his face. He’d forgotten to put up the rain fly, despite the older boys’ warnings and reminders. He got out of his damp sleeping bag and fumbled around in the dark tent until he found his flashlight. With the flashlight he found the rain fly. He didn’t bother putting on socks or boots, but stepped out onto the wet sand, hurried to get the nylon covering over the tent, and then rushed back inside to get out of the rain that grew in intensity. His sleeping bag had gotten wet, not soaked, but wet enough to keep him from being able to sleep in it.

  He stayed awake, listening to the wind rushing through the valley and the rain that pounded on the tent’s nylon covering. The cold and wet made the night drag on. Lewis tried to think about something else to take his mind off of the physical reality, but every three or four minutes he would turn on his flashlight to look at his watch and see how much time still had to pass. Lewis began to shiver in the wet sleeping bag as he waited for the seconds to creep by. It seemed that the tent and everything in it only got wetter despite the rain fly.

  More time passed and the winds whipped around the tent. The tent walls pushed in around him and he assumed that some of the steaks had come out of their sandy foundation. He wondered how the other boys could sleep through the storm. His sleeping bag sloshed when he rolled over and he realized that he was lying in almost an inch of water.

  “Hey what’s this?” a voice cried out from another tent. Lewis could barely make out the words above the noise of his tent flapping in the wind, but it gave him hope. For the first time he didn’t feel alone.

  Another voice called out, “Is there water in your tent too?”

  “Everything’s soaked, “answered another voice. Lewis poked his head out of the tent and saw the glow of flashlights coming from the other tents that lined the beach. Then he looked down and realized why water had gotten into their tents. The river had risen and covered the sandy area where they’d made camp.

  “We’re in the river,” Lewis yelled. The other boys emerged from their tents and came to the same realization.

  “Come on, we’ve got to get up to the campsite,” one of the older boys shouted. Lewis pulled his backpack out of the tent and rushed to take it further up the beach and out of the river’s path. He hurried back down toward his tent to put his hiking boots on but couldn’t find the spot where he’d pitched it. He could see James and Michael trying to take down their tent and Doug and George struggling against the wind to get the poles out of theirs. He knew that he’d pitched his tent between them, but he couldn’t find it. He looked back and forth frantically as the river rose past his ankles.

  “I can’t find my tent!” he yelled out. Nobody responded. He looked around until a flash of lightn
ing lit up the night and revealed Lewis’s tent floating down the river. He ran after it, splashing his bare feet in the water until he lost his footing and fell face first into the current. One of the older boys grabbed him.

  “What are you doing?” he yelled.

  “My tent,” Lewis sobbed.

  “Leave it. Let’s go.”

  “But my boots and my sleeping bag and my . . .”

  “Forget about them!” We’ve got to get up to the campsite.”

  The older boy flashed his light around, and Lewis saw that his hadn’t been the only tent to get swept up by the river. The older boy led Lewis to the place where James and Michael struggled to pack their tent and sleeping bags into their backpacks.

  “Let him carry some of it and go,” the older boy ordered.

  James handed Lewis the wet bundle of nylon and mesh that had been their tent, and they all rushed up to higher ground. Lewis found his backpack where he’d left it and put it on before following the rest of the boys to the designated campsite. When they reached the trail, rocks and twigs replaced the soft sand of the beach and scratched the tender souls of Lewis’s bare feet. He didn’t mind the discomfort, but followed the other boys at a near run as adrenaline replaced the fear and misery that he’d initially felt.

  When they got to the campsite the adults got out of their tents and helped them set up what had survived of their camp. Some of the boys huddled into an extra tent one of the adults had brought, and the rest crawled into the soaked tents that they’d carried up from the river. Lewis found himself crammed into a tent with James Guthrie and Doug. They all huddled together using the one wet sleeping bag as a blanket. Lewis could feel Doug shivering to his right and thought he heard James whimpering on the far side of the tent. Worries about his lost gear all but disappeared.

  “I can’t wait to tell Tommy,” he thought. “He’s never going to believe this.”

  * * *

  It had taken Peter longer than he’d expected to find his drinking buddy, but once he did, the bum jumped at the opportunity to get a free drink. The bum suggested a liquor store because the money would go further.

  “Oh no,” Peter insisted. “We’re going to the classiest place we can find. Nothing but the best tonight.”

  In the end they compromised and went into the first bar they found. Heads turned as they walked through the door. The bum reeked and Peter hadn’t exactly taken the time to shower or shave. They found a table and heads returned to their drinks and conversations.

  “What’ll it be? The waitress asked.

  The bum didn’t hesitate. “I’ll have your cheapest beer,” he said.

  “Okay,” the waitress said and reluctantly turned to Peter. “And for you?”

  “Give us two shots of your best whisky,” Peter said.

  The waitress left.

  “So how was your day,” Peter said to the bum as if they’d been close friends. The bum fidgeted in his dirty sports coat, looked down at the table, and then all around as if he were searching for something.

  “I’d tell you about my day except there’s not much to tell,” Peter said. “I slept in, then watched T.V. then came here. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I just figured that your day had been more interesting.”

  “No,” the bum said.

  The waitress came with their drinks.

  “Nothing at all?” Peter asked.

  The bum shifted in his chair as if trying to communicate that he hadn’t expected to have to carry on a conversation.

  “No,” he said again.

  “Well I’ll drink to that,” Peter said. He held up his shot glass. “Here’s to nothing,” he said.

  The bum followed suit. After several more rounds the bum spoke up, “There were these two guys and one of ‘em stopped to give me money, but the other guy told ‘em not to ‘cause I’d just buy booze with it. What’s he expect me to do, save up for a convertible?” The bum chuckled.

  “I think that guy over there’s staring at us,” Peter said abruptly as if he hadn’t listened to a word the bum had said.

  “That’s normal,” the bum noted.

  “He just looked over here again,” Peter said and got up from the table. “Excuse me,” Peter said as he walked over to a table where three men wearing button up shirts and ties sat laughing. “I couldn’t help noticing that you’re taking a lot of interest in what’s going on at my table.”

  “Everything’s fine,” one of them said.

  “Is there a problem?” the bartender cut him off.

  “I think we’re okay,” another of the men said.

  “No. These guys were,” Peter began.

  The bartender didn’t let him finish. “I think you and your friend should be leaving.”

  “That’s exactly what we were about to do,” Peter announced loud enough for the whole bar to hear. Peter walked to the door while the bartender escorted the bum from the table.

  “It’s starting to rain,” Peter objected when the bartender and bum got to the door.

  “Not my problem,” the bartender said.

  “You can’t throw us out in the rain.”

  “I can throw you out into whatever I feel like.”

  The bartender opened the door and Peter walked out followed by the bum.

  “You didn’t even have to pay for the drinks,” the bum chuckled.

  “Now I’ve got to walk seven blocks in the rain to get to my car,” Peter grumbled as he stood under the awning that protruded just far enough from the building to shelter the two men from the pouring rain. He tried to think if he’d parked the car six or seven blocks away, and then tried to remember where he’d parked the car, or if he’d driven it at all.

  “You can’t drive drunk,” the bum said.

  “I’m not drunk. I just can’t remember where my car is. Who are you to tell me what I can’t do? Peter snapped. You’re a bum. I’m going home. I’ve got nowhere else to go.” He started to walk away in the direction that he assumed would lead him to his car.

  “I know a place that’s not too far. Follow me.” The bum grabbed Peter’s arm and led him up the street and turned down an alleyway.

  “Wait here until the rain goes away,” the bum said pointing to a dry spot next to a dumpster. Peter leaned against the wall while the bum rummaged through the trash. He pulled out two pieces of cardboard and handed one to Peter.

  “To sit on,” the bum explained. The storm picked up and the winds whipped through the alley. Peter sat on the cardboard next to the bum and wrapped his arms around his knees to try and keep warm.

  “You aint even got a coat?” the bum asked.

  “I left it at my apartment,” Peter explained.

  “Here,” the bum said shedding the dirty sports jacket. “Take this. Least I got long sleeves. You got to dress in layers when you live out here.”

  “I can’t take your jacket,” Peter said.

  “Take it. It’s yours,” the bum insisted, holding the jacket out for Peter to take.

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Come on, someone’ll just give me another one. Probably a better one. People like us, we got to take care of each other. A gust of wind blew the lid of the dumpster open and it slammed shut startling Peter. The bum laughed. Peter accepted the jacket and put it on quickly. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  As the storm moved across the city Hannah stayed on the couch glued to the television. Andy stayed next to her, trying to convince her that her son would be fine, but she couldn’t make herself believe him. Maybe if he’d been able to explain meteorologically why the storm wasn’t affecting Lewis, she would have been convinced. She wished he could give her a logical justification. No matter how far-fetched, she would have believed it, so long as it had the façade of logic.

  She wished that he would try harder to convince her because she needed to believe that the storm had passed over her son. He didn’t. The weathermen on every channe
l had given up trying to explain the storm. Instead, they urged people to stay indoors and to leave phone lines open for emergency and relief workers. Hannah sat on the couch, overcome by worry, until the power went out. Even then she didn’t get up or acknowledge Andy’s presence, but stayed on the couch completely alone staring out into the darkness.

  Part III

  Chapter 1

  Lewis managed to survive the rain and only incurred a slight sniffle. With the help of the older boys, he’d even found most of his gear the next day before everyone turned back to the vehicles. His tent had gotten tangled up in driftwood, and his sleeping bag had washed up on the shore about a mile down the river. But his boots and flashlight were lost forever, and he’d had to hike to the location where they met up with the vehicles wearing borrowed sandals. However, when Hannah went to pick him up, she couldn’t find anything but pure excitement in him.

  Nevertheless, she told Luke that her son wouldn’t be a part of any organization with such incompetent leadership. Peter called her to object, but she remained resolute, and Peter had been willing to wait until after the matter of joint custody had been resolved to press the issue.

  As for the legal entanglement, the judge made it clear that he was very hesitant to separate a child from his father. He seemed very sympathetic towards Peter, and Peter, along with not a few others, felt sure that he would win joint custody of Lewis despite his unemployment and drinking problem. But in the end the case came down to biology. So after Hannah’s testimony and a simple blood test the judge had no option but to leave the child with his mother. Thomas and Julia had both been asked to testify, but neither of their testimonies seemed to have any weight at all when the judge handed down his decision.

  Peter had been devastated, just as Hannah had anticipated, and considered asking Luke if he could crash at his place. However, as he approached his brother he felt certain that he’d overheard Luke saying something to the effect of, “He’ll never be able to pay off his legal expenses.” Peter left the courthouse in a hurry. Hannah followed him to the liquor store with Lewis sitting in the car next to her.

  “You need to see why you can’t be with Peter,” she’d said, as Peter walked out with an open bottle and sat down on the curb to take a drink.