The Echo Maker

  Early in the evening of New Year’s Day, Specialist Thomas Rupp, 167th Cavalry Regiment—the Prairie Soldiers—appeared on the doorstep of the Homestar. He was coatless in his three-color desert camouflage fatigues, having just returned to town after unit exercises. Mark looked out his dirty front window into the dark yard, thinking that paramilitary forces had arrived with the purpose of commandeering his house in conjunction with this new Nature Outpost development.

  Specialist Rupp stood on Mark’s doorstep, rapping triplets on the front door’s simulated wood. The soundtrack from a public television antiques show seeped through the windows. “Gus. Wassup. Open up, Gus. You can’t stay mad at us forever.”

  Mark stood on the other side of the door, brandishing a thirty-six-inch Rigid pipe wrench. Realizing who it was, he called through the flimsy panel. “Go away. You’re not welcome around these parts.”

  “Schluter, man. Open the door. It’s getting ugly out here.”

  It was twenty degrees, with a visibility of ten feet. The wind whipped a fine-grained dry snow into a white sandstorm. Rupp was shivering, which only convinced Mark of a trap. Nothing ever froze Rupp.

  “Stuff to clear up, buddy. Let me in and we’ll talk.”

  By now, the dog was hysterical, snarling like a wolf and leaping three feet into the air, ready to plunge through the window and attack anything to protect its master. Mark couldn’t hear himself think. “What stuff? Like the fact that you lied to me? Like the fact that you ran me off the road?”

  “Let me in and we’ll talk. Clear this crap up, once and for all.”

  Mark hit the front door with the wrench, hoping to scare off the intruder. The dog began to howl. Rupp screamed profanity, to shock Mark into stopping. The next-door neighbor, a retired data processor who served homeless people lunches at Kearney Catholic, threw open her window and threatened to firebomb them. Both men continued to yell at each other, Mark demanding explanations and Rupp demanding to be let in out of the cold. “Open the fuck up, Gus. I’ve got no time for this. I’ve been called up. Active duty. I’m going to Fort Riley the day after tomorrow, man. Then on to Saudi, soon as they pull my chain.”

  Mark stopped yelling and hushed the dog long enough to ask, “Saudi? What for?”

  “The Crusades. Armageddon. George versus Saddam.”

  “You’re so full of it. I knew you were full of it. What good is that going to do anyone?”

  “Round two,” Rupp said. “The real thing this time. Going after the bastards who brought down the Towers.”

  “They’re dead,” Mark said, more to the dog than to Rupp. “Died on impact in a flaming fireball.”

  “Speaking of death.” Rupp stamped the ground and yelped with cold. “Dressed for a hundred and ten degrees, and it’s Scott of the Antarctic out here, Gus. Are you going to let me in or do you want to kill me?”

  Trick question. Mark said nothing.

  “All right, man. I give up. You win. Talk to Duane about it. Or wait for me to get back. This showdown thing is going to be over fast. We’re giving these goons a week at the outside. One-shot Rupp’ll be back here slaughtering again, by Flag Day. Take you fishing for your birthday.” Silence issued from the house. Rupp backed away, into the icy sandstorm. “Talk to Duane. He’ll explain what happened. What do you want from Iraq, Gus? One of those little white skull caps? Some prayer beads? Miniature oil well? What can I bring you back? Just name it.”

  Rupp had vanished in his truck by the time Mark shouted, “What do I want? I want my friend back.”

  On Groundhog Day, a Sunday, Daniel Riegel called his boyhood friend. They’d had no contact for fifteen years, aside from deniable sightings at a distance and a supermarket run-in where they’d passed each other without a word. Daniel’s hands shook as he dialed the number. He hung up once, then forced himself to start again.

  Karin had told him all about that afternoon at the abandoned Schluter house, a house Daniel remembered as well as he remembered his own. She confronted him with Mark’s disclosure, something broken in her. You loved my brother, didn’t you? Of course he had. I mean, you really loved him. She had stood there rethinking everything, appraising Daniel as she would an alien.

  He had no idea what he’d say if Mark Schluter picked up. It no longer mattered what he said, so long as he said something. A voice at the other end shouted, “Yeah?” and Daniel said, “Mark? It’s Danny.” His voice slid like some pubescent’s between soprano and bass. Mark said nothing, so Daniel filled, insanely matter-of-fact. “Your old friend. How are things going? What have you been up to? It’s been a while.”

  At last Mark spoke. “You’ve been talking to her, haven’t you? Of course you have. She’s your wife. Lover. Whatever.” Mark’s voice wavered between bafflement and awe. Why should people discuss him behind his back? What difference in the world did he make to them? His words were swimming in mysteries, and ready to give up paddling and drown.

  Daniel started in, faltering, about old misunderstandings, crossed wires, experiments gone wrong. Not what you think; should have said; should never have suggested. A long silence came from Mark. Fifteen years’ worth. Then: “Look. I don’t care if you’re gay. It’s a big trend these days. I don’t even care that you like animals better than people. I would, too, if I weren’t a human. Just watch your back. I know this is a college town, but get out into the surrounding areas and you’d be surprised.”

  “You’re right about that,” Daniel said. “But wrong about me.”

  “Fine. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Forget it. Burial. Little Danny; young Markie. You remember those guys?”

  It took Daniel some moments to decide. “I think so,” he answered.

  “I sure as hell don’t. No idea who those guys ever were. Two different worlds. Who cares?”

  “You don’t understand. I never meant for you to think…”

  “Hey. Have sex with whatever you want. You only live once, for the most part.”

  And then, on nothing at all, they were back in the trivial now.

  “But can I just ask you? Why her? Don’t get me wrong. She’s all right. At least, she hasn’t hurt me yet. But…this doesn’t have anything to do with me, does it?”

  Daniel tried to say. Say why her. Because with her he didn’t have to be anyone but who he’d always been. Because being with her made him feel familiar. Like coming home.

  Mark crashed the explanation. “I thought so. You’re using her for my sister! Sleeping with her because she reminds you of Karin. Old times. Man! Memory. It’ll screw you up royal every time, huh?”

  “It will,” Daniel agreed. “It does.”

  “Well, okay. There you have it. Whatever gets you through the night. Just remember: this love thing comes and goes. You wake up one day, and wonder. I guess I don’t have to tell you that. So what have you been doing with your life?” He chuckled like a belt-driven tool sharpener. “In the last fifteen years. In two hundred words or less.”

  Daniel recited the short résumé, marveling at how little had changed since childhood, and how little he’d really accomplished in so long a time. He could barely hear himself talk, over the noise of the past.

  Mark wanted to hear about the Refuge. “Some kind of Dedham Glen for birds?”

  “Yes, I suppose. Something like that.”

  “Well, can’t hurt me with that. Karin Two says you’re fighting this sandhill Disney World thing? Camp Crane Peeper?”

  “Fighting, and losing. What did she tell you about it?”

  “I’ve seen their real estate operatives out this way, sniffing around. Seems to me they have their eye on the Homestar. Going to requisition my house.”

  “Are you sure? How can you tell they’re from…?”

  “Team of guys with one of those surveyor thingies? Guys out there, dynamiting fish?”

  The idea coursed through Daniel, with a surge of sick thrill. The developers were running an environmental impact survey. The real capital outlay had started. “Listen,” he said.
“Can we meet? Can I swing by your place?”

  “Whoa. Hang on, big fella. I told you a long time ago. I’m not like that.”

  “Neither am I,” Daniel said.

  “Hey. It’s fine. It’s a free country.” Mark fell silent, but calm. “But tell me something. You know all that avian crap. Can you train one of those birds to spy on someone?”

  Daniel weighed his words. “Birds will surprise you. Blue jays can lie. Ravens punish social cheaters. Crows fashion hooks out of straight wire and use them to lift cups out of holes. Not even chimps can do that.”

  “So following people would be no problem.”

  “Well, I’m not sure how you’d get them to report back to you.”

  “Dude. That’s the easy part. Technology. Little wireless cameras and such.”

  “I don’t know,” Daniel said. “Not my strong suit. I’ve never been good at telling the possible from the impossible. That’s why I ended up in preservation.”

  “The point is, they’re not just—you know—bird brains?”

  Daniel held still at the sound, the ten-year-old Mark, the love of his boyhood who’d always deferred to Daniel’s bookish authority. They’d fallen back by instinct into the forgotten cadence. “It turns out that their brains are much more powerful than people ever thought. Much more cortex, just shaped differently from ours, so we couldn’t see it. They can think, no question about it. See patterns. People have trained pigeons to tell Seurats from Monets.”

  “Gortex? Tell who from what?”

  “The details aren’t important. Why do you ask?”

  “I had this idea, a few months back. I thought…you might be following me around. You and your birds. But that’s crazy, isn’t it?”

  “Well,” Daniel said. “I’ve heard crazier.”

  “Now I realize that if anyone’s following me, it’s the other side. These Nature Outpost people. And it’s not really me they’re after. Nobody gives a flying fart whether I live or die. They probably just want my real estate.”

  “I’d love to talk to you about this,” Daniel said. Using a delusion to chase a delusion.

  “Ah, man. Maybe I’m just scrambled. You have no idea what I’ve been through. A fuck of an accident, one year ago this month. It all started then.”

  “I know,” Daniel told him.

  “You saw the show?”

  “Show? No. I saw you.”

  “Saw me? When was this? Don’t jerk me around, Danny. I’m warning you.”

  Daniel explained: in the hospital. Early on. While Mark was still coming back.

  “You came to see me? Why?”

  “I was worried about you.” All true.

  “You saw me? And I didn’t see you?”

  “You were still in pretty bad shape. You saw me, but…I scared you. You thought I was…I don’t know what you thought.”

  Mark took off, fragments of words scattering like pheasants from a gunshot. He knew who he’d thought Daniel was. Someone else had come to see him in the hospital. Someone who left a note. Someone who’d been out there that night, on North Line. “You didn’t see the TV show? Television, man. You had to see it.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have a set.”

  “Jesus. I forgot. You live in the freaking animal kingdom. Never mind; it doesn’t matter. If I could just get a look at what you look like now. Maybe it would come back to me. Who I thought you were. What this finder looks like.”

  “I’d love that. I’d…like that. Maybe if I came by sometime…?”

  “Now,” Mark said. “You know where I live? What am I saying? The Crane Refuge probably wants to liberate my house, too.”

  Daniel knocked, and the prefab door opened on someone he might have passed on the street without identifying. Mark’s hair was flowing and tangled, as he’d never worn it. He’d put on twenty pounds in the last few months, and the weight surprised Mark’s small frame as much as it surprised Daniel. Strangest of all was his face, manned by some pilot baffled by the controls. Foreign thoughts now moved those muscles. The face stared out at Daniel on the icy February threshold. “Nature Boy,” Mark said, a little skeptical. Trying to put his finger on a vast difference. At last, he figured it. “You got old.”

  He dragged Daniel inside and stood him in the center of the living room, inspecting. Brine spilled out of the corners of his eyes. Yet his face remained studious, like a shopper examining the ingredients on a strange brand’s label. Daniel stood still, shaking. After a long time, Mark shook his head. “Nothing. I’m not getting anything.”

  Daniel’s face curdled, until he realized. Mark didn’t mean fifteen years ago; he meant ten months.

  “It never comes back, does it?” Mark said. “Shit’s never what it was. Probably wasn’t what it was, even back when it was it.” He laughed, cotton wrapped in barbed wire. “Doesn’t matter. You were Nature Boy once, and that’s good enough for me. Pleasure to meet you, Nature Man.” He threw his arms around Daniel, like tying a horse’s reins to a hitching post. The hug was over before Daniel could return it. “Sorry about the historical bullcrap, dude. A lot of wasted time and anxiety, and now I can’t even remember what the big deal was. So I didn’t want your hand working my front privates. That doesn’t mean I had to beat you to a bloody pulp.”

  “No,” Daniel said. “It was me. All me.”

  “Man, getting old is nothing but accumulating stupid shit we have to apologize for. What are we going to be like when we’re seventy?” Daniel tried to reply, but Mark didn’t really want an answer. He reached into the pocket of his corduroy overshirt and pulled out a piece of laminated paper full of chicken scratch. “Here’s the deal. Does this mean anything to you?”

  “Your…Karin Two told me about it.”

  Mark grabbed his wrist. “She doesn’t know you’re here, does she?”

  Daniel shook his head.

  “Maybe she’s okay. You never know. So you’re saying you’re not my guardian angel? No idea who? Well, whatever happened back in the hospital, you aren’t reminding me of anybody, now. Except a big, crusty, old version of Nature Boy. So what can I get you to drink? Some kind of wetlands whole-grain tea?”

  “You have any beer?”

  “Whoa. Little Danny R. comes of age.”

  They sat at the round vinyl dinette table, jittery with reunion. They did not know, yet, how to be anything but boys together. Daniel asked Mark to describe the surveyors. They sounded only slightly more solid than his guardian angel. Mark asked about the development, which, in Daniel’s recounting, sounded like paranoid invention.

  “I don’t get it. You’re saying this fight is all about water?”

  “Nothing else is more worth fighting over.”

  The idea dazed Mark. “Water wars?”

  “Water wars here, oil wars overseas.”

  “Oil? This new one? Man, what about revenge? Security? Religious showdown, and such?”

  “Beliefs chase resources.”

  They talked and drank, Riegel exceeding his last two years’ consumption. He was prepared to pass into unconsciousness, if need be, to stay with Mark.

  Mark was flush with ideas. “You want to know how to steal this land right out from underneath these jokers? Danny, Danny. Let me show you something.” With the closest thing to energy he’d shown, Mark stood and clomped into his bedroom. Daniel heard him moving things around, sounding like a backhoe in a trash dump. He returned triumphant, waving a book above his head. He held it up to Daniel: Flat Water. “Local history textbook from my first year in college. My last year in college, I should say.” Mark flipped through the pages in a state almost like excitement. “Hold your horses. It’s here, somewhere. Mr. Andy Jackson, if I’m not mistaken. Weird about the ancient past: how it keeps coming up. Here. Indian Removal Act, 1830. The Intercourse Act, 1834. Don’t get excited; it’s not as interesting as it sounds. All the lands west of the Mississippi that aren’t already Missouri, Louisiana, or Arkansas. May I quote? ‘Forever secure and guarantee.’ ‘Heirs
or successors.’ ‘In perpetuity.’ That means forever. We’re talking a long time, buster. The fucking law of the land. And they say I’m delusional? This whole country’s delusional! There’s not a white person out here who’s a legal property owner, including me. That’s how you should handle this. Get your lawyers, get a few natives down from the rez on your side: you should be able to clear out the whole state. Get it back how it was.”

  “I’ll…look into that.”

  “Give it back to the migratories. The birds can’t mess it up any worse than we have.”

  Daniel smiled, despite himself. “You’re right, there. To really finish things off, you need human-sized brains.”

  The word woke Mark up again. “Danny. Danny Boy. Speaking of brains and cranes? How come all their heads are red? You don’t find that weird? It’s like they’ve all been operated on. You should have seen me, man, with my bloody skull in a sling. Oh, wait: you did see me. I’m the one who didn’t see me.” He held that same battered head in his hands, split all over again. Riegel said nothing; he moved less than his little finger. The life-long expert tracker, reverting to form. Join yourself to where you are, and the creature will come to you, of its own accord.

  Mark gathered himself for a leap of faith. “That woman you’re doing? She wants me to take these pills. Dope me up, I guess. Well, not exactly dope. If only it were that interesting. No, this stuff’s called Olestra. Ovaltine. Something like that. It’s supposed to give me ‘clarity.’ Make me feel more like myself. I don’t know who I’ve been feeling like, lately, but, man, it would be good to be off this ride.” He looked up at Daniel, a flicker of false hope begging to be confirmed. “Thing is, this could be Stage Three of whatever they’re trying to do to me. First, run me off the road. Second, take something out of my head while I’m on the operating table. Third, feed me some chemical ‘cure’ that changes me forever. Danny, you’re from the early days. The earliest. Okay, so we fucked up the friendship. Killed the past and wrecked fifteen years. But you never lied to me. I could always trust you—well, except for your impulses, which you couldn’t really help. I need advice on this. It’s tearing me apart. What would you do, man? Take this shit? See what happens? What would you do, if you were you?”