Zombie Page 6

  Just plead guilty, it’s worked out & you’ll be O.K.

  But if my son is not guilty?—what a travesty!

  Quentin would not do such a thing. He is my son, my boy & I know.

  Quentin, O.K.? Agreed?

  In fact Q__ P__ was visibly ashamed & repentant & had “learned his lesson”—one look at him, his grainy red-rimmed eyelids & parched lips, you knew.

  Two years’ sentence—suspended. Psychotherapy, counseling. Regular reporting to probation office. Agreed?

  Tearful before Judge L__ & my hands in my pockets, in my right trouser pocket fingering my good-luck GOLD TOOTH & Dad whispered for me to take my hands out of my pockets, please. & I did, & I thanked Judge L__ for his understanding etc. as my lawyer advised. & leaving the judge’s chambers I was having trouble breathing & Dad was gripping me by the elbow. Buck up, son those were his actual words everything is fine now & we’re going home. & out in the empty courtroom, Mom & Grandma & Junie & Reverend Horn who is a close friend of Grandma’s & who “vouched” for Q__ P__ to Judge L__ were waiting. I was wearing a new suit of small brown checks & a beige bowtie with narrow red stripes & my hair had been cut trimmed neat at the ears & the nape of the neck & I was not wearing my sexy aviator-style glasses but the clear plastic frames & I was not crying now but smiling & hugging my family the way you would do at such a time. I shook Reverend Horn’s hand Thank you, thank you I am so happy, so grateful. Thank you for your faith in me.

  We were outside then. A warm rain speckled my face.

  It was then Dad handed me the car keys to his 1993 Lexus. Which I had never driven before. I understood it was to show how Dad trusts me, & the family trusts me & I would not let them down ever again. & driving out of the rundown city up along the lake to Dale Springs where the houses are spacious & set on large wooded lots & the streets are lined with trees & in good repair I felt such a sense of HOMECOMING & BEING LOVED & I kept just at the speed limit of 35 mph ignoring how other drivers tailgated & honked & passed me impatiently. Junie who is Big Sis to me even now aged thirty-five & principal of a junior high school, with a fond smile for her kid brother, said, Quen was always the one of us who could drive a car then adding quick,—I mean is. Right, Quen? I grinned into the rearview mirror. Right, Junie.

  There has always been a special feeling between Big Sis & me. On her side at least.

  Driving home, my old home I was welcome in at any time but had outgrown yes but Q__ P__ is welcome there at any time & maybe parental guidance is a good thing. One of those warm-rainy windy April days. The Great Lakes sky like folds of grayish-white brain matter. Dad beside me in the passenger’s seat of this smooth terrific car & he’s wearing a custom-made suit & looks good for an old guy his age stroking his chin where, a long time ago, his goatee had been. & in the back seat Mom, Grandma & Junie, chattering together & Mom’s tears & the others comforting her & turning off onto Lakeview Boulevard bringing us home I almost could not remember why I was so happy & feeling so free thinking of BLACK COCK, shy shrinking boy-penis like a baby rabbit, skinned. I’d held it tight in my hand tickling the tip with the tip of the ice pick but the pills hadn’t taken effect yet for I was impatient & exhibited poor judgment (I see in retrospect—I was drunk) & the boy panicked beginning to bellow as he broke free like a frenzied animal crashing through the locked rear door of the Ford van SO HELP ME GOD I DON’T KNOW HOW. & running then naked but for his filthy T-shirt out into the street bellowing like a fire alarm rising louder & louder. MY ZOMBIE!

  He had not asked for a nickel, he was trusting as a dog. Yet Q__ P__ could not trust him.

  From the back seat they were asking me something & I wasn’t listening the way you don’t listen to females mostly but I must’ve answered O.K., maybe it was something about taking over as caretaker or maybe they liked my haircut. & Dad laid his hand on my shoulder. For the first time driving that day I believed I could feel the motion of the Earth. The Earth rushing through the emptiness of space. Spinning on its axis but they say you don’t feel it, you can’t experience it. But to feel it is to be scared & happy at once & to know that nothing matters but that you do what you want to do & what you do you are. & I knew I was moving into the future. There is no PAST anybody can get to, to alter things or even to know what those things were but there is definitely a future, we are already in it.

  How, Things Play Out

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  My name for him was SQUIRREL. That was my secret name & the name you may know of him is something else.

  Q__ P__ did not mean for such to happen. SQUIRREL was not a wise choice of a specimen. I knew that, & have always known. I was resolute (how many times I have instructed myself!) SUCH WOULD NOT HAPPEN. Anyone with a family to care about him, Caucasian & suburban & living in Dale Springs!

  Grandma is to blame for much of it. She would be hurt to know but that is so. Of course, not Q__ P__ her only grandson, nor anyone else, would ever disclose such a cruel truth to a woman so old.

  Maybe I am wrong to say it is Grandma’s blame, I think probably it is no one’s. It is superstitious & retro to think in terms of blame, fault, guilt. Last night watching the TV coverage of Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 hitting Jupiter confirmed this. Dad invited me over to the house to watch with them this historic event but I said Thanks Dad, I’ve got too much work to do (work I am doing for you, Dad was the message) & stayed in my shitty caretaker’s quarters & ate my Hot Italian Sub from Enrico’s & got pissed on a couple of bottles of dago red. They said the explosions on Jupiter were millions of times greater than any manmade explosion on Earth but it was just little black puffs going off on the screen. Flashes & fireballs & plumes of flame. Meteor trails how many millions or billions of miles away colliding with Jupiter’s atmosphere & going off. Fragment Q hit about the time I nodded off.

  How is there BLAME in those fireball plumes. If they explode on Jupiter or Earth. If they are fated by the Universe since the beginning of time or manmade. So there is no BLAME in Grandma. I am wrong to be pissed at a woman so old. Who is so good to me.

  It was like this. Grandma requested would I drive her to places because she does not drive a car any longer & that was O.K. by me—sometimes. (For Grandma paid me, of course.) Would I drive her to some other old woman’s house, or to visit some pathetic old cripples in some nursing home & wait around for her & drive her back home & that was O.K. If I was free & didn’t have too much caretaker shit to do at the house or homework from Dale Tech. (In fact the semester was over, the courses were ended.) & then Grandma got the idea to hire me for yard work, mow the lawn (which is approximately one half-acre) & trim the hedge & sprinkle fertilizer in the rose beds etc. & that was O.K. in theory. Grandma would pay me $50 to $75 cash for just a few hours’ work & I did not need to be too thorough, she never came out to examine it. An operation for cataracts or something in one or both of her eyes so maybe she couldn’t see too well & I didn’t inquire. Grandma slipped these bills to me saying This is just between you & me, Quentin. Our little secret! meaning not Dad nor the IRS would know.

  Maybe Grandma was lonely & that was why. Trying to get me to stay for supper etc. There was another old woman, a widow who was a friend of Grandma’s & sometimes I would drive this other old woman to her home & she would tip me, too. Like a taxi service. In my 1987 Ford van with the American flag decal in the rear window.

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  Even before SQUIRREL it was a season of many plans!—buzzing my head like ideas from outer space! I would wake in my van not knowing where I was in a parking lot of some tavern in some city unrecognizable to me & it’s morning & fierce pounding sunshine in my eyes like spikes—& in a cold calm check the rear of the van, the neatly folded plastic garbage bags & plastic sheets etc., & discover no evidence. Or I would wake in my caretaker’s quarters but not in bed, on the sofa fully clothed except unzipped & my hard cock poking free, the TV going loud & it’s morning of some day unknown to me, empty bottles or beer cans underfoot, & roaches scurrying over the pizza crusts & bells of such
sweetness chiming from the Music College, it was like something MIRACULOUS had happened in my sleep! A voice said If you go down into the cellar, Quentin, he awaits you.

  Who? Who awaits me?

  You know who.

  My ZOMBIE? My ZOMBIE?

  But the voice disappeared into the TV ads & footsteps overhead & plumbing. & next-door in the kitchen Big Black Guy (as I called him) from Zaire thumping at roaches with a rolled-up newspaper. As I have requested him not to do.

  Knowing then it is just Q__ P__ alone in the Universe. If you want something to happen, you do it.

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  There was talk of Q__ enrolling for summer session at the tech college but the registration days came & went. I had informed Dad & Mom & Mr. T__ that I had passed both courses & liked the college O.K. but wasn’t decided yet about continuing. & Dad got excited saying What of your future, son?—you are over thirty years old, you can’t be a caretaker all your life can you & the word “caretaker” on his tongue like a turd. & I said. & Dad said. & Mom said the fall was a long way off & no decision had to be made quickly. So that was how the discussion ended that day.

  An envelope from Dale College came to Q__ P__ at 118 North Church Street, a transcript of my grades probably. I ripped it up without opening it & tossed the pieces away.

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  Mowing Grandma’s lawn one Saturday in July & trimming the evergreen hedge & I heard kids shouting & laughing next door in the neighbors’ swimming pool. DON’T LOOK the voice said calmly. But it was a tease. It seemed to know beforehand. Five or six teenaged kids including one boy about fifteen just blew my mind, his swim trunks streaming water when he climbed out of the pool after diving a perfect dive & his young muscle-hard body like something shining I couldn’t take my eyes off. & I made my way along the hedge to get a better look & it went through me like a knife seeing his face. Enough like Barry’s face to be his TWIN! Except Barry was younger in my memory of course & dark-haired, & this boy was older, tall & lean & quick & loud & his hair a fairer brown like streaked from the sun.

  Barry, my friend from seventh grade at Dale Springs Junior High which was just a mile or so from Grandma’s house!—the buff-brick building I’d drive by on my way to Grandma’s, only a block or so out of my way.

  Barry who’d drowned in a swimming accident at the school, struck his head on the side of the pool & sank & so many kids yelling & wild tossing volleyballs it wasn’t noticed till we were almost all out of the pool. How many months, years later I overheard Mom say to one of her women friends on the telephone Quentin is still mourning that poor child’s death, I don’t think he will ever get over it.

  Newspaper clippings I saved for years, photos of Barry alone & with his basketball teammates in the special memorial issue of the school newspaper, & a grimy sock of Barry’s I had taken from his locker, kept in one of my SECRET PLACES between my mattress & bed springs & one night reaching for the sock to fondle I discovered my treasure was gone. & whoever had taken it, Mom, or Dad, never spoke to me of it. Nor did I give any sign.

  & NOW BARRY WAS RETURNED TO ME! But golden-shining in the sun & in fact better-looking, sexy that way young teenaged boys are so self-assured & swaggering with their buddies & showing off to girls. “SQUIRREL” was my immediate name for him, that blond-brown-streaked hair & his energy & clowning-around & loud giggle. “SQUIRREL” just came to me & so it was. This could not be just chance. Q__ P__ struck like somebody’d hit me over the head with a hammer. & my cock alert, in wonderment.

  For here was my true ZOMBIE. No questions asked.

  Q__ P__ calm & collected though returning to the hedge etc. Taking up the clippers & continuing work. All thoughts of dark-haired dark-skinned specimens, Ramid & Akhil & Abdellah & the rest beneath the roof at 118 North Church & even Velvet Tongue flushed away in those quick seconds like shit down a toilet.

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  This property Q__ P__ is CARETAKER for why can’t I be such for life, if I so wish?

  The P__ family house, large & dignified red-brick Victorian, 118 North Church Street, Mt. Vernon, Michigan. None of the P__ family live here now except Q__ P__ CARETAKER.

  It is a job that suits me. Like Mr. T__ says, such responsibility is good for a man.

  It was after World War II Grandma says University Heights began to change. Coloreds began to move in & whites to move out in a steady irreversible stream to such suburbs as Dale Springs. Oh I will never forgive the Germans for that war! Grandma says.

  The foundation of our house was laid 1892 & it is still firm. The cellar Grandpa P__ had renovated in the 1950s (as I have been told, I was not born yet) is such that there are two sections: the new, & the old. The new has a poured concrete floor & reinforced walls with beaverboard paneling. The gas furnace is here, water heater, fuse box, washer-drier etc. CARETAKER’s work bench & such tools as my electric power drill & newly purchased Cherokee chainsaw.

  The old section of the cellar is never used. Not as large as the new but it is still sizable, approximately the length & width of the kitchen. A hard-packed dirt floor & the ceiling rafters low (not six feet from the floor) & filthy with cobwebs. Walls termite-ridden & rotted. Except for seepage the cistern is dry of course, not used for forty years. A strong smell of drains in the rainy months but I have installed a second pump. Convinced Dad it was necessary to maintain the property, & it is.

  To penetrate the depths of the old cellar you must move slowly & cautiously, stooped over. You need a strong flashlight. You need sharp eyes. You need to be able to go without breathing deeply because of the smell. You need a will not easily broken.

  It has been months now & the cistern has almost been converted & will be ready for use soon. Though I will have some awkwardness I guess getting my “operating table” into it—a folding table, a dinette from the Salvation Army where I got my locker is probably the best bet.

  My locker I should mention is in my room. Scrubbed clean & sprayed with Lysol & used for clothes, shoes, etc., & the quart bottle of formaldehyde containing a good-luck memento from BIG GUY & the bottle itself carefully wrapped in aluminum foil & taped. & magazines, videos, Polaroids, etc. Always kept locked.

  The old cellar & the cistern are the crucial places of course. A healthy ZOMBIE might live for many years there for who would know of him? who except Q__ P__, CARETAKER? & if a ZOMBIE is a failure there is the earthen floor for safe & sanitary disposal. & there is a new door replacing the old rotted door & last week I purchased a steel padlock from Sears for added security.

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  Q_ P_ CRAZY FOR SQUIRREL!!!

  —I wrote in red Magic Marker inside a toilet stall in the Humpty Dumpty on Lakeview Boulevard, Dale Springs, where SQUIRREL worked as a busboy. It blew my mind to think SQUIRREL would use the toilet & puzzle over those very words with no clue who “SQUIRREL” was let alone “Q__ P__”!

  How many strangers’ eyes would fix upon “Q__ P__ CRAZY FOR SQUIRREL!!!” with no comprehension what these words mean. What a fantastic fireball-power in my cock.

  SQUIRREL’s busboy schedule at Humpty Dumpty (near as I could determine) was Wed.-Thurs.-Fri. 12 noon to 6 P.M. Summer work I guess. One evening parked in my van in the parking lot & waiting for SQUIRREL I saw him exit at the rear at 6:06 P.M. & there was a woman (probably his mother) in a station wagon picking him up but other times he rode his bicycle (kept at the rear with two or three other employees’ bicycles all chain-locked) to his home on Cedar Street, a distance of 2.3 miles. SQUIRREL did not live next door to Grandma as I had originally surmised but was often at that house, swimming in his friend’s pool & listening to loud rock music & goofing off like adolescent kids will do. (A good sign, SQUIRREL was not a next-door neighbor of Grandma’s. For next-door neighbors are always among the first to be questioned by the police.) It was easy to trail SQUIRREL home on his bicycle.

  It is easy to trail anyone home, of your choosing. No need even to be INVISIBLE.

  I learned the family name. & telephoned once or twice just to hear the phon
e ring in that house. A female voice answered (his “Mom”?) & I asked for him (his name which does not suit him, much) & left only the message This is Q__. I will call back. There are two younger children in the family, at least. & “Mom” & “Dad” of some age around forty. “Mom” like any other woman on such a street as Cedar Street, Dale Springs & “Dad” the executive-type drives a Buick Riviera & carries a briefcase. So far as I could figure, SQUIRREL is a student at Dale Springs High, Q__ P__’s old school he hated & wished to have burnt to the ground. With everybody in it.

  The address is 166 Cedar, Grandma’s address is 149 Arden. Parallel streets & the same kinds of houses, mostly colonials in wooded lots like Grandma’s. SQUIRREL’s family’s house is pretty big, with a white picket fence & giant trees—elms? oaks?—& Grandma’s house is smaller, with a part-fieldstone facade. Grandma came to live here when Grandpa died about ten years ago. To be near her son & daughter-in-law. & the other day at Grandma’s where she made me blueberry waffles (a late breakfast before I started the yard work) it came to me that Grandma was an old woman & would not live much longer. & she would be leaving an estate of course. This house, & her savings & investments & there was the rental property at 118 North Church worth how much?—$80,000? $100,000? In all, Grandma would leave a sizable estate. Maybe she would leave something to her grandson & granddaughter? In recent months I was led to believe that I was her favorite & not Junie any longer. But I could be mistaken—with females & their feelings about one another you can’t tell.