Everything You Touch Falls Down
The late afternoon sun sagged low in the sky, lighting only the highest branches of the tallest trees. The willows that lined the riverbank were left in cool shadow. At this time of day, the willows seemed hunched and frustrated, dragging their long arms through the water like miners panning for gold. Black mosquito bodies appeared, making peppery halos around the men sitting on the bank. They fanned their hands through the air in a well-practiced motion, starting near one ear, pealing red from the sun, and ending by the opposite cheek. Occasionally one of them would spit into the river, and a cod would rise to the surface to eat it.
The men were drifters, wandering up and down the river alone or in packs. They were the sort of men whose faces felt cold without a beard, even in the middle of July. They had long since forgotten the purpose of shoes, soap or toenail clippers, preferring the feel of hard packed earth giving way to soft river soil under their feet. Every evening could be spent fishing by the river or skipping rocks. When the weather finally turned bad (or a few of them heard of something more interesting going on down river) the men could disband with a general air of satisfaction.
Near the willows, one man sat with a soft brimmed hat perched on his knee. He had fallen silent for some time, staring at the river and chewing on the end of a harmonica.
"Jimmy boy, how the hell do you fish all day and come up empty?" Earl said to the man with the hat.
"How the hell do you come to care about it?" The last part of Jim's sentence dragged slow like swirls of river bottom dirt.
"I don't." Earl scratched at a scab on his leg until a piece came off and started to bleed, "You never catch anything though, and I ain't sharing."
Jim blew absently into the harmonica, gritting down on the metal with his front teeth. The sound made ripples in the water. "Look at them ripples. Sometimes I wish they'd spread all the way from bank to bank, but they always fade out."
"Ripples is trouble. They mess things up. They scare away the fish."
"Fishing ain't the most important thing in the world."
Earl snorted.
Jim scratched himself and sucked his teeth.
"I'd rather watch ripples than worry about catching fish."
Earl squinted at the water. "Ripples is trouble."
~
The sun was high, drawing waves of heat off the highway like a powerful magnet. By the time Jim emerged from the woods he was sweating alcohol, his feet burned from the hot asphalt on the road. He sat down on the shoulder to put on his shoes, breathing in the dry smell of exhaust fumes. A faded pickup approached, its pieces loose and rattling. The window rolled down and spit out trash.
A mile or so down the road was a two-pump gas station connected to a convenient store. A man sat behind the counter drawing on his arm with a pen. Jim passed the store on the far side of the street and circled back around to the Coke machine that sat around the corner from the store's entrance. He took out the chain and searched its length until he located a small pick-key. He inserted it into the lock, making sure it was firmly lodged into place. He wrapped the chain around the iron bar until it was taut. He pulled hard. The cylindrical center of the lock came free and Jim opened the door, stuffing his pockets with quarters. He continued into town, staying in the grass. When he walked on the road, he thought he could feel the hot asphalt through his shoes.
~
The dock was sunk low with the weight of so many feet, making the river close, almost a continuation of the dock. Every once in a while a man would forget his way in the dark and almost fall into the river. Firelight bounced off the water, lighting the men's chins and noses, leaving their eyes muted.
Salvador's small boat had drifted up to the dock just as the sun fell below the willows. He was a short man whose hands moved from his cigarette to his stomach to his mustache in steady, fluid movements. Jim enjoyed Sal because he told stories about his wife and how she complained about his mustache. Or how she insisted on having sex missionary style. Tonight, he was red-faced and excited.
"I am celebrating tonight boys. I show those guys downriver whose boss," Sal tipped back a bottle of tequila, leaving his mustache glistening, "I delivered to a restaurant in Portville and this hombre estupido try to rip me off 100 dollars." Sal spread his hands apart and shook them, "I say, 'look blanco, you think I am straight from Mexico City? I know how much cod and catfish cost and you are being a cheap bastard.'"
The men laughed and slapped each other on the back. A few broke beer bottles against the dock.
"Did ya get him Sal?" Jim asked.
"He just say 'okay okay' and give me the money. I call him chicken shit and leave." Sal took another swig from the bottle but was laughing so hard some of it dribbled down his chin.
The men danced and stomped and drank for a few hours, until they were spent and had to lie down for support. Sal walked over to Jim and sat down.
"'Hey Jim, where is your son lately? He would like my story."
Jim propped himself up against a cooler and spat into the river, "Hell if I know." Then he dropped his head down between his knees, the tips of his hair brushing the dock, "Sal, sing us a song."
Sal pushed himself up from the dock, swaying for a few moments. He stood by the fire, his legs spread, tightening his body until the force of it was behind his voice. Then he sang, a Spanish ballad that slid smoothly over the water and into the night.
~
Jim ate at McDonald's for lunch, choosing a table outside in the play area. He ate quickly, keeping his eyes on his burger wrapper, concentrating on the hollow thud sounds of kids crawling through plastic tubes. On his way out, he noticed the shoes in the cubby holes at the play place's entrance. A blue sandal had fallen out of its cubby and lay apart from the rest. He fingered the blue plastic, trying to guess what age the shoe's owner was. Probably around four or five, the age at which kids found going to McDonald's so exhilarating that they ran themselves out on the playground, making bedtime much easier than usual for their parents. He hoped kids still got that excited about McDonalds.
~
The sun was fading out, its light slowly covered by layers of gray clouds. The birds had fallen silent, pushing their heads under their wings and hiding in the willows. The men on the river bank shifted uncomfortably, their poles lay uncast at their sides. None of the fish were biting. Finally someone said, "Well, we better go on in."
They pulled tarps from different camps along the river and strung them together. Lawn chairs, cards and liquor were placed underneath. They finished setting up just as the first drops of rain began to fall. The men settled in, playing a game of poker and betting on fish they hadn't yet caught. Jim sat off to the side, shooting liquor. After a few rounds of poker, he picked up a wooden box that had been sitting at his feet.
"Look here boys," Jim opened the lid.
"Shit Jim," Earl slapped his knee, "Once you get those knives out I know trouble's comin'."
"It ain't no trouble," Jim began to take the knives out and stick them in the ground, "Its fun."
"Let's play," another man said.
The men picked out a broad tree that grew about twenty feet from the tarps. Earl ran out into the rain, hunched, with his hands over his head, and stuck a quarter to the tree with gum.
"Alright boys, anyone who splits the quarter gets a kiss from Sal's wife," Jim said.
"Woowhee, I wonder if she tastes like enchiladas," a man said, licking his lips and rubbing his belly.
The men threw knives and shot liquor. The later in the day it got, the wider they missed their mark.
"Hey Earl," Jim said, swaying slightly, "If I hit the quarter with this shot, you gotta go get my knife out in the rain."
"That ain't nothin. First of all, you won't make the shot. And second of all, I already went out in the rain to set up the target, so it ain't nothin."
"Well then, if I make it, you gotta stand there while I shoot again."
"What do I get if you miss?"
"You can have the knives."
Earl sat down hard on the knife box. He squinted his eyes and rubbed his beard. "You sure about this?"
The other men got excited. "Earl, he ain't gonna make that shot, go ahead, those knives are as good as yours."
"Alright then." Earl stood up.
The men passed the bottle around for a good luck shot, and clapped Jim on the back. Jim picked out a knife with a dark wood handle. He threw it.
It flipped end over end through the air and grazed the outside of the tree trunk, landing in some bushes.
"Looks like I got me a new knife collection." Earl stood patting his belly. The men yelled and whooped in congratulation. Earl walked over to claim his prize.
"Go out and stand by the tree," Jim said.
"What?"
Jim held up a knife. "Go on."
Earl hesitated, glancing at the other men. They were huddled together, their hands in their pockets. He turned and walked out into the rain slowly, deliberately.
"Turn around."
Earl turned.
Jim threw a second time. The knife was on target, sinking into wood a few inches above Earl's head.
~
He stayed in the grass and kept his head down until he reached a park. It was no more than a patch of grass with a walking track running the length of its borders. A few rotten benches and some picnic tables sat in the grass. As he approached, he noticed that on top of one of the picnic tables was a small drawstring bag. Jim opened it and found a set of hard glass dominoes, the lines and dots were painted blue, purple, green and red. He sat down on the track and began to set them up, creating a large spiral that took up the width of the track. Then he laid down on the grass beside it, put his arm over his eyes and fell asleep.
A foot nudged him awake.
"Dad."
Jim sat up, shaking his hair and rubbing spit from his beard. "What took you so long?"
The man was young. He would have looked like a younger version of Jim save his large ears which stuck out through his hair. He looked at Jim and shrugged. "Did you set these up?"
"I was waiting." Jim moved so that he was facing the spiral, "Remember when we used to play?"
"We never played dominoes."
"Yeah we did, remember that one time after you came home from school? You were sad 'cause your teacher gave you a bad grade or something. So I cheered you up by playing dominoes."
"We only played that one time."
"Really? I could of swore we played other times." Jim yanked some grass out of the ground and began to tear it apart.
"Nope."
Jim continued to tear at the grass for a few moments. Then, "So you comin' back to the river with me? We can throw knives."
"No."
"No what?"
"I'm not going to the river."
Jim looked up. "Why'd you come here then?"
The young man was silent for a moment. He reached into his pocket to get a cigarette. He fumbled with a lighter. After he got it lit, he took a few quick drags and said, "To tell you I'm not coming back."
"Why not?"
"Because." The young man's eyes moved back and forth. His gaze found the dominoes and he bent down next to them, "Everything you touch falls down and hits somebody else."
"Shit boy, what are you talking about?"
The young man pushed the first domino over, hitting the second, which hit the third and the fourth, fifth, sixth. The sound of single dominoes hitting each other became a rain-like song that echoed through the park. When it was finished and the spiral was collapsed, the sudden silence was abrupt and empty.
~
The river was high from the storm. Every time a riverboat passed, water would slosh up onto the dock, getting Jim's feet wet. The moon was old, offering little light, so the men had to huddle around the fire to see. They were quiet except for Sal, who had brought his wife, Frieda, with him.
"These guys are great. They live life with no regret. Never having to work, just drink and fish and sleep." Sal's speech was fast and slurred. His wife looked at the men, she neither smiled or frowned. Her brown eyes regarded them evenly.
"Now, it ain't that simple." Earl said.
"Sure ain't." Another man said.
"Sure it is. You love the river. You love fish. No family, no wife. You prefer it this way, right?" Sal had moved away from his wife and was laying down on the dock outside the circle of light.
"Hell yeah, life is better that way," Jim said, "who needs a woman anyway? They ain't nothin' but trouble."
"I'll drink to that," one man said, and they all drank.
There was no response from Sal. Frieda shifted, crossing her legs and folding her arms over her chest.
"What's up with you women anyway? Thinking you're damn special." Jim set his empty beer can down and crushed it with his foot.
In response, Freida tilted her head to the side, looking down at the dock. Her dark hair fell off her shoulder, leaving it exposed.
Some of the men stood up, others moved closer to the fire. They opened new cans of beer.
"You speakee English?" Spittle flecked out of Jim's mouth as he spoke. He turned to the other men, "She probably don't need to. She's probably too busy fucking to talk." The men laughed appreciatively. Earl's smile stretched across his fat face.
She drew her arms in so that her elbows were down, and her hands were under chin. She hesitated. The men were gathered close together now, almost shoulder to shoulder. "Salvador is a silly man and drinks too much. But he comes home where I am at night. I think that is special."
"It ain't special. You just have something he wants," Jim laughed.
"Hey Frieda, you wanna go for a swim with me?" a man said.
Frieda began to cry, a soundless weeping that went unnoticed by most of the men. It had been a long time since Jim had seen a woman cry. Her tears seemed to follow the same path down her face, the first following the second, third, fourth, fifth.
"I think she looks like she wants to get wet," Earl said. He stood by the fire, bent slightly forward so that his face was almost over the flames. Beads of sweat were on his nose and forehead. Jim noticed his knife in Earl's waistband, the wooden handle stuck out, weighing down the elastic. It looked heavy and awkward tucked into his pants.
"I tell you what boys, why don't we give Sal a swim in the river?" Jim turned to Earl, "You ever seen a drunk Mexican swim?"
Earl cocked his head to the side for a moment, unsure. Then he smiled and said, "Hell no I ain't. You think he'll float?"
Jim picked up Sal, heaving his weight to the edge of the dock, and dunked him. He came up sputtering. The reaction was immediate. Some men stepped back and a few sat down. Earl squatted by the fire.
Freida hurried over to Sal and spoke with him in Spanish. Jim helped her get Sal to the boat. "Gracious," she said.
"Don't thank me. You ain't fucking welcome here." Jim watched as Freida turned on the motor. The little boat sped away downriver, traveling quickly with the current.
Jim returned to the fire and squatted next to Earl. The waves from Sal's boat made water wash up onto the dock and soak their feet.
"Fucking river," Earl said. He passed Jim the liquor bottle and he tipped it back.
