Three Rivers Read online

  “I never made him do anything,” Melody said.

  “I’m confused,” Chris said.

  “So am I,” Melody said. “I’m confused as hell.” Melody pressed Liam’s head into her chest, holding her hand over one ear as if protecting him from the conversation. “You’re a pervert. You’re a parasite.”

  “You’re a racist bitch who abandoned your brother,” Maurice said.

  “I am not.” Melody’s head pounded. It was a horrible accusation. “You’re taking advantage of my little brother. You have no right.”

  “Is there somewhere I could sit down?” Chris said.

  “And another thing.” Melody’s voice rose. “You can’t just leave Daddy because you don’t like the way he spoke to you. He’s not himself, and you know it. He’s dying and he’s drugged and you can’t just walk out on him. Don’t you have some sort of code of ethics?”

  “I can do whatever I damn well please. You don’t own me.”

  “I’ll bet the hospice doesn’t allow you to molest brain-damaged boys in the homes where you work. I’ll bet they’d love to know all about that.”

  “He isn’t a boy,” Maurice said. “He’s a full-grown man. Look at him!”

  “I’m so tired,” Chris said. “Could I just sit down?” Chris leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor like a balloon deflating at the end of a party. His head slumped forward. His eyes closed. A puff of air escaped from his lips.

  “You need to keep him awake,” Maurice said.

  “I need to keep him awake? You’re the nurse!”

  “I’m not his nurse.”

  Melody was prepared to keep arguing with Maurice, but Bobby stepped into the hallway. His face was red and splotchy. “Sissy, you me left. Left me you. You left me.”

  “I went to college!”

  “And you never came back.” Maurice crouched next to Chris, shook him until his eyes opened. “You could have taken Bobby away from here. He thought you would come back for him. He’s been waiting for you for years, and you just left him here with that crazy woman and that awful man. How could you do that to him?”

  “That crazy woman and that awful man are his parents! They’re my parents.”

  “That’s no excuse.”

  “Am I supposed to stay here forever? Is that it? Don’t I get a life of my own?” Melody’s hand rested on Liam’s leg. It was soft as velvet. “We shouldn’t be talking about any of this in front of a child. It isn’t right.”

  “I’m not ashamed. We’re not doing anything wrong,” Maurice said.

  “Really?” She let out a scornful laugh. “Then why don’t you take Bobby out of here? If you’re so worried, why don’t you two run away together? Take him home to meet your parents, introduce him as your boyfriend. How will that go over?”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Why? Because he’s white or because he’s a boy?”

  Maurice looked away.

  “What happens when you leave here?” Melody asked. “What’s the plan?”

  “I don’t have a plan,” Maurice said.

  “Then don’t you dare accuse me of abandoning him. I’m not the one who was planning to disappear. I’m not the one who was planning to break his heart.”

  Chris held his head in his hands and rocked back and forth. He muttered the Lord’s Prayer. “That’s good,” Maurice said to him. “Keep talking, keep moving.”

  “It can’t continue. This will kill my father. He can’t know anything about this.”

  “This is not what will kill your father,” Maurice said. “You know that.”

  Bobby trembled. The red splotches on his face darkened and spread. Melody sighed, put Liam down, and pulled Bobby to her. “It’s okay,” she told him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. This isn’t your fault.”

  He pushed her away, yelled at her. “Know I, know I, know I … I know I didn’t do anything wrong! Stop treating me like a baby. I’m sorry you home came. Came home.”

  “Our Father,” Chris said. “Who art in heaven—”

  “Shut up!” Bobby said to Chris. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”

  Chris looked at Bobby, his mouth still open from the last syllable he’d uttered. He closed his lips with a smack. His eyes were wide. A thin trickle of fresh blood seeped from underneath his bandages. Melody felt trapped in the small hallway. “I’m going to try the phone again,” she said. “He doesn’t look so good.”

  A loud crack shook the house. Melody thought it was thunder, but Liam knew better. “Gun,” he said in a calm, clear voice.

  She sprinted down the stairs. “Daddy?” She missed a step and stumbled wildly. At the bottom, brown, dirty water rose to her ankles. The scent of something sulfurous and ripe hit her as hard as a fist. She gagged.

  Obi stood at the foot of her father’s bed, pointing a rifle at his chest. Her father gripped a rifle as well, though he seemed worn out by the weight of it. His body was drenched with sweat, and his shoulders hunched around his ears.

  “Where is he?” Obi looked at Melody, but kept the gun aimed at her father. “Where is Liam?”

  “I’m here, Daddy.” Liam came partway down the stairs.

  “He’s fine,” Melody said. “I told you to leave the gun outside.”

  “He was lying here with a gun when I came in,” Obi said. “He shot at me.”

  Obi seemed either terrified or filled with rage. There was a hole in the wall behind him. The floor was littered with plaster and drywall. Some of it rested in Obi’s hair.

  “He’s dying,” Melody said. “You can see how weak he is.”

  “I’m not so weak I can’t protect my house from intruders.”

  “Daddy,” Melody said. “This is Obi. Mama said he could stay on the land.”

  “You know Genie?”

  “My mother knows her,” Obi said. “My mother is a friend of your wife.”

  “Who is your mother?”

  “Her name is Pisa.”

  “I don’t know anyone named Pisa.” His voice was hollow.

  “Put the gun away, Daddy,” Melody said. “Put it away before you kill somebody.”

  The water at Melody’s ankles climbed up and reached her calves. The blanket covering her father hung down into the dirty pool. His oxygen tank was partly submerged. “Daddy, I think we need to get you upstairs.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You need to stop pointing that gun at me, “Obi said.

  “Both of you need to put the guns away,” Melody said. “Please, I’m begging you, put the guns down.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The old man seemed too weak to move, but he was strong enough to fire his rifle. He was a very bad shot or he was too weak to take aim. Either way, Obi was glad the bullet had whizzed wide past him and into the Sheetrock wall. The last thing Obi wanted to do was shoot this old man, bedridden and pitiful. There was no honor in shooting a creature that couldn’t run. Still, he held his own rifle steady and aimed right at the man’s heart. His son was nowhere to be seen. Melody and her odd band of men were missing, and this old man seemed out for blood. There was a wild madness in the man’s eyes and something else, something ominous. Death. Obi recognized the old dark force in the man’s gaze. He was not long for this good earth.

  “Who are these people?” The old man’s nose dripped snot onto his oxygen tube and upper lip. Death terrified the man. White people never learned how to leave the world with grace. This one was no exception.

  Obi stood in the rising water, in the house he never intended to enter, and weighed his options. He heard his mother’s voice in the rolling thunder. When he was a boy, his mother told him the story of the Great Flood, the Flood that Destroyed the Whole Earth. She told him about the rising waters, the animals that drowned, the people who panicked, the scent of death in the air. She told him how the sky turned dark and the clouds grew thick and menacing. Some people threw themselves into the rushing water. Some people climbed into the highest trees and c
ursed the falling rain, but one family stayed calm. One family called on the white beavers for help and built a sturdy wooden raft. They survived, along with one pair of each animal on the earth. It was a very large raft. When the waters receded, the family was alone and afraid until the Great Spirit sent them a message: a raven with an ear of corn in his mouth. The Great Spirit told them to plant the ear of corn, feed themselves, and repopulate the earth. Those people, said Pisa, were their ancestors, and no one born of such brave people should ever be afraid of nature. “Embrace the rain,” she told him. “Embrace the wind and the sun and the moon. Be grateful for what nature provides and never raise your fist in anger to the sky.” Nature was not the enemy; man was the enemy. Maybe not this man, Obi thought. Maybe this man was just scared and panicked and doing what he thought was best to protect his family. That was something Obi could understand.

  Melody was on the stairs now, yelling for him to put the gun away. Liam was with her. The sight of his son calmed him.

  “Daddy,” Liam said in a quiet, calm voice. “That man is very sick.”

  “I can see that. I won’t hurt him.”

  “Daddy, I saw two men kissing.”

  Obi lowered his rifle. He stepped to the side of the man’s bed. “Sir,” Obi said. “I’m going to take this rifle and put it somewhere safe.” Obi reached for the weapon.

  “It’s safe right here.” He hugged it closer.

  Obi felt the water lap at his knees. He wondered what would happen if the water kept rising. Could this man walk? Would he drown?

  Maurice came down the stairs and stopped where the water started. “I’m leaving.”

  “I wish you could, but you can’t.” Melody gestured at the water in the living room. “You can’t drive through this. I’ve already sent one man out into this mess. I won’t send another.”

  Maurice glared at Melody. His upper lip curled. “What’s that smell?”

  “I’m trying not to think about it.”

  Obi smelled it, too, a putrid, rotten odor, like a bad egg.

  “Do you think the sewage lines have burst?” Melody asked.

  Maurice gagged, put his hand over his mouth. He was a weak man, Obi realized. Strong enough physically, but his spirit was weak.

  “We need to get upstairs,” Melody said. “We need to move Daddy.”

  Maurice spoke through his hand. “I’m not going down into that.”

  “You have to help me. I can’t lift him by myself.”

  “I’m not stepping one foot into that nasty water,” Maurice said. “Certainly not to help your father. Or you.”

  “It’s your job.”

  “I quit, remember?”

  Maurice was a coward. That was his true nature, and it was on full display right now. Obi slung his rifle across his back, never taking his eyes off the old man.

  “I’ll carry him,” Obi said. “He can’t weigh much. Someone will have to get this thing.” He pointed to the oxygen tank.

  The old man whimpered, released his grip on the rifle, and let his hands fall limp at his sides.

  Melody waded across the room to where Obi stood. She picked up the tank as if testing its weight. “I’ve got it.” She was no coward. Her spirit was strong. If Obi had to get mixed up with people, he was glad to be mixed up with her.

  Obi put his arms beneath the man’s back and knees. He lifted carefully, but the man moaned in pain. He hoped he would never be so fragile. He never wanted Liam to see this kind of weakness in him. The man was limp and Obi was careful not to bump his legs or head as they climbed. It was dry upstairs, and the water let go of him like a great, sucking leech. Melody followed behind, holding the tank close enough to keep the oxygen flowing into the man’s nostrils. “Almost there,” Obi said, though he wasn’t sure where they were taking the man. “I’m Obi, by the way. I don’t believe I introduced myself.”

  “Bruce.” The man’s voice was a bare croak.

  “My mother knows your wife,” Obi said. “I’m sorry I scared you. When I came in and my son was gone, I panicked.”

  Bruce grasped at his shirt and it took Obi a moment to realize he was patting Obi, a gesture of comfort and understanding.

  In the hallway upstairs, the injured man slumped in a corner with his head in his hands. Bobby stood over him. He reached down and pinched him as they passed.

  Melody pointed them into a bedroom with a handmade quilt on the bed. Obi was glad to see the quilt with its imperfect pattern and the stitching done in mismatched thread. It was good to know this home wasn’t filled entirely with things bought from a store. Perhaps if this flood destroyed the earth, this family would be worth saving. He placed Bruce on the bed, gently lowered his head onto the pillow. “Is that okay?”

  Bruce blinked at him, his eyes watery and dim. His chin quivered; his hands grasped the quilt. His mouth opened and shut, opened and shut, like he was speaking, but no sound came out. Melody set the tank down next to the bed. She was damp with sweat and soaked below the knees. Her legs were streaked with mud and maybe more. Obi looked at his pants, also covered in the stinking mess. He didn’t mind dirt; he lived in dirt and he bathed in river water. He didn’t mind animal waste; it was useful for tracking and for masking any scent that was too human, but man’s waste disgusted him. It was a portent of illness, of disease and death. He wanted to strip down and discard his filthy pants and boots. He looked behind him at the muddy footprints he’d tracked into the room. “Liam,” he said. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t put your hands in your mouth.” The boy nodded and held his hands stiffly away from his body.

  “I hate to ask,” he said to Melody. “But I think we should all get some fresh clothes, wash some of this filth off. Is there any clean water in the pipes?”

  “I don’t know.” Melody stared down at her father. His breath was ragged and uneven. “You can get some clothes from the closet in the bedroom across the hall. I don’t think we have anything that will fit Liam, but I can check and see if my brother has some old stuff.”

  “Thank you,” Obi said. “Can I do anything for you?”

  Melody shook her head. Obi lifted Liam and carried him across the hall, passing by the three men without speaking. The injured man slumped in the hallway, but Bobby and Maurice seemed to be arguing. When they saw Obi, they slipped into another room and shut the door. In the room Obi entered, the bed and floor were strewn with newspaper clippings and photographs and dried flowers. Someone had been searching for something here. The closet doors stood open and he pulled out a few clean shirts. They were work shirts, denim and sturdy, though they didn’t look as if any work had been done in them. He grabbed a pair of jeans, three sizes too large, and a pair of sneakers that just about fit. There was a bathroom off the hallway and he stepped inside. The faucet sputtered and released a weak brown stream. He undressed Liam, rubbed him as clean as he could with the dry towels and did the same for himself. He slipped on one of the clean shirts from the closet. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do for now. He changed into the pair of blue jeans, cinched his belt. The shoes were fine, comfortable even. He wrapped Liam in a towel and carried him, the extra clothing, and a clean towel back into the room where Melody was standing over her father. “I found these,” he said. “Hope that’s okay. Your brother is in the other room with the door shut. I didn’t think I should bother him.”

  Melody crossed the room and pulled open a drawer of the dresser against the wall. “There are T-shirts in here. They’ll be too large for Liam, but at least they’re clean.”

  Obi handed Melody a towel and the extra shirts. “There’s no clean water.” He turned away and examined the contents of the drawer she’d opened, and pulled out the smallest shirt he could find, a green cotton tee with white piping around the arms and neck. It was stamped with the letters DSU. He scrubbed Liam roughly with the dry towel. Liam giggled. He slipped the T-shirt over his head. It hung on him like a dress.

  “Your mother is the woman who teaches my mother to believe in magic, isn’t
she?” Melody had pulled on one of the clean denim shirts when his back was turned. She used one of the towels to scrape the filth from her bare legs.

  “You don’t believe in magic?”

  “I don’t, though if you want to prove me wrong and work a miracle, please go right ahead.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have my mother’s gifts,” Obi said. “It isn’t really magic, you know.”

  “I met her once.”

  Obi knew why Melody seemed familiar. She was older, but in her adult features he could discern the face of the child she had been, the pale skin, the muddy brown eyes, the nose like a plop of barely risen dough in the center of her face, the lips that disappeared into her mouth when she was anxious. “I was there,” he said. “I remember.”

  Melody’s face flushed. “Mama was embarrassed. She never took me back.”

  “You were a child,” Obi said.

  “I was ten years old.”

  “A child. I was only about sixteen or so, myself. I wasn’t supposed to be hanging around while my mother worked. She said my maleness was disruptive. It was okay when I was younger, but she said I was becoming so male the clients could smell me, and it made them uneasy.” Obi chuckled. He’d been angry with his mother that year, annoyed that she was pushing him away even as he longed to escape. “I was supposed to stay outside and gather the herbs and plants for her.”

  “But you came in.”

  “It was so hot that day. I liked being outside. I always have. But that day, there was no shade and no water. I felt like I was baking.”

  “I remember the heat,” Melody said. “The sun was so bright. I got burned. My skin peeled for the next two weeks. I don’t know what my mother was thinking, dragging me around like that.”

  “I kept making excuses to come in. There was a fan in the house and I would stand in front of the fan and drink glass after glass of water. Mother kept telling me to go and I kept saying, ‘Just one more glass.’”

  “Oh, God, I was so thirsty! They didn’t give me anything to drink. I don’t know how I had any pee left in me.”