Chapter 17
The question now is, what the hell happened next? Every time I think about the whole death of Miffy saga, the story gets obscured in my mind. I have to concentrate to get it right.
The sound.
That’s always how I remember — the sound of Rube in the basement, punching the bag that hung in there. He was preparing for the Phonecaller, who was still calling on a three nights per week basis. Rube would stay down there for a long time each night, and when he entered our bedroom, I could see some blood leaking across his knuckles.
If our differences were set aside for Miffy’s sake, they returned almost immediately after. In death, Miffy had only brought us together momentarily. He’d failed. There was an outward indifference that Rube constantly sent me in the eyes, if he looked at me at all. The only time he spoke to me was by staring out the window and talking more to himself than to me.
“That friggin’ Julia,” he said one night.
It was a cold Tuesday evening at the start of August when Rube got what seemed like the usual call. This time, though, it was Julia. She told him she’d gone back to the previous bloke — the Phonecaller. Apparently, he’d begged her to go back and she did. She also warned Rube that he was still aft
er him, to which Rube offered to get it over with immediately, in the backyard, if necessary….
The scrubber was gone, but she’d left a legacy.
As he stood at the window and spoke of these things, I remembered once telling him I’d be there if he needed me. “Thanks brother.” That’s what he’d told me back then, but now I wasn’t so sure. I wasn’t sure if he would even want help from me, and I didn’t know if I had the strength to give it to him. I could only watch him at the window, as he enjoyed the hardness of his hands, and the blood that crept from them.
I stopped going to Octavia’s place altogether.
“Maybe it’s time you started rescuing yourself,” I kept hearing her say, though I could also see the pain on her face. I told myself at times that she didn’t mean it; that she didn’t want me to stop coming and standing there. She only did it because she thought it was the right thing to do. The irony was that she thought she was keeping Rube and me together by staying away, but as it currently stood, I’d lost both of them.
Days and nights collected up and slipped by, and Rube continued his routine of answering the empty phone calls and blasting the bag in the basement. In a way, I could only feel sorry for someone who wanted to take him on. Even if there were more than one, at least a few of them would get hurt, because Rube had ed and strength and no hesitation.
One night when the phone rang I answered it and asked the guy on the other end to hang on. “My brother wants to talk to you,” I said. “I mean, this is getting ridiculous. You call three times a week. You say nothing. I’m starting to think you actually like my brother rather than want to kill him — otherwise you’d just beat him up and be done with it. So hang on. Just a minute.”
I went down to the basement.
“What is it?”
Rube didn’t usually sweat much, but after a good hour on the bag, he was drenched. “It’s him,” I said.
He walked up the cold cement steps and practically mauled the phone when he picked it up.
“Now listen,” he growled. “I’ll be waiting down near the old train yard at eight o’clock tomorrow night. You know where that is? … Yeah, that’s the one. If you want, come and get me. If not, stop ringin’ me — you’re a pain in the arse.” There was a longer silence. Rube was listening. “Good,” he spoke again. “Just you and me, alone.” Again, he listened. “That’s right — no help, no tricks, and then it’s over. Good-bye.” He slammed the phone down and I could see he was already fighting in his mind.
“So it’s on?” I asked.
“Apparently so,” and he went to shut the basement door. “Thank Christ for that.”
Then the phone rang. Again.
Rube picked it up, and immediately, I could tell it was his mate again. Rube wasn’t happy.
“What is it this time?” He shot the words through the phone. “You can’t!?” He was getting more irritated by the second. “Now listen, mate — you’re the one who wants to kill me, so make up your mind about when you feel like doin’ it. What about tonight, or right now? No? Well how about Friday? Could you check your calendar and make sure you’ve got nothing else on?” He waited. “Y’ sure now? Positive? You won’t be ringin’ in a minute or two attempting to reschedule? No? So Friday night sounds like a good time to kill me? Good. Same place, same time. Friday. Good.”
Again, he hung up, forcefully. He shook his head but laughed. “It’s an absolute circus with this bloke.”
He started eating some bread and got ready to go out. I guess with Julia gone, there were more girls on the horizon. For a moment, I nearly asked if he wanted me to come along on Friday, but I guess he would have viewed that as scraps behavior — following him around.
Anyway, I thought. He got himself into this. He’d finally stumbled onto the wrong girl, and maybe he was going to pay. Sure, I also told myself that I’d been wrong in the past, because Rube had often escaped dangerous situations for no other reason than the ct that he was Ruben Wolfe and Ruben Wolfe could handle anything.
With his fists.
With his wayward charm.
Any way he could.
This time, though, I couldn’t be sure. It was different. I guess we’d discover the outcome on Friday night.
There were a few days till then, and I spent most of my time thinking about the confrontation, and Octavia. Always Octavia. I considered writing her a letter or calling her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Sarah said I should keep trying.
“You haven’t cut my hands off in that picture, have you?” I asked her on Thursday night.
She only shook her head, almost forlornly. “No, Cam — I think you’ve fought hard enough. At least for the time being.”
All that was left was Friday night.
Rube got ready in our room at about seven-thirty, putting on his oldest jeans, his work flanno, and boots, which he did up nice and tight. He stared into the mirror, telling himself what to do. Eyeing himself off.
Just before he left, we looked at each other.
What was there to say? Good luck? I hope you get the crap beaten out of you? You want me to come?
No.
It was all silence, and he left.
On his way out, he announced that he was going to a friend’s place, shut the door hard, and went out onto the street. Even from the kitchen window, I could tell he was hyped up and hardened. The cold night air seemed to get out of his way as he walked through it.
Now it was decision time.
Was I going after him or not?
The minutes passed and finally I resolved to go. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it, even after everything that had happened. The kitchen. Losing Octavia. I still couldn’t get past the fact that Rube was my brother and that trouble was looming in his direction. I moved quickly back to our room, threw on my boots and spray jacket, and headed out.
It was close to eight when I got there, to the old train yard. I could see Rube waiting down by the fence, and I took a different street and a side alley. That way, I doubled back and stood closer, waiting. From near the edge of the alley, I could still see him standing there, but he couldn’t really see me. All I could do now was wait.
The yard was full of wrecked train carriages, standing around in the dark. Their windows were smashed, and stolen words were written across them like scars. The fence was tall and made of wire, cordoning off the yard from the street. Rube was leaning against it with his back.
For a moment, I wondered why he didn’t bring friends, just in case. There were plenty of people around here who would glad fight for him and could fight well. Maybe Rube decided this was his own doing and he would face it alone.
Thoughts passed.
Minutes passed.
Some voices started loitering around the street and soon their shadows turned into humans. There were three of them. I could see Rube straighten up as they went past me, not even noticing I was there.
They moved closer and adrenaline shot me down. This was it.
DEEP BREATHS
My breath is made of smoke.
It crouches down.
Right after it comes from my mouth.
It crouches down, holds on a moment, and is swallowed by the air.
I stand in the darkness, in the perpetual shadow. My eyes feel like they glow. My furry, furious hair knots upward for the stars. Thoughts scratch me. My life itches me, and I prepare.
To step out.
To rip the shadows from the ground and hoist the darkness from the air.
I look at my hands, my feet.
Deep breaths.
Breathe depths.
Solemnly, I nod, to myself.
Make a step.
Take a threat.
Not far away, there’s one last fight, one last struggle.
There’s something here, in this place — a smell. It’s all that’s awful, all that’s precious, raw, and real.
When I walk out and face it, I notice what it is.
This place smells.
Like brothers.