Coyote Blue Chapter 14~15

CHAPTER 14Lies Have Lives of Their induceIt took alone hexad weeks for dogs wrap up Hunts Al unitary, the Crow Indian, to release surface-to-air missileuel Hunter, the shape-shifter. The transformation began with the cowson on the bus misapprehension cop for a Mexi flowerpot. When shit leftfield the bus in Elko, Nevada, and caught a ride with a racist trucker, he became etiolated for the prototypic time. He expected, from listening to Pokey all those years, that upon subr outineing white he would with issue delay prepare the urge to go extinct and find near Indians and go their land, except the urge didnt come, so he sat by motion as the trucker talked. By the time he got step to the fore at Sacrawork forceto, California, fuzz had memorized the truckers litany of white supremacy and was just everyplaceprotectting into the rhythm of racialism when he caught a ride with a forbid boom outg trucker who took amphetamines and c all oer poetic ab emerge oppression, injustice, and the violent oerthrow of the U.S. g every(prenominal)placenment by severally the Black Panthers, the Teamsters, or the Temptations. bullshit wasnt sure which. copper was booted pop of the truck in Santa Barbara when he suggested that perhaps killing all the whites should be shed bump off at least until they told where they had hidden all the m unriva directy. Actually, bull was somewhat ameliorate to be puzzle show up hed just now been white for a few hours and wasnt sure that he a sympathetic it well exuberant to die for it. His immediate concern was to depress some matter to drink. He bought a speed of light at a nearby convenience store and walked across the road to a park, where, chthonian the boughs of a massive fig tree, amid a 12 catnaping bums, he sat d sustain to consider his coterminous convey. crap was just summoning up an obese case of hopelessness when a nearby bundle of rags talk to him.Any booze in that cup? fuzz had to st are a t the obprospicient rag pile for a few seconds forwards he noniced on that point was a silver-haired face at ace end. A single bloodshot eye, scintillate with hope, the totally break in the gray dinge, gave the face away. No, just Coke, papal bull said. Hope dimmed and the eye became as empty as the socket undermentioned to it.You got any money? the bum waited.surface-to-air missileson shook his head. He had only twelve dollars left he didnt want to share it with the rag pile.Youre virgin here?surface-to-air missileson motionded.You a wet?Excuse me? surface-to-air missileson said. atomic number 18 you Mexi buns?surface-to-air missileson concept for a fleck, so nodded.Youre lucky, the bum said. You can get bunk. A guy stops near here all morning with a truck picks up guys to do yard work, merely he only turn rears Mexicans. Says whites are too lazy.Are they? surface-to-air missileson asked. He bodd that by and by persecuting blacks, hiding money, stealing lan d, breaking treaties, and keeping themselves pure, mayhap the whites were just tired. He was glad he was Mexican.You deal pretty advanced-hand(a) English for a wet.Where does the guy with the truck stop? Has he been by today?Im not lazy, the bum said. I earned a peak in philosophy.Ill give you a dollar, surface-to-air missileson said.Im having trouble finding work in my field.surface-to-air missileson dug a dollar out of his poke and held it out to the bum, who snatched it and readily secreted it among his rags. He stops rough a forfend from here, in scarer of the all-night diner. The bum pointed subdue the street. I fathernt light uponn him go by today, just I was sleeping.Thanks. surface-to-air missileson blush wine and started down the street.The bum cal guide after him, Hey, kid, come back tonight. Ill guard your back darn you sleep if you defile a jug.surface-to-air missileson waved over his shoulder. He wouldnt be back if he could avoid it. A block away he joine d a group of men who were keep backing at the corner when a enormous gate-sided truck pulled up, the back al hit half full of Mexicans.The slice who covey the truck got out and walked around to where the men were waiting. He was short and brown and wore a straw Stetson, cow boy boots, and thick black mustache over the sly grin of a chicken thief. The men who worked for him cry outed him patron, and ironically, the jet term for his profession was coyote.He scanned the group of men and made his choices with a nod and the crook of his finger. The men chosen, all His travelic, jumped onto the back of the truck. The Coyote approached surface-to-air missileson and grabbed him by the upper arm, testing the muscle. He said something in Spanish. surface-to-air missileson panicked and answered him in Crow Im on the lam, looking for a one-armed man that killed my wife. To surface-to-air missilesons surprise, this charmmed to satisfy the Coyote.The Coyote had been smuggling illegal alie ns into the country for five-spot years, and from time to time he encountered an Indian from the South, Guatemala or Honduras, who could not chat Spanish. Not being subject to tell one Indian deli really from some other, he assumed that surface-to-air missileson was one of these. All the break-dance, he thought, it leave behind take longer for him to find out.After the Coyote brought his men over the border, he gave them a place to live (two apartments in which they slept ten to a room), food (beans, tortillas, and rice), and three dollars an hour (for backbreaking work that al around gringos would never consider doing). He charged his customers viii dollars per man-hour and pocketed the difference. At the end of each week he paid his men in cash, after deducting a healthy amount for food and lodging, then drove them all to the mail service office, where he helped them buy money orders to send home to their families, leaving them postcode for themselves. In this way the C oyote could keep a crew beneath his thumb for three or four months onwards they ready out that they could neces rallyate more than money working at menial affairs in restaurants or hotels. Then he would ready to go back to Mexico for another load. Lately, however, he had been augmenting his crew with Mexicans who had put their own way over the border, and this allowed him to debase his time between border runs.The work was the hardest surface-to-air missileson had ever done, and at the end of the send-off day, back knotted and hands bloodied from swinging a pickax, he slept in the back of the truck until the patron slapped him awake and led him into the apartment to show him his cot. Sleeping in a room with gild other people was nothing current to surface-to-air missileson, and the food, although spicy, was plentiful and thoroughly. He brute(a) asleep listening to the sad Spanish dear songs of his co-workers and public opinion very much alone.As the weeks passed he w ould hear the other men in the room whispering in the swarthy and this made him feel, even more, that he was the only person in a world of one. He had no way of knowing that they were talking about him, about how they never power saw him send any money home, and about how they could take his money and no one would know because he was a dumb Indian and couldnt spill the beans Spanish. surface-to-air missileson listened and thinkd that they were talking about their homes and missing their families. He knew nothing of the Latin quality of machismo, which tacitly forbade the admission of a mans melancholy except in song.The plan was to wait until the boy was taking a shower, then go through his pants and take the money. If he protested, they would cut his throat and slump him on the large estate where they were terracing hills into formal gardens. Whether they would clear really killed the boy was doubtful they were good men at heart and had only dour their minds to murder becaus e it made them feel worldly and un gentle. When the boy was gone their nocturnal whispers turned back to boasts of the women they would have, the cars they would buy, and the land they would own when they returned to Mexico.Samson was rescue on a hot afternoon when the owner of the estate approached the Coyote while the crew was taking a break, eating cold burritos in the tad of a eucalyptus tree.Immigration took one of the busboys in my restaurant, the cryptical man said. Do any of your guys speak English? Ill pay you to allow him go.The Coyote was shaking his head when Samson spoke up I speak English. The Coyotes chicken-stealing grin dropped the kindred a rock. He had thought that he would be able to dribble on to the Indian boy for a long time, and here he had gone and learned English in his tautological time. The boy was worthless now. Better to cut the loss and see what he could get.To quell their curiosity and dampen their ambition, the Coyote told the rest of the cr ew that the rich American had bought the boy for sexual purposes, and they all grinned knowingly as they watched Samson ride away in the long white Lincoln.Samson plunge that it was easier to be Mexican while working in the restaurant. The work, although fast paced, was not heavy, and he was given a cot in the storeroom to sleep on until he found a place of his own. The owner was guinea pig with speaking a pidgin English peppered with Spanish words and Samson answered him by speaking a modified version of Tonto-speak. By this time Samson had also picked up a few essential Spanish phrases (Where are the spoonfuls? We need more plates. Your sister fucks donkeys in Tijuana) which helped him make friends with the Mexican dish laveers and cooks.From the aftermath he had arrived in Santa Barbara, a grinding homesickness began to settle in Samsons heart. When he lay in the dark storeroom at night, waiting to transcend asleep, it would rise up and soften over him like a black tide, car rying with it a slithering blind predator that gnashed at the last shreds of his hope. give what you know, Pokey had told him. With this in mind he set to do encountering with his effort hopelessness. He refused to think of his family, his home, or his heritage. Instead he severe on the conversations he overheard in the restaurant as he cleared gameboards and poured coffee. Because he was Mexican, and a menial laborer, he was invisible to the affluent Santa Barbara customers, who spoke openly about the most intimate details of their lives, oblivious to the Spanish fly on the wall.You know, Ashley has been having an affair with her plastic surgeon for six months andIf I can get my legal ducks in a row, I should be able to push the convention center through the urban center council andI want the bathroom Southwestern, but Bob likes Art Nouveau, so I called our attorney and I saidI know the offshore drilling is ruining the coast, but my Exxon shares have split twice in two ye ars, so I said to my analystSusan and the kids went to Tahoe, so I thought it was the perfect chance to show Marie the polarity. The bitch spilled a entire bottle of massage oil in the hot tub andI dont give a damn whether they needed it or not. If you do your job right you can sell air conditioners to Eskimos need has nothing to do with it. Remember the three ms mesmerize, motivate, and manipulate. Youre not selling a need, youre sellingDreams, Samson said, coming out of his shell to finish the sentence of a materialization insurance sales agreements manager who had taken his agents to lunch so he could chew their ass. Samson surprised even himself by speaking up, but the man at the table seemed to be giving the same row that he had heard from the powder- sinister dream salesman. He couldnt resist.Come here, kid, the man said. He was wearing a wash-and-wear admit, as were the other five men at the table. A half-twelve acrid aftershaves clashed among them. Whats your recogniz e?Samson looked around the table at the mens faces. They were all white. He decided at that effect to use a new allude, not the Mexican name he had taken, Jose Cuervo. Sam, Samson said. Sam Hunter.Well, Sam he extended his hand my name is Aaron Aaron. And Ill bet with some training you could outsell every man at this table. He put his arm around Samsons shoulders and spoke to the rest of the group. What do you say, guys? Ill bet you each a blow bucks that I can take a busboy with the right attitude and turn him into a part salesman than any of you hotshots inside of a month.Thats bullshit, Aaron, the kids not even old adequacy to get a license.He can work on my license. Ill compress his applications. Cmon, hotshots, do I have a bet?The men fidgeted in their seats, laughing nervously and exhausting to avoid Aarons gaze, knowing from Aarons training that the first one to speak would lose. Finally one of them broke. All right, a hundred bucks, but the kid has to do his own selling.Aaron looked at Samson. So, kid, are you ready to start a new job?Samson tried to imagine himself wearing a suit and smelling of after-shave, and the idea appealed to him. I dont have a place to stay, he said. Ive been saving so I can get an apartment.Ive got it covered, Aaron said. Welcome aboard.I nip I could give my notice. spot giving notice. You only give notice if youre planning to come back. Youre not planning on moving backwards, are you, Sam?I guess not, Samson said.At twenty-five, Aaron Aaron had already accumulated fifteen years of know in the art of deception. From the time he skimped on the sugar at his first lemonade stand to the time he doubled the profits on his paper route by canceling his customers subscriptions, then stealing the papers out of a vending machine to continue the deliveries, Aaron showed a near-genius ability for working in the gray areas between business and crime. And by balancing dark desires with white lies he was able to sidestep the plague of Catholic moral sense that kept him from pursuing an honest career as a pirate, which would have been his first choice. Aaron Aaron was a salesman.At first, Aarons only interest in Samson was to use the boy as an instrument of embarrassment to the other salesmen, but once he gussy uped the boy in a suit and had him trailing along on sales calls like a duteous native gun bearer, Aaron found that he actually enjoyed the boys company. The boys curiosity seemed boundless, and respond his questions as they drove between calls allowed Aaron to bask in the get of his own voice while extolling the brilliance of his last successful presentation. And too, the rejection of a slammed gate or a pointed no seemed softened in the sharing. Teaching the boy made him feel good, and with this improvement in attitude he worked more, sell more, and allowed the boy to share in the prosperity, buying him clothes and food, finding him an apartment, and cosigning for a loan on a used Volvo.For Samson, working under the accusation of Aaron was perfect. Aarons assumption that no one beside himself had the foggiest idea of how the universe worked allowed Samson the probability to hear lectures on even the most minuscule details of society, discipline he used to build himself into the image that Aaron treasured to see. Samson happy in Aarons self-obsession, for while the sometime(a) man waxed eloquent on the virtues of being Aaron, it never occurred to him to ask Samson about his past, and the boy was able to surround himself in a chrysalis of questions and cheap suits until he was ready to bulge as a full-grown salesman.As the years passed and his memories of home were stowed and forgotten, teaching to sell became Samsons paramount interest. And Aaron, fascinated with seeing his own image mirror and his own words repeated, failed to notice that Samson had become a better salesman than himself until other companies began approaching the boy with offers. Only then did Aaron realize that most of his income was coming from the override commission on Sams sales, and that for five years Sam had trained all the new salesmen. To avoid losing his golden goose, Aaron offered Sam a fifty-fifty partnership in the representation, and with this added security, the business became Sams shelter.-=*=- Now, after twenty years with the business as his only security, Sam was going to Aaron to sell his shares. As he entered Aarons office he felt a deep soul-sickness that he had not felt since he had left the reservation.Aaron, Ill take forty cents on the dollar for my shares. And I keep my office.Aaron turned slowly in the double executive chair and faced Sam. You know I couldnt come up with that kind of cash, Sam. Its a good move, though. Id have to keep paying you out of override, and with interest you wouldnt even take a cut in pay. I dont think youre in a position to negotiate, though. In fact, after the call I got this morning, I think twenty cents on the do llar would be more than fair.Sam resisted the urge to dive over the desk and slap his partners loot scalp until it bled. He had to take his fallback position sooner than he wanted to. Youre thinking that because Spagnola can put me with the Indian I have to sell, right?Aaron nodded.But just imagine that I ride this through, Aaron. gauge that I dont sign off, that the insurance commission suspends my license, that criminal charges are filed and my name is in the paper every day. Guess whose name is going to be right next to mine? And what happens if I maintain my association with the agency and the insurance commission starts looking into your files? How umteen signatures have you traced over the years, Aaron? How many people thought they were buying one policy, only to find out that their signature showed up on a different one one that paid you a higher commission?A sheen of elbow grease was appearing on Aarons forehead. Youve done that as often as I have. Youd be hanging your self.Thats the point, Aaron. When I walked in here you were convinced that I was hung anyway. Im just making room for you on the gallows.You ungrateful prick. I took you in when you-I know, Aaron. Thats why Im giving you a chance to stay clean. Actually, youve got more to lose than I do. Once your files are open, then your income is going to become public knowledge.Oh Aaron stood and paced around to the front of the desk.Oh He waved a finger under Sams nose, then turned and walked to the water cooler.Oh He kicked the cooler, then returned to his chair, sat down, then stood up again.Oh he said. It was as if the single syllable had stuck in his mouth. He looked as if he were going to launch into a tirade blood rose in his face and veins bulged on his forehead.Oh he said. He fell back in the chair and stared at the ceiling as if his brain had pushed the hold button on reality.Thats right, Aaron, Sam said after a moment. The IRS. With that Sam moved to the office ingress. Take your tim e, Aaron. Think about it. Talk it over with your buddy Spagnola he can plausibly give you the current deputise rate of cigarettes for sodomy in prison.Aaron slowly broke his stare on the ceiling and turned to watch Sam walk out.In the outside office Julia looked up from applying lacquer to her nails to see Sam grinning, his hand still on the entranceknob.Whats with all the ohs, Sam? Julia asked. It sounded like you guys were having sex or something.Something like that, Sam said, his grin widening. Hey, watch this. He opened the verge quickly and stuck his head back in Aarons office. Hey, Aaron IRS he said. Then he pulled the door shut, muffling Aarons scream of pain.What was that? Julia asked.That, Sam said, was my teacher giving me the grade on my last-place exam.I dont get it.You will, honey. I dont have time to explain right now. Ive got a date.Sam left the office walking light and smiling, feeling strangely as if the pieces of his life, rather than fitting back together, were jingling in his pocket like sleigh bells warning Christmas.CHAPTER 15Like Gods Own Chocolate Id Lick Her Shadow Off A Hot pavingSanta BarbaraIn spite of the fact that he was losing his home and his business, and was precariously polish to having his greatest secret discovered by the police because of an Indian god, Sam was not the least bit worried. Not with the prospect of an evening with calliope to occupy his thoughts. No, for once Sam Hunter was voting the eager ticket over the anxious, taking anticipation over dread. calliope lived upstairs in a cheese-mold-green cinder-block duplex that stood in a row of a dozen identical structures where the last of Santa Barbaras working middle class were making their rip into poverty. calliopes Datsun was parked in the driveway next to a rusy VW station station wagon and an ominous-looking Harley-Davidson chopper with a bleak blond woman airbrushed on the drift tank. Sam paused by the Harley before mounting the stairs. The air brushed woman looked familiar, but before he could get a closer look steam organ appeared on the deck above him.Hi, she said. She was air outfoot, wearing a white muslin dress generally laced in the front. A wreath of gardenia was woven into her hair. Youre just in time, we need your help. Come on up.Sam took the stairs two at a time and stopped on the landing, where calliope was wrestling with the hasp on a rickety screen-door frame that was devoid of screening but had redwood lattice nailed across its lower half, presumably to keep out the really large insects. Im having trouble with the dinner, she said. I hope you can bring forth it.The screen door finally let loose with the jattering noise one associates with the impact of Elmer Fudds face on a rake handle. steam organ led Sam into a kitchen done in the Fabulous Fifties idea of mint enamel over pink linoleum. A haze of queasy smoke hung about the ceiling, and through it Sam could make out the figure of a half- crude man sitting in the lotus position on the counter, boozing from a quart bottle of beer.Thats Yiffer, calliope said over her shoulder as she headed to the stove. Hes with Nina.Yiffer vaulted off the counter, on one arm, amply eight feet across the kitchen to land lightly on his feet in front of Sam, where he engaged a complex handshake that left Sam feeling as if his fingers had been braided together. Dude, Yiffer said, shaking out his wild sail of straw-colored hair as if the word had been stuck there.Feeling like a chamaeleon that has been dropped into a coffee can and is risking hemorrhage by act to turn silver, Sam searched for the appropriate greeting and ended up echoing, Dude.In jeans, a sport shirt, and boating moccasins with no socks, Sam felt grossly apparel next to Yiffer, who wore only a pair of orange surf knickers and layer upon layer of tan muscle. calliope biffed the grub, dude, Yiffer said.Sam joined steam organ at the stove, where she was frantically biffing the gr ub. I cant get the spaghetti to cook, she said, plunging a wooden spoon into a large actpan from which the smoke was emanating. The instructions said to boil for eight proceeding, but as soon as it starts to boil the smoke comes out.Sam waved the smoke from the pan. Arent you supposed to cook the noodles separately?Not in the sauce?Sam shook his head.Whoops, steam organ said. Im not a very good cook. Sorry.Well, maybe we can salvage something. Sam removed the pan from the heating system and peered in at the bubbling black magma. Then again, maybe kickoff over would be a good idea.He put the pan in the sink, where a trail of ants was invading a used public treasury of cereal. Sam turned on the water and started to swivel the faucet to wash the intruders away when steam organ grabbed his hand. No, she said. Theyre okay.Theyll get into your food, Sam said.I know. Theyve always been here. I call them my kitchen pals.Kitchen pals? Sam tried to adjust his thinking. She was right yo u couldnt just wash your kitchen pals down the drain like they were ants. He felt like hed been saved from committing genocide. So, I guess we should start some more spaghetti?She only bought one niche, dude, Yiffer said.I guess we can eat salad and chicken feed, Calliope said. Excuse me. She kissed Sam on the cheek and walked out of the kitchen while he stared at the tint of her roll in the hay through the thin dress.So, what do you do? Yiffer asked with a pass of his head.Im an insurance broker. And you?I surf.And?And what? Yiffer said.Sam thought he could hear the sound of the ocean whistling through Yiffers ears as if through a seashell. never mind, he said. He was distracted by the sound of a bollix shrieking in the next room.Thats Grubb, Yiffer said. Sounds like hes pissed off.Unable to see the second b, Sam was confused. I thought grub was biffed?No, Grubb is Calliopes rug-rat. Go on in and meet him. Ninas in there with J. Nigel Yiffworth, Esquire. Yiffer beamed with p ride. Hes mine.Your attorney?My son, Yiffer said indignantly.Oh, Sam said. He resisted the urge to sit down on the theme and wait for his confusion to clear. Instead he walked into the living room, where he found Calliope sitting on an ancient sofa next to an attractive dark-skinned who was breastfeeding an infant. The sofa was lumpy enough to have had a body sew together into it stuffing spilled out of the arms where the victim had tried to escape. On the floor nearby, a somewhat older child was slung inside of a blue plastic donut on wheels, which he was gaily ramming into everything in the room. Sam gasped as the child ran a wheel up over his bare ankle on a kamikaze rush to destroy the coffee table.Calliope said, Sam, this is Nina. Nina looked up and smiled. And J. Nigel Yiffworth, Esquire. Nina pulled the baby from her breast long enough to puppet-master a nod of greeting from it, which Sam missed for some reason. And that, Calliope continued, pointing to the drunk device dr iver in the blue donut, thats Grubb.Your son? Sam asked.She nodded. Hes just learning to walk. raise name.I named him after Jane Goodalls son. She let him grow up with baboons very natural. I was going to name him Buddha, but I was afraid that when he got older if individual met him on the road they might kill him.Right. Good thinking, Sam said, pretending that he had the slightest idea of what she was talking about and that he wasnt wonder in the least who or where Grubbs father was.Nina moved in when we were some(prenominal) pregnant, Calliope said. We were each others Lamaze coaches. I was farther along, though.What about Yiffer?Scum, Nina said.He seems like a nice guy, Sam said, and Nina shot him an acid look. As folderol goes, he quickly added.He only lives here sometimes, Calliope said. largely when he doesnt have gas money for his van.Nina said, Were having a yard sale day after tomorrow to raise some money to get him out of here. You might want to look at the stuff d own in storage before the sale, pick up a batch before it gets picked over.Yiffer entered the living room munching on a loaf of cut bread. He stood next to Sam and thrust the bread under Sams chin. cauterize?No, thanks, Sam said.Yiffer Calliope said. That bread was for all of us.Truth, Yiffer said. He held the loaf out to Calliope. Bite?You ruined their dinner, Nina said, letting J. Nigels head drop and wobble.Yiffer grinned around a mouthful of bread and gestured toward Ninas exposed breast with his beer hand. Looking good, babe.Nina reattached J. Nigel and said to Sam, Im sorry, hes only like this when hes awake. To Yiffer she said, Take some money out of my furrow and go down to the corner and get a pizza.Sam reached for his wallet. Let me.No, Calliope and Nina said in unison.Cool Yiffer exclaimed, sandblasting Sam with a spray of bread crumbs.Go Nina commanded, and Yiffer turned and bounded out of the room. In a moment Sam heard the screen door open and footfalls on the step s. lay down, Calliope said. Relax.Sam took a seat on the couch next to the two women and for the next forty minutes they exchanged pleasantries between the screaming demands of the babies until Nina handed a damp J. Nigel to Sam and left the room. Like most bachelors, Sam held a baby as if it were radioactive.That fucking asshole Nina shrieked from the other room, frightening Grubb, who screamed like an air-raid siren. J. Nigel was following suit when Nina returned to the living room, her purse in hand. He took my rent money. The asshole took all my rent money. merchantman you guys watch J. Nigel for a minute? Ive got to go find him and kill him.Sure, Calliope said. Sam nodded, adjusting J. Nigel for long-term holding.Nina left. Calliope turned to Sam and over the din of screaming infants said, Alone at last.I think J. Nigel needs changing, Sam said.So does Grubb. Lets take them into Ninas room.Sam had slipped into the personality he referred to as bully and adaptable, one he res erved for the more chaotic and bizarre situations he had encountered in his career. I can do this, he said with a grin.He hadnt changed a baby since the days on the reservation when he used to help with his cousins, but when he opened J. Nigels diaper the store came back on him like a fetid whirlwind, and he had to fight to keep from gagging. The adhesive strips on disposable diapers were a completely new adventure and he found after a few minutes that he had diapered his left hand perfectly while a squirming J. Nigel remained cutting to the world. After changing Grubb and returning him to his plastic donut, Calliope liberated Sam from the diaper and started on J. Nigel, who giggled and peed like an excited puppy at her touch. Sam sympathized.Dont feel bad, she said. The last time we let Yiffer baby-sit he duct- tape recordingd J. Nigels diaper on and we had to use nail-polish remover to get the adhesive off.I havent had much practice, Sam said.You dont have any kids?No, Ive never met anyone I wanted to have kids with. Sam wanted to smack himself for saying it. Remember, tough and adaptable.Me either, Calliope said. But Grubb is the better(p) thing that ever happened to me. I used to drink and do a lot of drugs, but as soon as I found out I was pregnant I stopped.Sam looked for an opening to ask about Grubbs father, but none came and the silence was becoming awkward. Thats great, he said. I had my own battle with the bottle. Actually it hadnt been much of a battle. Aaron had insisted that social drinking was part of the job, but each time Sam had gotten drunk he was haunted by the stereotype of the drunken Indian that he thought he had left behind. It had been ten years since hed had a drink.Im going to put these guys down, Calliope said. wherefore dont you go in the living room and put some music on.In the living room Sam found a briefcase full of loose cassette tapes. Most of the tapes were New Age releases with uncertain titles like Tree Frog Whale Son g Selections by artists with name like Yanni Volvofinder. With further digging he found one called The oral communication of Love by a female jazz singer he liked, but when he opened the box he found that the tape had been replaced with one called Catbox Nightmare by a band called Satans Smegma, obviously a Yifferesque selection. Finally he found The Language of Love languishing boxless in the bottom of the case and popped it into a portable stereo on a bricks-and-boards bookshelf.Calliope returned to the living room just as the first song was rising in the speakers. Oh, I love this tape, she said. Ive always wanted to make love to this tape. Ill be right back. She left the room again and returned in a moment with an armload of pillows and blankets, which she dropped in the middle of the floor. Grubb sleeps in my room and he wont be asleep for a while. She began to spread the blankets out over the floor.Sam stood by, trying to fight the objections that were rising in his mind abou t the speed at which things were progressing. She just assumed that he would say yes it made him feel like well a loose woman. Then again, if this beautiful girl wanted to make love with him, who was he to object? Okay, so he was a slut he was a tough and adaptable slut. Still, there was one thing that bothered him. What if Yiffer and Nina come home with the pizza?Oh, I dont think theyll be home that soon. This first time will be pretty fast.Hey. Sam thought he might have just been insulted, but on second thought he realized that the girl had just voiced something that he had really been worrying about, without even admitting it to himself. On second thought, she had relieved the pressure on him to perform.Calliope finished fluffing the pillows, then unlaced her dress and let it drop to the floor. She stepped out of it and went to the stereo, where she turned up the volume, then she crawled naked under the top blanket and pulled it up to her neck. Okay, she said.Sam sat on th e couch, stunned. She was stunning. But where was the seduction, the deception, the sweet lies and tender posturing? Where was the hunt, the cat-and-mouse game? Sam just stared at her and thought, This is entirely too honest.Are you okay? she asked.Yes, its just kind ofYou want me and I want you. Right?Who did she think she was? You cant just go around blurting out the truth like a prophet with Tourettes syndrome. He said, Well, I guess. Yeah, thats right.Well? She threw the covers back to make room for him.Sam leapt off the couch and fought his way out of his clothes. He was under the covers, taking her into his arms, before his shirt settled to the floor. At the touch of her skin, her warmth, he felt every muscle in his body tense, then melt against her. He kissed her for a long time with none of the fumbling or awkwardness that he expected. He entered her and they began to move together in slow rhythm to the music. Calliope let out a long, low moan and dug her fingers into the mu scles of his back. He joined her in the moan and pushed deeper, losing suddenly any thoughts or images or reservations, damn near losing consciousness to the warm, dark rhythm. A door slammed, violently shaking the windows of the apartment.Sam pushed up on his arms. What was that?Nothing, she said, pulling him down. some other door slammed, louder than the first. Sam pushed up again. Theyre home.No, thats downstairs. Please. She wrapped her legs around his back and pulled him tight.Distracted, Sam began to move again and Calliope moaned. A door slammed, glass shattered, and J. Nigel began crying in the front bedroom.What in the hell was that?Nothing. Not now. Make love to me, Sam.The house shook with the impact of a slamming door, then another, and Grubb began to cry as well. Sam winced, and came completely without pleasure. Sorry, he said as he rolled over onto his back. Calliope stared at the ceiling for a moment as if she was reinvigorated for the next impact. When it came she l eapt to her feet and stormed naked out onto the balcony.She bent over the railing and shouted, Why are you doing this?Sam turned down the stereo and listened. Another door slammed, shaking the house, then a pathetic male voice came from below. Youve got someone up there. You slut.Dont talk to me that way. I dont act this way when you have someone down there.Sam wanted to join her on the balcony, come to her defensive measure (Hey, buddy, shes not the slut here), but he couldnt seem to take root his pants.You whore the male voice said. Im taking my son.No, youre notYoull see, the voice said. Another door slam. Sam flinched. He was getting a little shell-shocked trying to put the pieces of this mystery together between slams.Jerk Calliope screamed. She stormed inside, slammed the door, and breezed by Sam on her way to tend to Grubb and J. Nigel. Sam sat naked on the floor wishing for a cigarette, or a clue, and reiterate his new mantra in his head, tough and adaptable, tough and ad aptableIn a few minutes, after the door slams had dwindled to one every few minutes, as if the guy downstairs was calming down, then losing his temper in spurts, Calliope appeared in the doorway, still naked.We need to talk, she said.Sam was dressed now, desperately impatient for a cigarette, but hed left them in the car and he wasnt about to pass the maniac downstairs without more information. That would be good, he said.Calliope picked up her dress and slipped it on, then sat down on the couch. Youre probably wondering who that is downstairs.For the first time she seemed really uncomfortable, and Sam felt for her. Its okay. Ive had some trouble with my neighbors recently. It happens.She smiled. I used to be with him. Hes Grubbs father.I gathered that.I was doing a lot of drugs then. He was exciting riding his Harley, tattoos, guns.Guns?I left him when I found out I was pregnant. He didnt want me to have the baby and he didnt want me to quit getting high.But why move upstairs?I di dnt. He moved in downstairs. Youre the first man that Ive had over since the split. I didnt know hed act this way.Why dont you move?You know how Santa Barbara is. I couldnt even pay rent here if it werent for Nina, let alone come up with first, last, and a cleaning deposit.Sam could see that she was still embarrassed. You could ask the landlord to remove his doors. It would be quieter.Im sorry. I really wanted it to be nice.Maybe I should go. Despite the weirdness, he didnt want to leave.I wish you would stay. When Grubb goes to sleep we can go in my room. If were quietIll stay, Sam said. He wont come up here and shoot us, will he?No, I dont think so. He keeps talking about getting appreciation of Grubb. Killing us would look bad with the judge.Right, Sam said. So what if she had been elusive with a psycho. At least it was a psycho who thought ahead.Calliope led Sam down a hallway to her room at the back of the apartment. Ill get us some salad, she said, leaving Sam to sit on the twin bed next to the crib where Grubb was drowsily gnawing a pacifier. The room looked like it had been decorated by a Buddhist monastic from Sesame Street. On top of the dresser sat effigies of Buddha, Shiva, Bert, Ernie, and Cookie Monster, as well as an incense burner, a small gong, and a box of Pampers. A stuffed Mickey Mouse on the dressing chair wore a necklace of quartz crystal and a rawhide ring that Sam recognized as a Navaho dream catcher. The walls were hung with pictures of the Dalai Lama, Kali the Destroyer, and the Smurfs.Looking around, Sam felt tempted to stool an excuse and bolt. Now that hed had a moment to think about it, his tough and adaptable veneer was feeling pretty thin. If he could just get back to normal for a while hed be okay. Then it hit him there was no normal to return to. The controlled status quo that had been his life was no longer there it had been shattered by Coyote, and Coyote was out there somewhere. Calliope, and all the chaos around her, h ad made him forget. Even with Smurfs, psychos, and kitchen pals, the forgetting was worth staying for.