big on your boy’s bony ass but better than nothing. Once he gets cleaned up, get him what he needs and I’ll burn the shit he’s wearing now. By the way, he’s awake and asking for you.”
“Maggie, I want to thank you for—”
“Just don’t be here much longer, all right?”
With a nod, I hopped off the stool and, coffee in hand, went out back.
As I stepped into the mostly dark apartment, I noticed that Maggie had lit a few candles on the bureau. Bathed in soft candlelight, everything looked like a dream.
Caleb was sitting on the far side of the bed with his back to me. Sans shirt, and long hair pulled back into a ponytail and held in place with a rubber band he’d evidently found among Maggie’s things, his bare back was exposed. What struck me first was how his spine protruded like a fossilized snake trapped just beneath his skin. Second was an immense and intricate tattoo that covered nearly his entire back. It depicted Poseidon, the muscle-bound god with long hair, full beard and fierce eyes, reclined on a large rock. In one hand he grasped his legendary trident, in the other a conch shell.
“Do you remember when you used to say if God existed it was as Poseidon?”
Without turning around, Caleb answered. “Yes.” Though obviously high, he sounded more like himself to me. Along with weariness, there was a hint of fondness in his tone, but it was reserved, as if fearful his emotions might overwhelm him were he to give himself up to them fully. “You know I’ve always loved the ocean.”
“Yes.” I moved deeper into the room. “It was always fire that scared you.”
“And water that scared you.”
“Are you all right?” It was a stupid question but I had to ask it.
“I could use a hot shower. Do you think that would be OK?”
“Maggie shot you up in her bed,” I reminded him. “Somehow I don’t think using the facilities is going to set her off. And you can help yourself to clothes in the closet.”
He stayed quiet a while. “The candles are pretty, aren’t they? They remind me of the ones that used to burn near the altar at Midnight Mass on Christmas when we were kids. Do you remember? I used to love to sit in that church when no one else was there. It was so quiet. I’d sit and study the stain glass art, all those saints and martyrs staring down at me with such sorrow. And somehow in all that pain and suffering, I found peace, even love. I never once believed God rejected me, only other people did that.” He brought a hand to his face, rubbed his eyes but still he didn’t turn around. “ Yes, Jesus loves me ,” he sang in a quiet, broken voice. After a moment he laughed, sadly. “It was ourselves we could never love, and that’s where the true evil is, in the fear and hatred and self-loathing. It all seems so simple and yet…” He dropped his hand from his face. “Now when I close my eyes I see those same saints and martyrs, only their fingers are dipped in blood and their bodies are scarred, their eyes carved from their heads. I see visions, horrible visions so frightening that it feels as if someone has reached inside me with their hands and torn it all loose. Shouldn’t religious visions be comforting? Salvation isn’t supposed to be frightening. Is it?”
“Maybe your visions aren’t about salvation.”
Caleb finally looked over his shoulder at me. “No,” he said softly, “maybe not.” He turned back to the candles. The flames washed over him, licking his flesh. “I need to sleep. I haven’t slept in a very long time. And then I’ll clean myself up and we’ll go.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’re sure you won’t leave me here and go home to Jill where you belong?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.
“I don’t have much time left,” he said drowsily.
“Caleb—”
“I should’ve listened to you all those years ago when you wanted to run away.” He bowed his head. “I wanted to, you know. God, how I wanted to. I was just so
“Maggie, I want to thank you for—”
“Just don’t be here much longer, all right?”
With a nod, I hopped off the stool and, coffee in hand, went out back.
As I stepped into the mostly dark apartment, I noticed that Maggie had lit a few candles on the bureau. Bathed in soft candlelight, everything looked like a dream.
Caleb was sitting on the far side of the bed with his back to me. Sans shirt, and long hair pulled back into a ponytail and held in place with a rubber band he’d evidently found among Maggie’s things, his bare back was exposed. What struck me first was how his spine protruded like a fossilized snake trapped just beneath his skin. Second was an immense and intricate tattoo that covered nearly his entire back. It depicted Poseidon, the muscle-bound god with long hair, full beard and fierce eyes, reclined on a large rock. In one hand he grasped his legendary trident, in the other a conch shell.
“Do you remember when you used to say if God existed it was as Poseidon?”
Without turning around, Caleb answered. “Yes.” Though obviously high, he sounded more like himself to me. Along with weariness, there was a hint of fondness in his tone, but it was reserved, as if fearful his emotions might overwhelm him were he to give himself up to them fully. “You know I’ve always loved the ocean.”
“Yes.” I moved deeper into the room. “It was always fire that scared you.”
“And water that scared you.”
“Are you all right?” It was a stupid question but I had to ask it.
“I could use a hot shower. Do you think that would be OK?”
“Maggie shot you up in her bed,” I reminded him. “Somehow I don’t think using the facilities is going to set her off. And you can help yourself to clothes in the closet.”
He stayed quiet a while. “The candles are pretty, aren’t they? They remind me of the ones that used to burn near the altar at Midnight Mass on Christmas when we were kids. Do you remember? I used to love to sit in that church when no one else was there. It was so quiet. I’d sit and study the stain glass art, all those saints and martyrs staring down at me with such sorrow. And somehow in all that pain and suffering, I found peace, even love. I never once believed God rejected me, only other people did that.” He brought a hand to his face, rubbed his eyes but still he didn’t turn around. “ Yes, Jesus loves me ,” he sang in a quiet, broken voice. After a moment he laughed, sadly. “It was ourselves we could never love, and that’s where the true evil is, in the fear and hatred and self-loathing. It all seems so simple and yet…” He dropped his hand from his face. “Now when I close my eyes I see those same saints and martyrs, only their fingers are dipped in blood and their bodies are scarred, their eyes carved from their heads. I see visions, horrible visions so frightening that it feels as if someone has reached inside me with their hands and torn it all loose. Shouldn’t religious visions be comforting? Salvation isn’t supposed to be frightening. Is it?”
“Maybe your visions aren’t about salvation.”
Caleb finally looked over his shoulder at me. “No,” he said softly, “maybe not.” He turned back to the candles. The flames washed over him, licking his flesh. “I need to sleep. I haven’t slept in a very long time. And then I’ll clean myself up and we’ll go.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’re sure you won’t leave me here and go home to Jill where you belong?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.
“I don’t have much time left,” he said drowsily.
“Caleb—”
“I should’ve listened to you all those years ago when you wanted to run away.” He bowed his head. “I wanted to, you know. God, how I wanted to. I was just so
Similar Books
