The Volunteer
7
SOMETIME BEFORE LAS VEGAS, Jimmy got quiet. “We’re coming to sin city, pardner. If you want out here, I’ll stop at Henderson and let you off, but I won’t stop any closer. I’m not a religious man,” he said, “but Las Vegas is filled with temptations that will destroy your soul. You think everything is a bargain. Free food, free drinks, and all you have to do is sit at a nickel slot machine and pull the handle for an hour. But the hour stretches to four and a girl who is not free catches your eye, and you leave the next day without a penny left for gas, a hangover that splits your head, and sense of shame that turns your stomach to Jell-O. Do you want out?” G2 shook his head. “Good. Then let’s listen to the radio and arm ourselves against the devil.” Apparently Jimmy was prepared well in advance. The radio button he pushed was a 24-hour gospel station. A preacher droned on and on about the sins of the flesh and the inevitable wages they brought. But Jesus could give you strength.
Gerald was eleven when he accepted Christ. He was on a river boat in the Wisconsin Dells. His parents, grandparents, and sister had decided to vacation near to home this summer and enjoy the sites. They had visited “Witches Gulch,” on the trip already—a windy chasm with a small bridge that crossed it. Marian had lost her sun hat in the swirling waters below the bridge and was distraught. Grandma had given her hat to the crying girl. They saw real Indians perform at the top of a balanced rock, including leaping across the chasm at the top. The “Mystery Spot” was a favorite of Gerald’s. Inside the cabin, gravity was different and you stood on the walls. And then there were the water falls. Glorious, high and thundering. The boat could go no further up the river, but just as they were reversing directions, Gerald heard a screech and looking up in a dead tree saw an eagle spread its wings and dance at the edge of its nest. Everyone on the boat ooooed about the display and cameras clicked pictures. An older man sitting near where Gerald was standing at the railing said, “One of God’s precious miracles isn’t it?” Gerald was not sure, but it was certainly beautiful. “What’s your name, son?” the man asked. “Gerald,” he responded. “Are you a Christian, Gerald?” Well, Gerald had never thought about it much. His family sometimes went to church, especially on Christmas and Easter, so he supposed he was. But the man gently explained about Jesus being the Christ and offering to forgive the sins of anyone who accepted him into their life. All they had to do was confess and believe, and they would be forgiven.
It happened that Gerald was struggling with a bit of a guilty conscience. When they were in the Witches Gulch he’d been behind his sister who, being little, wasn’t moving as fast as Gerald wanted to. In a pique, Gerald flipped his fingers at the back of her hat. He didn’t mean to knock it off, just to knock it down over her eyes. But a random gust of wind from the gully picked up the hat and carried it off his sister’s head and down into the roiling waters below. Chances are the wind would have taken her hat anyway. Everyone who wore a hat was clutching it. But Gerald knew he was responsible for the loss and he hadn’t told anyone. If Jesus could forgive him, then it would all be okay. So Gerald followed the man’s instructions, prayed the words that he was instructed to pray, and accepted Christ. The man then gave Gerald a strange instruction. “I’d like you to walk over to that woman in the pink sweater at the rail and tell her you’ve just accepted Christ,” the man said. This was going to take a little more effort than Gerald had planned. Do you just walk up to a stranger and tell her that you accepted Christ? He wasn’t sure, but thinking of the hat in the Witches Gulch, Gerald steeled himself to the task and approached the woman. When he told her he had just accepted Christ, she smiled at him and said that was wonderful. Then she said she had something for him and pulled a tiny New Testament from her purse. She said that this was the word of God and he should read it now that he was a Christian. She also pulled out a pencil and inside the front cover wrote several scripture verses as she quoted them from memory. “Behold I stand at the door and knock; if any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come into to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.” Revelation 3:20. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” John 3:16. She kept quoting and writing the references in the front of the tiny New Testament until there were seven references. “You should carry the Word of God in your heart, Gerald,” she said. “The way to do that is to memorize it. Start with these seven verses, and then memorize as many as you can. You will always have a scripture to help you through the day, even if you don’t have your Bible.” Gerald committed to memorizing the verses and was so happy about what he had done that he marched straight up to his parents and said “I accepted Christ as my savior today, and I think I might have been responsible for Marian losing her hat.” His parents were surprised, but only said, “Thank you for telling us, son. That’s very brave of you.” But Gerald’s father knew what to do. When they got home, he began taking Gerald to church every Sunday. It was summer and hot, and Sunday morning Gerald was used to getting together with Brian and playing in the willow tree behind the house. They’d built a fort high in the branches where they could see over the whole neighborhood. The preacher talked for a long time, and even though Gerald saw other kids he knew in church, they all left before the sermon and went to “children’s church” in the basement. When Gerald asked if he should go, his father said simply, “No. They haven’t accepted Christ yet.” So Gerald sat in the church service every Sunday morning. In two months, church had cured him of Christianity and he told his father he’d rather not go anymore. His father simply said all right, and the subject never came up again.
But Gerald had memorized the seven verses and when G2 heard the preacher on the radio say, “Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth,” G2 mouthed the words, “Second Timothy 2:15.”
When G2 saw the license plate on the car parked at the curb, he immediately got his little notebook out and wrote down the number—letters, he corrected himself. “BGOOD.” It was very exciting. He was, after all, GGOOD. His sister would have been MGOOD. He wrote all the ideas down. He thought perhaps he should wait for the owner to come back to the car and introduce himself. They were probably related. G2 tried to think who in his family had a name that started with B. Carl, Wayne, and Harry were his father and his father’s brothers. Their wives were Mary, Claudia, and Kim. They had children. Let’s see. Meredith, Michael, Tracy, Susan, Dora, and of course Marian and Gerald. The only boy besides G2 was Michael, but G2 didn’t know if Michael had any children. That would mean that the relative that owned the car was more distant than cousins, aunts, and uncles. What did they do in the state when they had more than one person who wanted the plate? Mary, Marian, Meredith, and Michael would all be MGOOD. MGOOD1, MGOOD2, MGOOD3, MGOOD4. Maybe they would issue them in birth order. By the time G2 had gone through all these possibilities, he had already wandered down the street out of sight from the car with the important license plate. He sat and put out his sign. It would be good if he could get enough money to get another bottle. He was sure to run out tonight.
There had once been a time when Gerald fancied himself a connoisseur of wine. Of course, that only lasted a year. On his 21st birthday he walked into Shrum’s Wine Shoppe, looking for something to celebrate his birthday with. He’d never had more than a sip or two of wine and knew nothing about wine or how to choose a bottle. He handled several, evaluating the design of the labels and comparing them with the price of the bottles. He discovered that a great looking label did not mean a particularly high-priced bottle of wine. But, he didn’t know if that meant the flavor of the wine would not correlate with the price, or if some makers of low quality wines spent a lot on labels so their bottles would look more attractive. He held two bottles of wine in his hands, comparing them, puzzled over which would be suitable for his first legal purchase in a wine shop.
“Do you like a dry or a sweet wine?” a man said from just behind his left shoulder. Gerald was startled and almost dropped the bottle in his left hand. He turned to see a stocky man in a white shirt and red apron with the wine shop’s logo on it. The nametag he wore said “Leo.”
“I don’t really know,” Gerald said. “I’ve never actually drunk wine before. It’s to celebrate my 21st birthday.”
“Is that today?” Leo asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. If it was tomorrow, I’d have to ask you to leave and come back Monday. But let’s see if we can come up with the right thing for you.” Leo carefully took the two bottles Gerald was holding from him and placed them back on the shelf. “It takes a pretty sophisticated palette to appreciate this bottle. It’s not the kind of thing you want to just sit down and drink without warning. And this one is so sticky sweet that you might as well just eat candy. Nice for dessert, but not a main course. Are you planning to serve the wine with dinner?”
“Yes,” Gerald said. “My girlfriend is cooking and I said I’d bring a bottle of wine.”
“What’s she cooking?”
“Something Chinese, I think. She asked me if I like soo-flay.” Gerald thought Leo choked for a moment, but the older man just cleared his throat and led him to a different aisle.
“Do you just want a wine for tonight, or do you want to learn about wines?” Leo asked.
“Well, I do want one for tonight, but I’d like to learn about wine, too. I think I will like wine. I certainly like the way it smells.”
“Then let’s set you up on a little program. I’ll help you get a good bottle to go with your soufflé, but then we’ll look at a couple more bottles that you can try on different nights. When you’ve finished them, come back, tell me what you think of them, and we’ll choose a couple more. Keep a log book of your wines and what you like. We’ll get narrowed down to wines you can enjoy on any occasion.”
“I’m not rich,” Gerald said quickly. “I can’t afford more than $20.”
“Not a problem,” Leo said. “Since we don’t know what you like, we don’t want to risk wasting an expensive bottle. So we’ll go with half bottles. They’ll give you and your girlfriend each a nice glass and you won’t feel like you’ve wasted a lot of money if you don’t like one. Now, soufflé, you say.” He led Gerald to an aisle marked French Wines and stopped. “We don’t know precisely what your girlfriend is cooking in her soufflé, which, by the way, is an egg dish that puffs up in the middle. Don’t slam the door when you walk in tonight or she’ll be upset that the center collapsed. If she is serving something light in the soufflé, then go with this Pinot Gris. It’s from the Alsace region in the northeast of France. You need to chill this wine. Refrigerating it is fine, but let it sit in your glass for ten minutes before you drink it. It’s a spicy, rich wine like a German Gewurztraminer, but isn’t as fat and lazy. It will complement spinach, white cheeses like Swiss or Jarlsberg, or seafood like crab. Now if she tells you she’s using a strong cheese like Cheddar or Gouda, you should have a nice red wine. Let’s try a Médoc, Médoc—a wine so good they named it twice. Actually, the region of Médoc is north of the City of Bordeaux on the Atlantic. But Appellation Médoc Controlee refers to only to a small area, also referred to as Haut Médoc. Now with this wine, you want to drink it at room temperature. But don’t just open and pour it. You want to open it and let it sit on the counter for half an hour so it breathes. Pour less wine into the glasses, so you’ll each have two glasses out of this small bottle.” After Leo had selected the two bottles—just $15, much to Gerald’s relief—he gave him lessons on how to drink the wine and what kind of words to write down in his journal. All the way through his senior year in college, Gerald went back each week for two or three half bottles of wine, keeping careful notes on the overtones and flavors, acidity, bouquet, and staying power.
G2 kept notes in his notebook after he volunteered. But they began to all look alike. Sweet, sour, acidic, fruity. The more G2 drank, the less those words meant. But he always kept Leo’s instructions in mind, no matter what the wine was. Drink slowly. Hold the wine in your mouth. Feel it before you swallow it. Love it like your girlfriend.
G2 climbed up the embankment in the center of the cloverleaf at the freeway entrance. It had been a long and profitable day. He got to the freeway exit while it was still dark and stood at the corner by the traffic light. People going to work in the morning were surprised to see a shadowy man standing at the intersection and the first few accelerated to get through before they were caught waiting with G2 beside them. But G2 walked up and down the exit ramp fifty feet, careful not to cross over to that part where he might be considered to be on the freeway. There was a “No Hitchhiking” sign on the entrance side just at that point. As G2 walked back up the side toward the intersection, a hand was thrust out a car window with a dollar bill in it. G2 hurried to the car to take the bill and whisper “God bless” just as the light turned and traffic moved forward. By the time the morning traffic tapered off, G2 had made $15. He walked two blocks to WinDixie and bought a sandwich, a bottle of water, and a bottle of wine. He spent an extra twenty-five cents on a pack of gum. If he got hungry later on, he would chew gum. G2 did not want to risk losing his spot for the afternoon commute. The afternoon commute was harder to work than the morning. People were in a hurry to go home. Instead of working the ramp, you work the feeder street where cars stop before turning onto the freeway. Once they had made the turn, nothing would stop them. It was also hard because the entry was on the passenger side of the cars instead of the driver’s side. It was harder for people to roll down a window and hand out a buck when they were on the opposite side of the car. Still, he made seven dollars and that left him with ten dollars for the day after food and wine. But the only camp G2 knew of was three miles away at the next exit, so he resolved to spend the night right here at his good entrance ramp.
The county had piled dirt in the middle of the cloverleaf high enough to make a small hill. It was for noise abatement. They had even done some modest landscaping, but nothing that would require mowing. Just small trees and shrubs with kinnikinnick as a ground cover. He wished they’d chosen a different ground cover. Kinnikinnick was woody and poked in places uncomfortably, but G2 found a spot near the top of the mound, sheltered by trees where tall grass grew and he could spread his blanket in relative comfort. From his vantage atop the mound, he could see the airport a mile away with planes taking off and landing right over his head. He ate his sandwich and sipped just a little of his wine.
Gerald was no stranger to airports. The local airport when he was growing up was small and friendly. It encouraged people to visit and spend time watching the big planes on the runways. The airport had one of the best restaurants in town, at least in Gerald’s experience. On Sunday, just before most people got out of church, Gerald and his family would drive out to the airport where they had reservations for lunch. It seems it was always on Mother’s Day or Mom and Dad’s anniversary. Once when Gerald was given the option of where he would like to go out on his birthday he had asked to go to the airport. Sunday brunch was a grand affair with a buffet that had every kind of good food that Gerald loved on it. He would make trip after trip to the food bar to sample different kinds of salads with mayonnaise and fruit in them, ribs, shrimp, and scalloped potatoes. His parents would have a glass of champagne when it was offered, mixed with orange juice.
But the best part was the airplanes. Every few minutes a plane would roar to life on the runway and lift into the air. “Have a good time in Chicago,” his father would say. “Have a good time in Paris,” his mother would respond. Eventually Gerald and his sister got to play as well. Have a good time in Texas. Have a good time in Boise. Just after a plane landed, the loudspeaker in the airport would click on. “American Airlines is happy to announce the arrival of flight 27 from New York City. Passengers may be met at gate 5. Because they always got to the airport before “the church crowd,” Gerald’s family was always seated right by the windows. They would sit and enjoy another slice of pie or cup of coffee long into the afternoon, after others had already eaten and left. Then Gerald’s mother would say, “Let’s go to the deck,” and the family would troop to the observation deck on the roof. From there they could see all over the air field and back into town as well. The planes were much louder up here and Marian would cover her ears. They would walk around the base of “the tower,” a raised observation deck in the center front of the roof. Once they were invited in to see the traffic controllers at work and Gerald discovered the relationship between the green dots on the screens and the planes that he could see in the air. It was amazing.
Gerald’s favorite part was watching the people carrying luggage or rolling it on carts headed for one of the gates where they would march across the tarmac and board an airplane. Have fun in Timbuktu, they would say as they waved to the people getting on the plane. Sometimes people would wave back. Gerald would pretend they were relatives going to far-away places who would bring back exotic gifts from Japan. Sometimes he imagined they were soldiers marching away to war. Sometimes he would get a little confused and think one of the people was Gerald and that standing with his parents he had suddenly traded places with the man on the tarmac. But most of all, they were people with a purpose. They needed to get through the airport to meet someone or to catch a plane somewhere. And when they got to their mysterious destination, people would be waiting to greet them at the gate—like the young woman wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck when he came through the gate, and kissing him urgently.
G2 had never actually flown on an airplane. But he still thought “Have fun in Paris” whenever one took off and flew over his bedroll on the top of the cloverleaf mound.
G2 didn’t know exactly where he was. Oh, he vaguely recalled the city he had been in, but he didn’t seem to be there anymore. He vaguely remembered wandering toward the railroad yard, but he didn’t quite know if he ever went there. He must have because he was certainly on a train now. G2 usually knew where or what direction the trains he jumped were headed. He would often see the names of towns he passed painted on the water towers or on the platform for passenger trains. But in spite of having been sitting for hours—days??—in the well of the hopper car as it journeyed across the country, G2 could not remember where he had been or where he was headed. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. G2 often didn’t know exactly where he was. But this gave him a sustained impression of having lost all track of time and motion.
It had happened to him once in high school. Brian had introduced Gerald to his cousin, a very cute girl from a town about fifty miles away. Gloria and Gerald were instantly enamored of each other and began to date occasionally. Dating Gloria presented certain challenges. Gerald had to drive fifty miles to pick her up and do whatever they planned—usually a school event like a game and dance—and then when they ended their date and he dropped her off at home by midnight, he had to drive fifty miles home. Gloria was fun, but the drives were exhausting. One night, Gerald found himself driving the car down a country road in the early hours of the morning and suddenly had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. He slowed the car, which was doing nearly 70, and watched carefully in the darkness for landmarks that would let him know where he was. Eventually he recognized a sign alongside the road pointing to the left. It said simply “Saw sharpening.” Gerald breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t the way he usually came home from Gloria’s, but he knew where he was now and it was only about ten miles home. The trouble was, he couldn’t remember anything after he kissed Gloria goodnight—that was some kiss—and walked back to his car. He looked at his watch and realized that had been nearly three hours ago. When he told Brian about the episode, his friend joked about Gerald having been abducted by aliens and having three hours of missing time. He even speculated that Gloria had sucked the soul out of Gerald and three hours later got indigestion and spit it back out. Gerald stopped seeing Gloria soon after that. He wasn’t sure if it was just not right between them, if it was just too far to drive for a date, or if he wasn’t sure if she hadn’t sucked his soul from him and spit him out later.
It was easy to see the scenery when you were riding in the open, barely sheltered by the slope of a hopper car from the rain that was splashing down. There was a puddle of water gathering in the corner of the well and G2 consciously ignored how far it was spreading by focusing out across the prairie. His sweatshirt had a hood and he drew it up around his face as he stared at the passing fields. It was funny. Not ten feet away from the train, you could see the individual raindrops almost suspended in air when you blinked. But the drops that fell nearer to the passing train were a blur and G2 couldn’t focus on them. He’d often noticed the same effect when he looked at the ties under the rails. You could focus on a railroad tie as it approached you and hold your focus there as you closed the distance and turned your head to watch it recede behind you. But if you looked through the hole in the well of the car at the ties as they flashed by directly under you, you could never focus on them. They became a single constant blur that hypnotized you and took you into deep, deep sleep.
Everyone dreamed, G2 supposed, but some dreams were more real than others. Once in high school he had dreamt of a girl he had a crush on. He woke up suddenly from the dream, completely convinced that he had felt her breath on his cheek. He never dated that girl. Never even acknowledged the crush to himself. But he’d felt that breath and wondered if she had dreamed the same.
G2 dreamed of the eyes of a man. He was familiar. G2 had looked into those eyes when he was a young man and decided to give that homeless bum everything that he had and trade places with him. In the dream, they were friends and sat across a table from each other sharing a glass of wine and telling about their lives together. They had hamburgers and French fries like a couple of college buddies. Then there was a change in the rhythm of the rails—the speed that the train went over the joints. G2 became aware of the blur of the ties beneath the car and the encroaching puddle of water in the well that now ran out the opening.
In college, Professor Anka explained about different modes of consciousness and the Hindu desire to reach Nirvana—a state of oneness with the universe that left the mind free of the body. Gerald had even begun meditation, hoping to achieve that state. It had never quite occurred. But he dreamed.
One day Gerald was walking to class, absorbed in what he was doing. He turned left on Girard, not thinking that school was to the right. When he came to a pylon and a warning sign he came up short, not quite understanding for a moment why his path was blocked. He looked at the police officer standing nearby and asked, “Can’t I get through here?”
“I don’t really think you want to,” the officer said. He pointed across the street and Gerald saw a huge crane swing a wrecking ball into the building on the corner. Bricks and glass came crashing to the street and sidewalk. It was just at the moment the ball struck the building that Gerald suddenly had a flash of everything that had just happened and realized he had dreamed it just two weeks ago. The barrier, the policeman, the specific words that were spoken, the ball striking the building, and the brick that tumbled from high up and rolled across the pavement to the sidewalk in front of him. Only the brick had not landed in the dream; it just kept flying. As Gerald watched, however, a brick was dragged out of the wall by the backswing of the crane and came flying across the street to roll to a rest by the curb. The officer ducked a little, but quickly regained his composure. “Looks like we need to move the line back a little,” he called to a worker across the street.
“Officer,” Gerald said, getting the attention of the man. “May I have that?”
“Want to have a closer look at your death?” the officer joked. “Be quick. We’re going to move the barrier back up the street ten yards.” Gerald grabbed the brick and took it with him the other direction toward school. He somehow thought the brick was proof of his story and he took it in to Professor Anka’s office and set it on the desk. The professor looked at the brick and up at Gerald with a questioning expression. Gerald told the professor about the experience of the morning, about the dream, and how it was finished after he became aware of the experience of déjá vu. The professor nodded and explained how the mind was non-linear in its experience and it was completely possible that Gerald had been in a deep enough sleep that his subconscious was able to see into a particular possible future that happened to become reality. Then he held the brick in his hands.
“Tell me, Gerald. If the brick had not fallen after you realized you were experiencing something that you had dreamed, would it invalidate the rest of the experience? In other words, would you have written everything that happened up to the moment of the brick falling to have been a mere coincidence, but not a prophetic dream? That is what happens with most of our dreams. We see flashes of all kinds of things that might be, because the mind is firing different synapses when we sleep. Anything we dream might be, based on our experiences so far. Even the ridiculous monster attacking us, or standing naked in front of a classroom to teach, or suddenly realizing you have a final exam in a class that you didn’t know you were taking and are totally unprepared for. Any dream is a ‘could be.’ But when all that happens is that you are startled by a strange shape, or teach a class that you are nervous about, or take a final that you are unprepared for, we don’t see a close enough correlation to the dream for it to jar us. But it doesn’t make the coincidence less real. The mind has seen a future, but not quite accurately for the one you experience.”
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at nathan@nathaneverett.com.
