Sunday, November 17 1963, 8:33 pm
It was a bad idea to skip lunch today. And to miss an hour that I could have used for work. Not that I regret Raymond Chestnut's rescue, quite the contrary, but I got myself into trouble again by doing this. And even if I put all my energy into it, literally, I don't think I'll be able to fix all those TV sets in time.
Lloyd's parents aren't so different from the locals in this part of Dallas: they don't take too kindly to me working in their store, let alone dating their son. The societal upheavals of the last few months - now accelerating with Kennedy's visit - are weighing against me. If they had the slightest opportunity to pressure me out, they'd do it. I'm only still here because Lloyd is standing up to them, and is now administratively the boss.
It's already late, once again, when I hear the store bell tinkle as the door opens, and I find myself hoping that it's Klaus. I've left the police station directly, with the discreet crack of an invisible teleportation. I don't know how his visit to the Katzes' hardware store went, which makes me anxious to say the least. The only thing I'm sure of is that I recognized the engine of the Chrysler as it made a U-turn on the street in front of my window. Just before nightfall, by the time an endless procession of cop cars began to roll down Avon Street.
The bell tinkles a second time as the door closes, and I catch a glimpse of Lloyd coming up to me, between the two towers of cathode ray tube boxes that culminate over my worktop. I smile hazily at him. At least it means he's done for the day with the radio sets, at the other store. He looks as tired as I am.
"I know that face," he tells me. "It's the look of someone who can't stand the sight of a single capacitor anymore".
My eyebrows pinch a little painfully. He's right: basically, it's true that I'm reaching saturation point, even though I literally love machines. But it twists my stomach a little to realize that - no - he doesn't 'know my face' enough to guess that there's more to it than that. It's my fault too: I haven't given him any details about Klaus's reappearance. I sigh.
"I don't think I'll make it by Thursday night, Lloyd," I say earnestly. "Even if I worked night and day without eating."
He looks at all the TV sets on standby, all over the store, then tilts his head and makes eye-contact again.
"This lunchtime, I stopped by here, and you weren't around."
My breath catches for a moment, and my chest briefly empties of air. I look up, and mumble:
"Klaus needed... another hand."
"Again."
It was stupid not to tell him. Last night already, I canceled the two miserable hours we were supposed to spend together and stayed at the Mansion. I hate secrets, I think they consume all kinds of relationships. But I think I didn't tell him in order to protect him, and that I'm actually getting the opposite of what I'd hoped for. I switch off my soldering iron and set it down in front of me, then grab him by the arm and pull him closer. He lets me do so, and even strokes my hair as I wrap my arms around his waist. But something in his posture and the energy flowing through him tells me things aren't going so well.
"We should plan a real evening just for the two of us, don't you think?", I say. "Not just a short visit, when the rest of the world allows it."
He nods, silently, and I add:
"I can pick up some tamales for tomorrow night, at 'La Cocina del Valle'".
Lloyd sighs but smiles as his fingers keep playing with my hair. He knows that the ones we ate all together on the beach in Baja are close to my idea of heaven.
"Okay," he says.
And for a moment, a quieter feeling fills the small store crammed with boxes. He inhales deeply, then tells me:
"Tonight, I was close to never being allowed to come here".
I immediately make the connection with the massive police car convoy. I've been so busy working and worrying that I've overlooked it, but now a doubt seizes me.
"Did something happen on Avon Street?"
As I stare at him there above me, Lloyd lets go of me and leans against the desk, crossing his arms.
"A group protest action got out of hand. At Stadler's."
I flinch, because I immediately understand what it's all about. I wouldn't have called it that myself, but it doesn't matter. This morning, Allison mentioned a 'sitting', scheduled for this afternoon, and my throat knots a little.
"Has anyone been hurt? Any arrests?"
Frozen, I think I'm shaking a little. I fear for Allison. And also for the fact that Klaus might have had the idea of going there or even interfering.
"I don't know," Lloyd replies with a shrug. "The whole neighborhood was cordoned off for several hours. When they reopened twenty minutes ago, Jerry Stadler was quietly sweeping outside his door."
I suspect painfully that Allison's civil rights group hasn't been in a forceful position, and that Stadler will do everything he can to open on time tomorrow as usual. Not to let on that he was impressed or harmed by the event. Suddenly, I'm afraid Raymond Chestnut has already been put back in jail. This morning's euphoria seems far, far away. But just as I'm about to ask another question, the phone starts ringing, somewhere among the TV sets.
"Where's that thing?", Lloyd rants as he searches.
It's not hard for me to spot the set, in the energy running up its wire to the bakelite handset. I show him the location with my finger and he picks up:
"Metroplex Radio & Electronics, may I help you?"
I hear a blank on the other end of the line, then vaguely catch the muffled snatches of a female voice. "We don't return TV sets outside opening hours," he says a little robotically, but the voice goes on. There's a fleeting silence, during which I can see him frowning. Then he finally asks:
"Wait, who exactly do you want to talk to?"
There's a crackling sound, possibly because of me, a very short word inside the handset, which I can't hear but can guess from the analog signals. Then Lloyd looks up, turns to me, and with a hint of discomfort over his Merelec shirt, he asks me:
"Do you know someone called Allison?"
9:32 pm
On Avon and Glen Oaks Streets, South Dallas had been described to me as a no-go zone, which I had pictured as the slums of The City, where I used to hang out a bit too much at seventeen. But tonight, as the cab I've taken drives through the night, reality seems quite different. Beneath rows of ancient trees, small red bricks houses are lined up along tidy lawns, expressing a silent wish to live in peace. Here, African-American families of '63 are preparing to go to sleep, even if rumors of the day's events at Stadler's have spread, and today's riot is on everyone's mind.
As the cab winds up the street lit by a few lamps, passing by windows hinting at interiors wallpapered in orange or golden-brown floral patterns, I think of Lloyd. It makes my stomach churn to have left the store on Allison's call. And especially since he let me do it without a word. But tonight, I don't think I can live without knowing what happened to Klaus. Not knowing how his visit to David at the store went. Tomorrow, I'll do my best to apologize, with all the heart and energy I have left, and with tamales. I promise it to myself, as the car slows down and stops in front of a small house with pretty curtains on the windows. Then, after paying the three dollars I owe, I wave goodbye to the driver, who leaves me there, alone in the night.
I walk across the sidewalk, and I climb the three steps lined with a white banister, opening onto a small veranda that houses the front door. There's no doorbell, so I knock three times. I can't help thinking that Allison has a good life here. And indeed, if she has earned this life without Rumors, then she must treasure it.
She's already dressed in a pale pink quilted nightgown when she opens the door, and her look is worried, contrasting - to say the least - with the cat-like eyes I've seen sparkling this morning. She shows evidence of exhaustion, disappointment and worry. And I've already understood - on the phone - that she has enough to deal with tonight in her own life, to have to carry her brother at arm's length.
"Hey," I tell her, and she simply opens the door wide for me, with a gesture that shows she's been expecting me.
"You can borrow slippers," she says, and I realize that the smell of her hallway is that of mothballs, cedar wood and floor wax, just as it was at my grandmother's when I was a kid.
"I found your number in Klaus's pocket," she tells me. "I hope I didn't bother you."
I sigh. I deliberately left my number for Klaus next to the lemonade bottle this morning, to organize Raymond's rescue and so that he'd give me some news tonight. Somehow, I could have predicted that I would be called.
"No problem," I say, even though it's basically wrong. "Your house is pretty."
It's the truth. I can feel how much Allison and Raymond have poured into this place, where the shades radiate a cozy, happy light. They've settled here forever. But I can tell something is wrong from the way Allison tucks her phonebook and notepad under her arm, ready to take off up the stairs. She was only waiting for my arrival to get rid of Klaus. She clearly has a thousand phone calls to make.
"Raymond's not here?", I ask her as I put on the slippers, and her eyebrows pinch with a pain that makes my gut clench. She shakes her head and I mutter:
"He hasn't been taken back to jail, has he..."
"No. No, I don't think so. I don't know... I'm trying to figure out where he is..."
I can feel my questions make her anxious, though I can't quite understand why.
"The sitting ended in such chaos that... I... we got separated at some point..."
I don't know if she's lying or not. I can tell there's more to it by the shiver that runs up her spine, but I feel I mustn't insist. I see her take another step towards the staircase to go upstairs, but first, she quickly indicates:
"The coffee pot is full in the kitchen over there, the toilets are just here, and Klaus is on the sofa."
Drink coffee, pee, deal with Klaus. Strictly vital stuff. I almost laugh, but I nod.
"Has he been drinking? Did he take anything?"
I ask this so I know what I'll have to deal with, and she shakes her head.
"No. He's just knackered and confused."
I blink.
"Okay. Don't worry about him. Just take care of yourself, make your phone calls, don't stress about what's going on here downstairs."
She smiles weakly at me, and while starting to climb the stairs, she finally utters:
"Thank you".
As she disappears, I step onto the wooden floor in my fur-lined slippers, passing into the comfortable living room that also houses the dining room. On the sofas, hand-knitted wool blankets match the color of the curtains. And there, slumped on a big round cushion, Klaus dozes in the orange-and-blue-striped shirt I saw on him this morning. I walk over to him. I know he's not asleep and that he's heard me coming.
"Hey, it's the breakdown service," I say, trying to joke. "I'd rather warn you right now that at night rates, there will be an overcharge."
He groans.
"You're not even in your uniform anymore. And I've always preferred plumbers."
He turns around, opens exhausted eyes, then pushes on his arm as best he can, to force himself to sit up. He doesn't look as broken as I might have feared. I assume that nothing has gone intrinsically 'wrong'.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Rin," he tells me, running a hand over his eyes, as if trying to come back to himself. He's often like that when he's tried hard to think, in vain.
"If you tell me how it went, I can brainstorm with you," I tell him. "But I need Allison's coffee, so drag your ass to the kitchen, will you?"
He groans again, but gets up, and shuffles along behind me through the dining room to the dimly lit kitchen. I quickly spot the coffee pot promised as compensation for the inconvenience. Klaus drops down at the table, which is covered with an oilcloth tablecloth, and on top of which is an already opened chocolate box.
"So how did it go with David?", I ask as I pour myself a full mug, not intending to beat around the bush. And he sighs.
"He was there. Ryan too."
"Brian."
I turn back to him holding my mug.
"He was there, okay. And?"
Klaus shifts a little in his chair.
"... He was wearing an apron."
I had expected a lot of things, from outpourings of tears to euphoric joy. But this, really, I hadn't anticipated at all. I suspect he hasn't discussed anything with Allison, and I can understand why he wanted to talk to me: I know David. And the truth is, I don't think Allison is aware of what happened in Vietnam. I don't even think she knows about his 2019 time jump.
"That's all? What the fuck, Klaus, did you just walk in and go around the hardware store and leave, or what?"
He rocks back and forth a little, somewhat taken aback.
"I bought some paint..."
My eyebrows rise high on my forehead.
"Paint?"
"'Mamie pink'. He didn't have 'eggshell'."
My brows pinch, as if I'm about to cry. With laughter.
"No shit..."
At the kitchen door, I catch a glimpse of Ben leaning against the jamb, and I almost jump. I'm used to it, but in semi-darkness, it's always a bit creepy. Out of habit, I materialize his larynx, and he seizes the opportunity, as if it were perfectly normal.
"It was really awkward."
"I know...", Klaus squeaks, rubbing his palms over his face, "for me too, oh boy... Ben, you've already lectured me."
"The kid was confused, he didn't understand why a weirdo in sandals was half crying in front of his cash register. All you're going to do is mess him up".
"Ben, shut up," Klaus implores, clenching his fists over his head as if it might chase him away.
But if I've got one thing right, it's that Klaus has no influence on Ben coming and going. And Ben gestures at me.
"Someone has to tell Rin what ~really~ happened."
I glance at Ben, his face as clear to me in spectral energy as if it had been made of flesh. He clearly disapproves of what Klaus has done, in his usual judgmental, sharp way. But I think he's also worried about how all this might end. I take a sip of coffee and say:
"Ben, David generally takes situations with humor. And he doesn't judge people. If anything, it intrigued him, but I don't think he's been that confused. If Klaus stopped at that.
"I did," Klaus huffs without moving, and Ben shrugs, annoyed.
"I told you I don't care, if you can handle it."
"You don't care, but you keep commenting..."
Ben rants, waves a powerless hand, as if surrendering and disengaging himself from any possible consequences. One last disaproving look, and he leaves, heading back to the living room to finally dissipate. And I look back to Klaus.
"Are you going to try again?"
A brief silence passes.
"Today doesn't count. I really need to get through to him. But at the hardware store... in a work situation... it's complicated. I might end up buying termite repellent this time, or a whole toilet bowl."
For a moment, I stare at him as I sip, calculating what day it is.
"It's Sunday," I muse aloud. "Tomorrow's Monday: he and Brian always have lunch at Stadler's. Lately it's more like a brunch at eleven."
He looks up with a new form of hope.
"I can try... Yes, it's probably a good idea... I don't need much time, just to explain to him that he'll be sent to Vietnam if he enlists."
"You and I both know it won't be that pithy..."
I smile vaguely, but the corners of my mouth quickly turn down.
"The thing is, Brian will be there. And in private, he's nowhere near as polite and restrained as when he wants to sell floor wax."
Out of his salesman posture, I even know he can be obnoxious, but Klaus dismisses that problem right away, with a wave of his 'Goodbye' hand.
"I'm not worried," he says. "I'm sure I can soften him up or negotiate."
And I shut that door right away:
"You don't negotiate with guys like that."
Klaus gives a long breath. He remains silent for a while, during which we both hear the ticking of the wall clock. Then - out of nowhere, as often - he asks me, his gaze wandering over the oilcloth:
"Allison told me you were with someone by the time she called."
I look down into my coffee, saying nothing, so he asks me, rather low:
"I'm a burden again. Why did you come?"
To hear him say that pains me in a way he might not understand. I shake my head, searching for words for a moment.
"Why I came..."
I run my hand over my cheek. Then, as I finally come to sit at the table next to him, I answer his question by asking another one:
"Do you know the fable of the Scorpion and the Frog, Klaus?"
He looks at me with blank eyes. But his brain has always been very receptive to comparisons and metaphors.
"You know," I tell him, "the Scorpion asks the frog to carry him across a river, but the Frog afraid of being stung. He promises he'll be able to control himself, so he agrees, but in the middle of the river... the scorpion's nature takes over. He can't help it: he stings the frog even though he knows they're going to sink."
Reason would have dictated that I put Lloyd first tonight, but something was stronger. Like a toxic but deep nature that always makes me prioritize Klaus over anything else. Even if I promise myself I won't do it again, like the Scorpion, and sometimes at the risk of drowning myself, too. I take a deep breath. Then, with a long exhale, I finally tell him:
"So why did I come? See... I couldn't help myself."
Perhaps a part of me knows that this era is just another mirage, of a reality destined to be rewritten over and over again. With a kind of ingrained awareness that Klaus - of all people - will remain through the turmoil of space-time, when all the rest is gone into oblivion. I breath, then add quietly:
"I guess we all have irrepressible, destructive behaviors like that."
His thick eyebrows pinch above his mossy eyes, but he finally sputs his hand on my arm.
"It's like me when... I always end up back on booze and dope. So if I'm like that for you, I'm so flattered."
I smile weakly at him, but shake my head.
"Klaus, it's been years since you took anything, and I don't think it's your 'deep nature', you know that".
From his silence, I can sense the fragility of his will at that moment. But he dismisses this possibility for now and says:
"So it's like Allison, when she'd like to stop using Rumors... but always ends up rewriting reality at the risk of screwing things up."
I nod sadly, in this quiet little kitchen where neither of us ever imagined we'd find ourselves. As the caffeine finally starts to kick in and give me the strength to go home, I rest my hand on the one he's put on my arm.
"Whatever Ben thinks, I admire what you're doing for David.
But I add, in all sincerity:
"However, unlike me... I hope you'll be able to take care of yourself".
Notes:
Like 'The Scorpion and the Frog', this chapter tells us about those toxic behaviors we all have, something Rin is painfully realizing. Just like Allison, Klaus, or even Ben.
I think Klaus understands the fable and its meaning. But will he be able to retell it to Allison, if he tries? If you watch the scene taking place the next day (episode 4 at 09:30), let me know what you think... :3
Any comment will make my day