The Song of David(34)

“And then I met Moses. Moses had nothing, but Moses knew everything. He painted away his pain. That was how he coped. And he let me hang around. He let me in. He helped me see. Neither of us had anywhere to go. But I had money. My parents were relieved to see me leave. They were tired. Grief-stricken. And they handed me a credit card and washed their hands of me.”

“And you just went to Europe?” Her voice awe-struck.

“We went everywhere. We were barely legal. Kids, really. But he could paint. I could bullshit my way out of almost anything, so he painted his way across the world and I made sure people bought his stuff instead of throwing us in jail for vandalism. He wanted to see all the famous art. The Louvre, the Sistine Chapel, the architecture, the Wall of China. That was his dream. So that’s what we did. And when I couldn’t talk us out of trouble, we fought our way out of trouble. That was my goal, see. I wanted to get in a fist fight with someone from every country. I got my ass kicked by a big Swede. He now works at my gym, and I make it my mission to kick his ass every day.”

Millie’s laughter pealed out like a song, and I examined my words to make sure I’d told the truth at every turn. Satisfied that my account had been spot-on, I relaxed and laughed with her.

“Axel?” She ventured a guess as to the Swede’s identity.

“Axel,” I confirmed. “I met Andy in Ireland and Paulo in Brazil. When I opened the gym I tracked them all down and asked them to come work with me.”

“So you collected people and Moses collected art?”

“Something like that.”

“How long did you travel?”

“We kept traveling until we found ourselves.”

“What does that mean?”

“Moses told me once that you can’t escape yourself. You can run, hide, or die. But wherever you go, there you’ll be. I was pretty empty for a long time. It took a while to figure out what fills me up.”

“I understand that. Darkness is very empty. And I’m always alone in the dark.”

Without thinking, I reached over and took her free hand, the gesture so instinctual that I was holding her hand before I realized what I was doing. I forgot about Elmo, about kite tails and excess string. And she must have too. For a minute we were wrapped up in past places and painful memories. She gripped my hand, but didn’t continue speaking, obviously waiting for me to finish my story.

“We kicked around for more than five years. Just moving from one place to the next. We ended up here a few years ago and it finally felt like it was time to stay put. This was where we started our journey. And this is where it ended.”

“And you found yourself?”

“I’m always looking. But there just isn’t that much to me. I’m kind of a shallow fella.”

She giggled, and I slid my hand from hers, worried that I’d given the wrong impression. She let me go easily, but something flickered across her pretty face, and I wondered if I was being completely honest after all.

Henry came bellowing across the grass, trying to warn me, but it was too late. Millie must have felt the lack of tension in her string because she squeaked and tried to recover, pulling away from me, winding and unwinding, hoping to get lucky and save the situation.

“Mayday!” Henry yelled. Seconds later the kites fell in a tangled pile to the earth.

My inattention to the task at hand caught up with me, and the little red monster above our heads got tangled up in Millie’s tail and attacked from the air, swan diving downward, taking the pink kite down with him. I’d gotten too close, I’d gotten careless, and it cost us both.



(End of Cassette)





Moses




“WE WERE IN Ireland. Dublin,” I said, when Millie made no move to change cassettes. “Tag can sniff out a fight. It’s his secret power.” That and his ability to get laid. I kept the last bit to myself. She wouldn’t appreciate that ability, though I had a feeling Millie knew exactly who Tag was, warts and all. But maybe because she wasn’t distracted by the way other women looked at him, she seemed to be able to really see Tag, and it was interesting to me that she insisted on calling him by his given name instead of the name he used to charm his way through life.

“But this time it was an actual boxing match between two fighters that Tag had heard of and wanted to see fight. Andy Gorman and Tommy Boyle. Tag had actually had a run-in with Andy, believe it or not, when I painted a portrait for Andy’s mother. Andy’s father had passed away the year before, and his mom was pretty desperate to make a connection. Andy thought I was a charlatan—that’s what he called me—and he ran us off. Tag got mouthy in my defense, as usual, and Andy broke his nose. So when Tag told me he wanted to see this match, I wasn’t very excited about the idea.