Wrapped in Rain(49)

Air fresheners covered their room. Plug-ins filled every outlet, fresheners hung from every fan blade, and hot oil fresheners framed every lightbulb heating up when the light was turned on. On the floor behind the television sat a surge protector with the television plugged in one outlet and five air fresheners filling the others. Depending on the wind, theirs was both the best-and worst-smelling room in the whole place.

I pulled two cigars from the top drawer, ran one beneath his nose, cut the tip, and lit it. I held the flame a long time, turning the cigar several times, lighting it evenly. Then I took long, deep breaths, letting the sides of my cheeks suck in and almost touch each other. Meanwhile, the judge licked the sides of his mouth, tossed his head back and forth, and almost came unglued. "Come on, boy, don't hog it. For God's sakes, have mercy."

I blew a mouthful of smoke into the judge's face and placed the tip of the cigar between his salivating lips, where he immediately vised it between his front teeth and sucked in a chestful. He drew on it so hard that the insides of his cheeks actually touched. For two minutes, the judge puffed and sucked. Finally, his eyes turned red and he nodded and exhaled in a satisfied whisper, "Thank you." The judge, floating amidst the rush of nicotine, closed his eyes and whispered, "Ahhh, that's almost as good as sex."



I laid the cigar down on the table, opened the window, and pointed the fan out to draw the smoke with it. "How about turning the fan on?" I said, nodding at the Judge. He sucked twice on the diaphragm, blew three times, and sucked once more. His little machine beeped and the fan responded by turning itself on low. Between his mouth and the fifteen-thousand-dollar, diaphragm-controlled computer mounted above his bed, the judge could control every electrical or thermostatic device in the room. Even the fire alarm and telephone.

I propped my legs up on the judge's bed and asked, "How's he doing?" Before the Judge could answer, I lifted the cigar and held it next to his lips.

"Tuck," said the judge while taking another draw, "it ain't good. He can't hold his bowels, his bladder, or his tongue. Every few days he shouts the worst vulgarities at the top of his lungs. Much worse than me. Sick stuff. And then that's all he says. And it's not directed at anybody. It's like he's talking to people who aren't even there. Maybe they were at one time, but I sure can't see them. I'm not sure there's a whole lot going on up there." I looked at Rex, who sat leaning against the window with dribble falling off his quivering bottom lip. The judge drew another chestful and smiled. "I think he's about half a bubble off plumb."



We sat in silence for about ten minutes while the Judge devoured his cigar. At one point an orderly walked by and stuck her head in the door. The judge saw her and said, "What? You think it's gonna kill me?"

"I don't care what it does as long as you make that phone call and take care of my speeding ticket."

"Delores, sweetheart," said the Judge through a plume of white smoke, "it's already taken care of. Along with your expired tag. Now, stop pestering me and leave me to the one pleasure I have left in this world."

She smiled, blew him a kiss, and kept walking.

"She loves me," he said, still eyeing the door. "Always checking on me and ... if I wasn't stuck in this bed, I might make an honest woman of her."

`Judge, I got to get going. I'm headed to Jacksonville."

The judge's eyes changed and his game face replaced the jovial joker. "You got work there, son?"

"No, my brother's gone missing. I've got to try and find him."

"Mutt okay?" The judge stretched his lips toward the diaphragm. "You need me to make some calls?"

"I don't know yet. I'll let you know. Maybe."

"Well, don't wait another six weeks. This'll last me about three days, and then I'll start breaking out in a sweat and shaking all over again."

"What about Delores?"

"Nah." The judge threw his glance out the window. "I don't think she loves me that much. She just uses me to compensate for her heavy foot."

I held the cigar to his mouth while the judge breathed. "See you, judge." I walked to the door, turned around, and looked at Rex, who sat staring out the window. He didn't even blink.





Chapter 18


MUTT QUIT HIGH SCHOOL IN HIS JUNIOR YEAR. BORED, detached. I'm not quite sure what prevented him from engaging the world, but he didn't, and I knew by the look on his face that there was a whole lot more going on inside his mind than was coming out his mouth. No matter what I did, I couldn't get it out of him. I tried everything. I got him exhausted, rested, occupied, and drunk, but short of physically beating the sense out of himwhich I never did-I wasn't able to get through to him. Mutt just checked out. He devoted all his time to working at Waverly and building anything imaginable. He converted an unused stall in the barn into his shop and spent most of daylight and half the dark in there creating, tearing down, and rebuilding. If his mind could conceive it, his hands could build it. And although wood was his medium of choice, it didn't matter. If he could find a tool to cut, bend, soften, polish, or manipulate a medium, he'd use it.

When Miss Ella turned sixty, he took her out in the woods down by the quarry. I followed out of curiosity. The sun was going down and just breaking through the pines. He held her by the hand and led her onto a path of fresh pine needles he had spread just for her. Under a cathedral of forty-year-old pines, he said, "Miss Ella, you told me, `No cross, no crown."'