Alligator - Lisa Moore [32]
When Colleen thought of the consequences of her actions she had allowed herself a secret, forbidden, helium-filled self-regard — powerful enough to make her cry. Tears were spilling over her cheeks. If she was given the chance, she would do it again. She thought of Joan of Arc. The black-and-white version, the actress dewy-eyed, bathed in celestial light. The planet, animals, trees — these were the things that needed to be saved.
Mr. John Harvey rose from his seat and came toward their table. They caught a whiff of the velvet-thick, rancid stench with maybe traces of shit that rose from the neck of his zippered coat.
Colleen remembered seeing him last winter in a sleet storm. He’d sat on a park bench across from City Hall, and a tree, completely encased in ice, was snapping over him in the wind.
The whole city had been shutting down because of the storm. Telephone poles had cracked in half. Slanting ropes of sleet cut through the soft, concentric aureoles of pink and white haze around the street lights. Colleen had wanted to bring him home, give him her bed, anything to get him out of the cold.
Mr. John Harvey stopped at their table and offered Colleen a tissue. The fingernails on his outstretched hand were brown and bitten.
It breaks my heart to see a young girl crying, he said. One of the police officers stood. Then the other three stood with him. They were alert and ready.
I’m having déjà vu, Mr. John Harvey said. Sometimes these fluorescent lights affect me. He waved a hand at the ceiling. I have moments of clairvoyance since Vietnam, but they don’t amount to much. What they did to us there. Mr. John Harvey shakes his head.
Beverly also stood, and her purse fell over and her lipstick and a bunch of coins spilled out. Some of them ran on their rims off the table and onto the floor where they rolled to the four corners of the food court. Mr. John Harvey was transfixed by Beverly.
You must be the mother, he said. The policeman shook out one leg of his uniform. Then he sauntered over toward them.
I was just explaining how lost a mother feels, Beverly said to the officer.
Of course you do, said Mr. John Harvey.
I’m all alone these days, Beverly said.
We’re always alone when you boil it down, he said. Officer, shouldn’t this man have a pair of socks? Beverly asked.
They choke my feet, ma’am. The policeman touched Mr. John Harvey on the arm.
You’ve had your coffee, haven’t you, Mr. Harvey?
Yes, I’ve had my coffee, said Mr. John Harvey. He patted his coat. I’ve had my coffee, he said again. He turned and searched the policeman’s face.
You’ve had your coffee, the policeman said.
Officer, something has upset this young lady, Mr. John Harvey said. He put a hand on Colleen’s shoulder as he spoke.
This young lady has an appointment upstairs, said Beverly lightly.
It’s okay, Mom, Colleen said.
There’s a man, Mr. John Harvey whispered to Beverly. He took his hand off Colleen’s shoulder just as if he had been burned.
Okay, Mr. Harvey, calm down there, said the officer. Beverly gathered a handful of coins from the table and she took Mr. John Harvey’s wrist and, turning his hand palm up, poured the money into it.
What sort of man? she asked. He reached into his pocket and took out a salt shaker and put it on the table between them with a little clicking noise.
You see that salt shaker? Mr. John Harvey asked. They all looked at the salt shaker. It was ordinary, with a stainless-steel screw-on perforated lid and a fluted glass bottom. The salt looked very white.
Do you see the salt shaker? Mr. John Harvey asked again. In Vietnam the CIA gave us that much heroin every day just to keep quiet about what we’d seen.
What did you see? asked Beverly.
I’ve seen the beast, Mr. John Harvey said. The cop shifted uncomfortably and he picked up the shaker and sprinkled a little into the palm of his hand and touched it gingerly with his tongue.
Don’t encourage him, the cop said, putting the salt shaker back on the table. He’s had his