Read Online The Wooden Sea by Jonathan Carroll - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Carroll
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a house, Frannie. You want some of my club soda?"
I limped through the crowd of workers to the house. The air smelled of freshly cut wood, burnt metal, and gasoline. It smelled of hammered nails and power tools just turned off, sweat in a flannel shirt, coffee spilled on stone. It smelled of many men working at hard physical jobs. I took hold of one of the long steel bars in the scaffolding and shook it till things rattled.
"What's this, Johnny? Do you see this?"
"I told you, it's a house."
"You don't see the scaffolding?"
Page 40
"What's that?"
"Metal bars wrapped around the house. Like what they put on when they're fixing it, doing construction?"
"Nope. No cat folding. Just a house." He said those three words as if he were singing--da dee da--and gave one of his rare Johnny smiles.
I pointed to the boy on the ground. "Can you see him?"
"Who?"
"Johnny can't see me, I told you. No one can see any of this but you."
"Why?"
The boy flickered--was there, gone, there again like interference on a TV.
Then he began to fade. The construction workers too, as well as the metal spiderweb around the house. All of it began fading, growing dimmer, changing from solid to transparent to gone.
"Why only me?"
"Find the dog, Frannie. Find it and we can talk again."
I tried to step toward the kid but used the bad foot. The pain that flew up my leg almost buckled me. "Which dog? The one we buried? Old Verture?"
"Who you talking to, Frannie?" Johnny had his mouth over the bottle hole. He blew into it and made the low, sad toot of a boat leaving the harbor.
Everything had disappeared. The Schiavo house was no longer encased in a metal web. There was no sign of a construction site, workers, anything out of the ordinary. No bent nails on the ground, wood shavings, tools, electrical cords, discarded Coca-Cola cans. Just an empty house on a well-kept lot on a quiet street at three in the A.M.
Petangles blew into his bottle again. "How come you're out here tonight, Frannie? I never see you when I'm out walking." He tooted once more.
"Gimme that stupid bottle!" Snatching it out of his hand, I threw it as hard as I could. But even that disappeared, because wherever it hit, it didn't make a sound. I started walking home. He followed.
"Johnny, go home. Go to bed. Don't follow me. Don't come with me. I love you, but don't bug me tonight. Okay? _Not tonight."_
Bill Pegg turned into the school parking lot while I looked out the car window. When we stopped I reached down and flicked off both the siren and flashing light. After the motor died, we sat there a moment gathering strength for what came next.
Page 41
"Who's the kid?"
"Fifteen-year-old girl named Antonya Corando--new student this year.
Eleventh grade."
"Fifteen in eleventh grade? She must be smart."
"I puess not so smart."
Bill shook his head and reached for his clipboard. I got out of the car and checked my pockets to see if I had everything I needed:
notebook, pen, depression. Ten minutes after I entered the office that morning, we got the call from the principal at Crane's View high school saying they'd found a body in the women's toilet.
She was sitting on the can and was discovered because the syringe she'd used was on the floor in front of the stall. Some girl saw it, looked under the door, and ran for help.
We walked into the high school and, as always happened when I went there, I shuddered. This had been the worst place in the world for six years of my life. Now a lifetime later--way past the Himalayas of youth and down onto the plains of middle age--I still got the creeps whenever I entered the building.
The principal, Redmond Mills, was waiting for us in the entranceway. I liked Redmond and wished there had been a principal like him when I was a student at the school. The high point in his life had been attending the Woodstock Festival. He wore his sixties sensibilities like too much patchouli, but better that than the old fascists
I limped through the crowd of workers to the house. The air smelled of freshly cut wood, burnt metal, and gasoline. It smelled of hammered nails and power tools just turned off, sweat in a flannel shirt, coffee spilled on stone. It smelled of many men working at hard physical jobs. I took hold of one of the long steel bars in the scaffolding and shook it till things rattled.
"What's this, Johnny? Do you see this?"
"I told you, it's a house."
"You don't see the scaffolding?"
Page 40
"What's that?"
"Metal bars wrapped around the house. Like what they put on when they're fixing it, doing construction?"
"Nope. No cat folding. Just a house." He said those three words as if he were singing--da dee da--and gave one of his rare Johnny smiles.
I pointed to the boy on the ground. "Can you see him?"
"Who?"
"Johnny can't see me, I told you. No one can see any of this but you."
"Why?"
The boy flickered--was there, gone, there again like interference on a TV.
Then he began to fade. The construction workers too, as well as the metal spiderweb around the house. All of it began fading, growing dimmer, changing from solid to transparent to gone.
"Why only me?"
"Find the dog, Frannie. Find it and we can talk again."
I tried to step toward the kid but used the bad foot. The pain that flew up my leg almost buckled me. "Which dog? The one we buried? Old Verture?"
"Who you talking to, Frannie?" Johnny had his mouth over the bottle hole. He blew into it and made the low, sad toot of a boat leaving the harbor.
Everything had disappeared. The Schiavo house was no longer encased in a metal web. There was no sign of a construction site, workers, anything out of the ordinary. No bent nails on the ground, wood shavings, tools, electrical cords, discarded Coca-Cola cans. Just an empty house on a well-kept lot on a quiet street at three in the A.M.
Petangles blew into his bottle again. "How come you're out here tonight, Frannie? I never see you when I'm out walking." He tooted once more.
"Gimme that stupid bottle!" Snatching it out of his hand, I threw it as hard as I could. But even that disappeared, because wherever it hit, it didn't make a sound. I started walking home. He followed.
"Johnny, go home. Go to bed. Don't follow me. Don't come with me. I love you, but don't bug me tonight. Okay? _Not tonight."_
Bill Pegg turned into the school parking lot while I looked out the car window. When we stopped I reached down and flicked off both the siren and flashing light. After the motor died, we sat there a moment gathering strength for what came next.
Page 41
"Who's the kid?"
"Fifteen-year-old girl named Antonya Corando--new student this year.
Eleventh grade."
"Fifteen in eleventh grade? She must be smart."
"I puess not so smart."
Bill shook his head and reached for his clipboard. I got out of the car and checked my pockets to see if I had everything I needed:
notebook, pen, depression. Ten minutes after I entered the office that morning, we got the call from the principal at Crane's View high school saying they'd found a body in the women's toilet.
She was sitting on the can and was discovered because the syringe she'd used was on the floor in front of the stall. Some girl saw it, looked under the door, and ran for help.
We walked into the high school and, as always happened when I went there, I shuddered. This had been the worst place in the world for six years of my life. Now a lifetime later--way past the Himalayas of youth and down onto the plains of middle age--I still got the creeps whenever I entered the building.
The principal, Redmond Mills, was waiting for us in the entranceway. I liked Redmond and wished there had been a principal like him when I was a student at the school. The high point in his life had been attending the Woodstock Festival. He wore his sixties sensibilities like too much patchouli, but better that than the old fascists
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