Roadside Bodhisattva (2 page)

“Okay, I bow to your superior experience. Secrecy rules.”

“Damn straight.”

Sid constructed a smaller circle of stones inside the bigger one. Then he got the fire going with absolute efficiency. I got a kick out of watching him layer the tinder and twigs and branches. It was like watching a DJ scratching or someone drawing a beautiful chalk picture on the sidewalk. No wasted moves, artistic. He lit the pyramid of wood with a disposable lighter, then sat back on his heels.

“I got a can of beans and a can of Chef Boyardee in my pack. I intend to mix ’em all together, heat ’em up and dish ’em out. Any objections?”

My mouth was already watering. “No sir!”

Sid rousted the cans out of his pack, along with two plastic margarine tubs with lids and some plastic spoons. The cans came open raggedly under an attachment of his pocket knife. He fetched out a battered aluminum pan and filled it with beans and spaghetti.

“Go fill these empties halfway each with creek water.”

I did as I was told. The last drips of light were being squeezed out of the sky, and I had to really watch my footing coming back across the rough ground.

Sid sloshed the water around to get all the residue out of each can, then poured the water into the pan. He rested the pan on the inner ring of rocks, and before too long the makeshift stew was bubbling away.

My gut rumbled, and I could practically taste the food.

Sid tucked the cans away in his knapsack. “Pack it in, pack it out. Another good rule to live by.”

I felt easy enough to make a joke. “You related to Smokey the Bear?

Sid glowered at me, and I thought I had overstepped some kind of boundary of politeness. But then I read his scowl as a put-on, and his next words confirmed it.

“Smokey? I
fathered
that hairy bastard!”

We both had a good laugh. His was loud and deep down in his chest. Pretty soon the stew was ready. Sid used his shirt tails for a potholder, and poured some for each of us.

I had never tasted anything so good.

“When’d you eat last, Kid A?”

“Lunch. But that was about a hundred hours ago.”

“Been walking all day?”

“Naw, just since early afternoon.”

“Long enough. Sorry there’s no cheesecake or pumpkin pie for dessert. But this should hold us till the morning. We’ll take it from there. Something’ll turn up. You got any money?”

I stiffened right up. “Um, a few bucks …”

The dancing firelight made Sid’s face waver. But there was no mistaking his expression of sad disgust. And this time he wasn’t faking any emotions.

“Kid, if I had wanted to rob you, I would have coldcocked you the first time you turned your back on me, and you never would’ve even seen it coming. Let me tell you my rule for dealing with people. It’s really simple, and I’ve never known it to let me down. I start out friendly, and see how the other guy responds. After that, based on what he does, I follow tit for tat. So I give you supper and expect at least some plain old respect back. But things can go down from here any way you want. If you don’t trust me, you can take off and find some other place to hole up in for the night. Or I’ll do the same. Your call.”

I swallowed whatever was in my throat, while I tried to figure out what to say. I realized I had been acting just like the geezer in the suv, frightened for no real reason. Worried about someone who looked a little weird. At last I got out an apology.

“I’m sorry, Sid. It’s just that I’m new at this kind of life. You wouldn’t want me to act like some kind of sucker about things, would you?”

“Not a sucker, no. But not fearful and cynical and always expecting the worst. That’s a sure recipe for getting exactly what you least want.”

“Okay. Now I know.”

Sid stuck out his hand. “No hard feelings, then? Shake.”

We did. Sid said, “Give me your bowl and spoon. I’m gonna go wash ’em out.”

At the edge of the firelight he stopped. He turned back to me and, with a big grin, said, “If you want to rummage through my pack for severed ears or the loot from an armored-car robbery, feel free. Just put everything back where you found it.”

Sid tossed the last of the wood onto the flames. Sparks showered upward. “When this dies down to coals, I’m hitting the sack, Kid A.”

“Me too, I guess. Hey, wanna hear some music?”

I dug out my iPod. Sid looked leery.

“Whatta you got? Got any Mingus? Parker?”

“Uh, no, I’m not sure …”

“Led Zep?”

“Sorry, I don’t listen to the classics. Here, try this.”

I dialed up some Rage Against the Machine, then handed it off to Sid. He inserted the earbuds clumsily, then tried to start the track. I showed him how.

The expression on his face made him look like he had just bit down on a pus burrito. He hung in for about thirty more seconds, then jerked the buds out.

“Man, that is some truly wretched noise! These guys some amateurs from your neighborhood?”

I took back the iPod. Sid’s words were hurtful, and I could’ve been hurtful right back, using his stupid tit-for-tat strategy. But instead I bit my tongue and tried to wise him up him instead.

“Of course not! These dudes earn millions. Or did, before they broke up.”

“They broke up? Thank God!”

“So what, they’ve still got tons of fans. They were the best at what they did.”

“Maybe so. But should they ever have been doing it in the first place?”

I put the Discman away. I wasn’t going to argue music with some guy who had stopped listening to new stuff ‘way back around, I don’t know, nineteen-eighty-nine.

“Maybe I’ll read a little,” I said.

Sid perked up. “You got some books?”

“Just the two best books ever written.”

“Oh, yeah? Haul ’em out.”

I laid my hands on the paperback first. I pulled it out and handed it over.

Sid chuckled like water running over gravel. “I should have guessed. Good ol’ Jack. This is potent stuff. Inhale it in small doses, and always check whatever Jack says against your own experiences, instead of just taking him at his word. How’d you come across this?”

Sid passed the book back to me, and I studied its familiar cover in the flickering golden light for a second.
The Dharma Bums,
a pair of ghostly uninhabited jeans and boots standing tall against a mountain range.

“My parents are—My parents were bigtime Buddhists. They had a lot of religious books around the house. Most of ’em were pretty dull and dumb. But this one wasn’t.”

“No, not dull, that’s for sure. What’s the other one you got?”

The tiny hardcover came to hand, and I gave it to Sid.

He roared so loud I jumped. He didn’t stop laughing until he had wiped away all his tears and snot.

“Oh, Jesus, what a hoot! I haven’t seen anyone reading this in thirty years. Lordy, lordy, some things never change. Did your folks have this on their shelf too?”

I snatched the book back “No, I discovered this one myself. Anyway, what’s so damn funny about
The Prophet
? It’s at least as good as the Kerouac, maybe better.”

“Kid A, these two books aren’t even part of the same universe. Your Kerouac is a shot of super-antibiotic to cure you of mental clap. But the other one is like a stolen blank prescription pad. You can write yourself all the prescriptions you want from it, but there’s no authority behind ’em, and you’ll never get ’em filled.”

Now I was starting to get really angry. “You’re full of crap. A person could live their whole life really well just by following the advice in this little book.”

“Jesus, I pray you don’t really believe that. Because you’ll end up hip-deep in shit if you try such a nutty program. Listen, Kid A, you can’t run your life out of
any
book, even one of ol’ Jack’s. All that the best books can do is clarify your vision and inspire you. And the lousy ones just confuse you or fill your head with bullshit. But the minute you try to adopt any book as your Bible, you’re doomed. Haven’t you already seen that happen a hundred times around you? I’ll bet your folks—”

“Shut up now. I don’t want to talk about my folks.”

Sid got quiet and sympathetic. “Okay, I can understand that. Well, I’m sorry I pissed you off. Maybe I was a little too harsh. It’s just that I hate to see anyone your age go down a dead-end.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my choice.”

“That it is, Kid A. That it is. So, ready for some sleep? I only got the one blanket here, but you’re welcome to borrow my coat.”

“No thanks. I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself.”

Sid took off his boots. He made a pillow out of the jacket I had refused, and laid it atop his boots. He wrapped himself in his blanket and was snoring in about sixty seconds flat.

I sat up hugging my knees until the snap-crackle-pop of the fire died away, and even the embers began to wink out. Strange sounds came out of the darkness. I knew I wasn’t going to get any sleep. It got pretty chilly after a while, and I realized the nylon windbreaker in my pack wasn’t going to be much good against the cold. But I was still glad I had turned down the offer of Sid’s fucking coat.

“Long were the days of pain, and long the nights of aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and aloneness without regret?”

Oh, man, how true, how true! How could that idiot Sid say Gibran wasn’t like totally smokin’?

Sid’s raspy voice was my alarm clock.

“Up and at ’em, Kid A. Day’s wasting.”

I opened my eyes. Golden sunshine slanted through the canopy of leaves like spotlights onto a stage. I was curled up on the ground, hugging my pack. My windbreaker was slick with dew, and my damp jeans clung to my legs. I straightened myself out, and immediately felt all the aches and pains I expected, plus some others. There must’ve been an invisible rock under my ribs all night, because I had a stitch low down on my side.

“Damn, Sid, how can you stand there smiling? Aren’t you sore?”

“Not one damn bit. Sleeping on the bare ground’s good for your back. People get soft when they sleep on a mattress every night. Not that I ever turn my nose up at the chance to sack out in a real bed. But that’s only because I know the next night I’ll probably be out in the woods or on a park bench or gravel or steam grate again.”

Once I stood up and stretched, I felt a lot better. The air sure smelled fresh, and the world looked rich and friendly. Maybe just because there weren’t any other people around.

My stomach growled. “Any chance of breakfast?”

“Not out of my pack. You?”

“I licked the print off my last candy wrapper yesterday.”

“Fair enough. Just means we’ll get our exercise before we eat.”

“Do you know where we are?”

“Roughly. State and county. But if you mean, can I tell you what’s up around the next bend, no.”

“Me neither.”

“Then I guess we gotta make like the ol’ bear that went over the mountain.”

“Huh?”

“Christ, what do they teach you kids nowadays? Don’t you have any sense of tradition, Kid A? Ever study any history?”

“A little. But this is a new millennium now. Everything’s different.”

“And where the hell do you think your fresh new millennium came from? Straight out of the old one, and all the ones behind that! Go take a leak and a dump, if you have to, and let’s get moving.”

I did what Sid said, and as soon as I returned to the camp we headed straight for the road.

I looked back over my shoulder at the big towering tree. Somehow it looked different than it had just last evening at sunset, when I first came upon it. I felt a little sad at leaving it behind. Moving in a soft breeze, its leaves seemed to be waving goodbye.

Neither of us said anything for the first few miles. The leather straps of Sid’s knapsack creaked like squeaky shoes. I used the time to think about why I was following along with Sid.

Sure, he had been nice enough to share his supper with me last night. But I wasn’t like some lost puppy who automatically fastened onto the first person who fed him. But Sid did seem to know a lot about bumming around, and I figured that if this was gonna be my new lifestyle for however long, then I should try to pick up some tips from an expert. Plus he was an interesting guy, even considering his age. I got the sense that he had a lot of good stories to tell. He liked Kerouac, even if he was a jerk about Gibran, so that counted for something. He seemed like an honest guy who would play it straight with someone if he got the same treatment back. And trucking along solo was a lonely business. Even just five days on the road had proved that to me. Like Sid had said last night, “Company is good.”

I remembered how Ray Smith had met Japhy Ryder, and how they had become tight, getting their kicks together. Maybe that could be me and Sid.

And of course, I could still cut out any time I wanted.

After a while, Sid began to talk in an easygoing way. He rambled on with no particular plan to his speech that I could see, and I just listened. Every once in a while I’d contribute a sentence or two, but mostly it was him who did all the talking.