Read Roadside Bodhisattva Online

Authors: Paul Di Filippo

Roadside Bodhisattva (3 page)

BOOK: Roadside Bodhisattva
4.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

He talked mainly about recent events in his life. I learned that he had traveled about a thousand miles in the past week, through a combination of hitching rides and walking and hopping freight trains. Hitching wasn’t as easy as it once was, Sid claimed. “People are too suspicious nowadays. Can’t say I entirely blame ’em. These are mean times, here at home and around the globe.”

I figured I had made about three hundred miles myself in the past five days. I thought that was pretty decent, and said so. He agreed that it wasn’t too bad for an amateur.

I heard how he had lived in some kinda place called an “SRO” for a while earlier this year in New York City, down on the Bowery, and worked delivering Chinese food on a bicycle. According to Sid, every other customer was either a naked woman hot for sex, or a drug lord who wanted to tip him with a bag of primo dope. These stories I didn’t put much stock in. He told me about how he had first hit the road when he wasn’t much older than me. His parents had been rich and important people, but he just couldn’t get behind their lifestyles. Too fake and pointless and grim. Sid had been enrolled in some fancy prep school, “with a lot of other wealthy white boys,” and one night on an impulse he had just taken off. Ditched it all and never looked back, with just the allowance in his pocket and less clothes than I was carrying. Apparently even rich kids didn’t have credit cards or cell phones back then. Not that I had ever had either one of those things myself. But I knew plenty who did.

I tried to picture myself at Sid’s advanced age. What would I be doing? Would I be walking down some dusty road like him, with everything I owned on my back, telling my story to some young kid? I couldn’t get a clear picture of myself one way or another, even a year from now, so I gave up that line of thought.

Sid’s easy, funny, boastful talk made the miles fall behind us easily. I realized after a while that I was really happy walking along with Sid. I didn’t even mind being hungry. I felt like we were Ray and Japhy on some kickass adventure. I didn’t care if we ever met up with anyone else.

But before too long, I heard a noise I hadn’t heard for a while: traffic.

“Sounds like civilization,” said Sid. “Or at least a facsimile thereof”

The road we were on climbed now toward a crest, and we worked a little harder to get up the grade.

At the top, we could see an intersection up ahead, a few hundred yards down a gentle slope. The highway wasn’t much, just an old-fashioned four-lane concrete slash though more damn trees. And the traffic was hardly big-city numbers.

But there was a cluster of buildings not far from where our road flowed into the highway, and maybe that meant food.

I felt good seeing this sight. It wasn’t as impressive as Ray and Japhy’s view from the sierra mountain they had climbed north of Frisco, but it would do just fine for me this morning.

As we trotted down the hill, Sid sang offkey, the same lines over and over. “Bear went over the mountain, bear went over the mountain, bear went over the mountain, and what do you think he saw?”

I still didn’t know what the hell that song meant. But somehow it sounded right.

 

 

 

Two

 

 

We had to cross the oil-blotched gray highway to get to the establishment on the other side. A roadsign told us we were facing route 1. No traffic-light helped us, so we just dashed across, dodging cars and light delivery trucks whose bored or irritated drivers refused to slow down, our packs slapping against our backs like enthusiastic teammates. The buildings we had seen waited for us another few feet down the road.

A weedy gravel parking lot stretched in front of two shabby structures. One building resembled a small ranch house, with its front rooms fixed up to be an office. I knew this because there was a darkened neon office sign in one window. The other sign above this door said deer park motor lodge. The second building struck me as more important just then. It was a long, low-slung boxy diner that billed itself as deer park kitchen. A third building, set off to one side, had its own paved frontage. It was a gas station with just one pump and one bay, deer park filling station and repairs.

Behind the office building, about six small crummy-looking cabins sat on a grassy area that called out for a good mowing. Sharing a gravel path, they seemed to huddle against the dark forest behind them. A busted-down old-fashioned torpedo-shaped rust-spotted silver trailer was tucked away partly out of sight behind some birch trees.

The gravel lot held three or four cars. I guessed it was about ten o’clock or so, and the breakfast crowd must’ve faded away. I had left my watch back home on purpose when I set out, and Sid didn’t seem to carry one either.

Sid smacked those thick lips of his like a cartoon wolf. “Man oh man, this place has hungry traveler’s heaven written all over it. You willing to part with a few bucks, Kid A? Pancakes, bacon, eggs, coffee. That appeal to you?”

“Sounds sweet.”

“What’re we jawing for then? In we go!”

The heavy wooden door opened outward, allowing delicious smells to escape. My mouth watered and my stomach clenched in on itself.

Booths with window views ran along the outer wall of the diner, to either side of the door. A counter with stools and a cash register occupied the other wall. Behind the counter stood deep-friers, a grill and several drink dispensers. Standing at the grill, his back to us, was a small, skinny guy, his apron knotted behind him. Sparse hair was slicked across his skull in a totally gruesome comb-over. Also behind the counter was a pretty woman, stocking shelves and cleaning. She wasn’t young, maybe even as old as Sid, and her face was red from hot work and her brown hair was pinned up sloppy. But she was still pretty. Out among the booths, a waitress was scooping up dirty plates from an empty table and loading them into a big rubber bin. She was about twenty-five, I figured, and she was really sexy.

Some groups of people were seated in the booths, chatting and eating. But several booths showed still vacant.

“Let’s shuck these packs and grab us a seat, Kid A.”

Sid and I got ourselves seated. After the waitress had carried her bucket full of dirty dishes into a back room, she ambled over, taking her time. I studied her as she came.

She had long black hair clipped up atop her head so that it fountained forward. She wore a tight one piece white waitress uniform that showed off her curves and which stopped about mid-thigh, and clunky white waitress shoes. Her long legs were bare. She used a lot of makeup, and her nails were long and painted raspberry color to match her lipstick. She didn’t look too stuck-up or conceited, but she didn’t look cheery or real friendly either. Just kinda bored and above everything.

Her voice was nice but neutral, without a lot of energy. She had some kind of way of talking I thought maybe showed she came from California.

“What can I get for you two?”

Sid said, “Well, now, that depends on what your fine establishment offers. Any chance of us snagging a couple of menus?”

The waitress sighed, and brought us stained laminated menus from the counter.

“Thank you very kindly, darling.”

She rolled her eyes and made a point of digging out her pad and pencil and holding them poised like she was in a hurry. I wanted to rush my order, but Sid deliberately made a big deal of taking his time and studying the menu, so I did the same.

“Let’s see now. Is the hash homemade?”

“Do I look like the chef? How should I know?”

This smart-mouthing brought a response from the lady behind the counter.

“Yasmine! Show some respect, please!”

Yasmine sighed deeply again and said, “I’ll ask. Sonny! Did you make the hash?”

The skinny chef turned around. His face was all sad big eyes and beaten-down weariness. His nose was a large blade of flesh too big for the rest of his wimpy features. But he smiled when he answered, “Fuh—fresh today!”

Sid appeared pleased beyond all measure. “Excellent! I’ll have four eggs over easy, the hash, and a stack of waffles.”

Yasmine swiveled on me.

“Uh, the same.”

“And bring us a two orange juices, two ice-waters and a whole pot of coffee, honey. Don’t forget a pitcher of sweet cream. We are two knights of the road with a mighty deep hunger and thirst.”

Yasmine didn’t bother to answer, but just turned to go. Sid wasn’t done with her yet, though.

“And if you could warm up the maple syrup, darling, our tip might knock your nonexistent socks off!”

The coffee came first, and Sid dumped enough cream into his cup to float a battleship, then added enough sugar to sink one. I was used to coffee, but not the hot stuff. I used to have a frappacino every day after school. But after I doctored it up and took a few sips I got used to drinking it this way, and I figured it wasn’t so bad.

Sid started talking about how many miles we might make today. He was kinda loud, and I was worried the normal people in the restaurant were looking at us. But then after a while I saw they weren’t really, and I relaxed. I guessed this place must get our kind of drifters fairly often, being situated on a fairly busy highway like it was.

When our breakfasts came all our conversation dried right up. That long morning walk had left me hungrier than a homeless dog. I broke an egg, forked off a hunk of waffle, soaked up some runny yolk and scarfed down almost more than I could chew. Sid was doing the same. The hash was super good, nothing fake, lots of real onions and potatoes in with the meat.

People left and one or two others arrived. The little chef guy kept busy, the nice older lady replaced a big empty cardboard container of milk in a dispenser with a full one and chopped vegetables for lunch, and Yasmine sat on a stool like a grouchy cafeteria monitor, admiring her nails.

We went through one pot of coffee and got another. By the time our plates were so clean that it was like an army of cats had licked them, I was flying high from the coffee. Sid didn’t seem bothered one bit by all the caffeine. He slouched back in his seat, let out a mild burp, then closed his eyes.

That was the signal for Yasmine to tromp over and toss the check down on the table.

“Pay at the register,” she ordered us real snidely, then went back to her seat. But the boss lady wasn’t having any of her bad manners this time.

“Yasmine, go fill the dishwasher and get it going.”

“Oh, all right!”

Yasmine stalked off to the back room where she had brought the dirty dishes. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but she made such a racket it sounded like she was breaking half the plates and glasses she was supposed to be loading.

The older woman came out from behind the counter and right over to our table. I saw now that she had a lot of worry lines on her face. Or maybe, I hoped, some of them were laugh lines. Despite all her wrinkles, a small mole above her upper lip was kinda sexy. She wiped her hands on her apron and smiled.

“How was everything?”

“Ma’am, if God had a favorite diner, this would be it.”

Her smile got bigger, and she stuck out her hand. “I’m the owner. Ann Danielson.”

Sid took her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ann. I’m Sid, and this is Kid A.”

Ann cocked her head at me like she didn’t quite understand. Once more I felt stupid about ever withholding my name from Sid. But I couldn’t see any graceful way to reintroduce myself, so I just shook her hand and said, “That’s what I go by on the road.”

“I see. You have a last name, Sid?”

“Sure do. Hartshorn.”

“And what brings you two to the exclusive Deer Park Kitchen?”

“Pure chance, Ann. Kid A and I are blindly navigating our way with luck and pluck from one haven to another, and your fine establishment just happened to be one of the lifesaving beacons along our route. Could you tell us a little about this neck of the woods, by the way?”

“Well, Route One outside there runs from Cape Benefit to Lum-berton, and we’re about halfway between the two. The big rigs all take the freeway, so we don’t see many of them. But there’s plenty of local traffic, and some of the drivers are hungry and undiscriminating enough to stop here. My garage business consists mostly of pumping gas and fixing flats, but every now and then we get a transmission to repair or brake job.”

“Got a fellow to handle that?”

Ann’s face got glum for some reason. “Uh-huh.”

“How about the Motor Lodge end of your corporation?”

Ann grinned. “Well, you and I pretty much both know where that business comes from. And it’s not tired families on their way to Disneyland.”

“Gotcha. Well, seems like you got a nice little business empire here.”

“I suppose. But keeping it all going runs me ragged. I’m about one man short of a full crew.”

Sid smiled broadly. “Ann, sit yourself down and tell me about your woes. Kid A, take my pack onto your side.”

Sid lifted his pack over the table to me, and I crammed it beside mine. Ann slid in next to Sid, and they began talking a mile a minute.

Their talk was pretty boring, and after a minute or so I didn’t pay any more attention to what they were saying. My full stomach kept sending sleepy signals to my coffee-wired brain, and this tug-of-war between sleepiness and alertness sent me off into a kind of deep daydreaming. I thought about home, and the road and everything that had happened since yesterday. A lot of fantasy images of what I’d encounter down the way today and tomorrow and the next day swam through my head.

BOOK: Roadside Bodhisattva
4.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Summerblood by Tom Deitz
The Vinyl Princess by Yvonne Prinz
Gull Harbor by Knight, Kathryn
Catching Her Bear by Vella Day
Murdo's War by Alan Temperley
Treasure Yourself by Kerr, Miranda
I Saw You by Julie Parsons
Autumn Rising by Marissa Farrar
Los de abajo by Mariano Azuela