‘Did you dream you’d be out here?’ the Mojave asks Magnus. It seems like a perfectly sensible question. Magnus likes the bigness of it. He shakes his head to indicate that he had not, but this is a chance to talk big.
‘I found a body once,’ he says. He needs to make this story his own again. These people, he thinks, will be interested.
‘You did?’
‘Yes ….’ Now what does he say? They don’t seem interested, at all. ‘It was on a beach.’
‘You called to cops?’
‘No. I stayed with him until somebody came.’ Their not being interested didn’t feel bad.
‘Like you stay with this car without gas?’
‘It was special,’ Magnus declares, without knowing quite what the old man means.
The old man nods. Magnus doesn’t know what kind of a nod it is. He wants to say that this is another special day, this one gone bad for his father, and turning good for him, but he takes his lead from his rescuers. He keeps it flat.
‘This one died of old age on the beach?’
‘I think so.’
‘You did good to stay.’ The statement is bereft of drama, so ordinary, so uncomplicated. Magnus is overcome with a fit of nodding, which is greeted with indifference.
At the gas station, the old Mojave takes a Coke from the cold box, gives it to Magnus and puts him sitting in the shade of the porch. The wind is up again but the air is dry and hot. Magnus feels that his cheeks will blister. He hasn’t felt that until now. The old man stands in the doorway to speak to the station owner, a wiry fellow of indeterminate age, with silky black hair and glasses. These men know each other. Magnus hears the owner call the Indian, Pete. Hears Pete say: ‘John, I found that boy in the desert. He’s been kicked in the head by the sun.’
‘Needs attention?’ John asks, stepping out from behind his glass-tomb counter in his cracked shoes, which somehow go with his broken front teeth. The tops of these teeth have been snapped off along a clean diagonal line.
‘I guess. Somebody needs to talk to him. Find out where he belongs.’ His finder doesn’t mind Magnus hearing their conversation. In fact, that seems to be the purpose of holding open the door with the edge of his boot. The teenager stays in the truck. The other one sits down on the porch bench beside Magnus and rests his feet on their heels.
‘How far did he go?’ John asks, looking out the window at the back of the boy’s head.
‘Well off the road. About ten miles out. Lost near the cut.’
‘He weren’t walking?’
‘No. In a Buick. No gas. No one else around.’
John goes to the window for a closer look. Takes in the boy with his jaw slack. ‘You think he stole it?’
‘Maybe.’
‘He speak to you?’
‘No. Just his name. Magnus.’
‘Magnus …? Magnus what?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘How old, would you say?’
‘Fourteen. Fifteen.’
John sidled back beside Pete. ‘He don’t look American in them clothes.’
‘No. He don’t.’
John guffaws. When they bring Magnus inside, the wind blows into the shop. The ring-pull on the blind taps on the glass. On the porch the one called Judd lulls his head in the boy’s direction, looking askance through the dusty window.
Magnus acts a little strangely. He rests his chin on the display counter over the sweets and stationery, cigarette lighters and Indian beads. But he’s not looking at these goods. He’s taking in the glass surface that has been dulled by a mesh of tiny scratches. He hasn’t yet determined whether or not this is a terrible predicament. The warmth from such a display cabinet would normally be pleasing to his hands, but his skin is burning and the sweet, oily musk smell of the place mixing with body odour is making him weak at the knees.
‘You see something you like?’ the owner asks in a loud, upbeat voice.
‘No,’ Magnus replies in a whisper. He is finding it difficult to think straight.
‘Too bad, too bad,’ says the owner with a crooked grin. ‘I could give you a knockdown price.’
‘Thank you,’ says Magnus. He ceases his whispering because the old Mojave is squinting with annoyance at his puny utterances. He wants him to speak out so that he and his sons can forget him and go about their business.
A gaunt but attractive middle-aged women comes from the back to stand and watch. She strikes an angular pose to give notice that she isn’t about to say anything but is keen to listen to the news. When Magnus brings his head up, he nearly falls over. Somebody gets a chair for him. America is gentler than he has imagined. Even the hunter in the woods by the shopping mall trod softly. It is his own actions and those of his father that have made their passage difficult. It seems to Magnus that these are actory people not easily shocked, and good at coping. A man like this gas-station owner will continue to wear his glasses in heaven. They won’t bother giving this man the tops of his teeth.
Meeting the bloods was bad. Being on the road is the thing. Magnus prefers the company of the Mojave to the gas-station man, but this is part of being on the road. They have brought him here, so he will do as he is told.
‘You steal that car?’ the owner asks, with a little private encouragement.
Magnus shakes his head.
‘Your daddy’s car?’
Magnus shakes his head.
‘Your momma’s car?’
Magnus shakes his head.
‘You rented that car?’
Magnus shakes his head because he didn’t rent it.
The Indian stamps his foot. It sends up a little cloud of dust. ‘Magnus … you got burned up. You speak to John, here.’
Magnus nods.
‘What do you say you tell me who your mom and dad are, and I’ll give them a call?’ John says, looking at close quarters. The burning isn’t too bad, he determines.
Magnus offers no reply. Instead, he looks out the window to young Judd. Looks at his cactus ink tattoos. The gas-station owner prods Magnus’ arm with a knuckle. ‘What do you say?’
Magnus has a flash of Walt, the dead man in his casket at the beauty spot in the mountains. Was his gas station anything like this one? A man could die easily before his time in a place like this. Magnus takes a deep swig from his Coke, and this makes him choke.
‘I got things I got to do,’ Pete says.
‘No.’
John gives the boy another light poke. This one is accompanied by a sudden bad-breath smile. ‘These folks are leaving now. You and me – we’ll make a call.’
Edwin’s blood-mother doesn’t appear to be the same person. Seems older, more dithery. As for Edwin’s father – he holds back in the kitchen. He is three-parts ghost. Edwin can see they are more afraid than before. This second visit confirms he has come to disturb their lives. It is true.
Edwin puts out his hand to shake the hand of his stranger mother, even as she is dancing her nervous dance in the hallway. She cannot make sense of her son’s immediate predicament. Neither of them can grasp what Edwin wants. They are fearful that there is some awful price that they must now pay.
The boy has gone missing – it is a primal alarm sounding, but they can’t understand what might have happened and how the path leads to their door. They need to know urgently what it is Edwin wants. They see the tightness in his chest. His shallow breathing. They see he is trembling. When Edwin spells it out, they offer to get in their car and come looking.
At the same time, they invite him in. This adds to the confusion. They are glad to see him again, she says.
It is obvious now that he should go to the police.
The cop comes in his cop car, before the Mojave can leave Magnus in the gas station.
Magnus waves to the Indians from the front passenger window as the squad car turns. He continues to wave out the rear window as it pulls away. The Mojaves don’t wave back. They are showing their collective disapproval of a boy going out into the desert without knowledge, without dreaming the dream of a tortoise that can find water, without sufficient gas in the tank.
Magnus waves furiously, but they do not wave back. They just stand and watch the squad car drive into the distance. The gaunt woman keeps her arms folded, but she is smiling triumphantly. What’s this to her, Magnus wonders. He will never know. The gas-station owner does wave, or rather, raises a hand in the air and leaves it there for a time. His glasses catch the sun and produce a blinding glint, which prompts Magnus to give up and turn to face forwards in the seat.
‘You heard John Peatree telling me you don’t talk?’ Hunter Dobbs, the cop, says. He waits patiently for a nod. ‘That’s all right. I wouldn’t want you talking to them. You ain’t scared, are you?’
Magnus shakes his head.
‘I knew you weren’t. I’m just making conversation.’ He looks over the boy again. ‘You’re not too burned up, but we’ll let the doctor see you, then we’ll decide what to do. You lose your hat?’
Magnus shakes his head cautiously. This is going somewhere.
‘You don’t have a hat?’
Magnus shakes his head.
‘But you have a car?’
Magnus hesitates before he nods, even more cautiously than before.
‘Don’t you worry,’ says Hunter Dobbs, speaking the words slowly, ‘I’ll see you get your car back. I know those guys. They can take me to the spot. You want your car back, don’t you?’
Treating a boy as though he is an adult – that is an old trick, even if it is the way to go. Magnus offers no response this time. Hunter Dobbs continues regardless.
‘What’s these guys names? I forget. The Mojave – they tell you their names?
No response, but Magnus is thinking that Americans are good at getting together to do stuff. Good also at cheering and clapping.
‘It looks real bad if I go asking them to take me to your car and they say, “Hey there, Hunter Dobbs …” and I’m supposed to know their names – particularly the old guy...’
‘Pete,’ Magnus says. He’s sure this cop knows the names of the Indians.
‘Pete,’ Hunter Dobbs shouts loudly, and thumps the steering wheel. ‘That’s him. That’s the old guy. So, what do I call you, because it gets embarrassing for me if I can’t introduce you to the doc.’
‘Magnus.’
‘Magnus? Now that’s a name. I don’t know anybody called Magnus. Not until this minute. And where are you from, Magnus?’ Hunter Dobbs’s voice is booming, the result of his success at getting the little burnt fella to talk.
But Magnus isn’t going to say where he is from.
‘You got any questions for me, Magnus?’ It is that generous American voice that says I’m looking to share all the fun we can make together, little brother, starting right now. They are coasting down the road in this cop car that has everything a cop car should have. Magnus relaxes into the seat and puts his hands up over his head to stick the tops of his fingers through the heavy wire mesh that divides front from back.
‘The old Indian – he isn’t really called Pete, is he?’ Magnus ventures.
‘Yes, he is. It suits him, don’t you think?’
Magnus shrugs. He can see Hunter Dobbs trying to place his accent. ‘I’m not from America,’ he says.
‘Didn’t think you were,’ Hunter replied smoothly.
‘You think I’m English …’
Magnus likes the way he talks. Likes the playful exaggeration. ‘Scottish, you think …’ he goes on.
‘Where you’re from is your business,’ Hunter says cheerily. ‘You’ll tell me if you want to, when you want to.’
Magnus doesn’t know what to make of this, so he just looks out the window, but he thinks he should finish. ‘The other Indians … their names are Judd and … and …’
‘I don’t know the boy’s name, either,’ Hunter chips in.‘Now, that Judd, he has a temper. But, that kid’s name … nope, it isn’t coming back to me.’ He laughs.
‘That’s their real names, you swear?’
‘That’s their names. I swear. And I don’t swear much.’
The radio squawks into life. Headquarters wants to know is the boy being brought in, because the doctor had arrived at the station. Magnus takes his fingers out of the grille. He is being talked about over American cop airwaves. Hunter Dobbs confirms. Has ID been established? Negative. Hunter Dobbs winks at Magnus. A little shudder runs down the boy’s ribs. He asks if there is a weather forecast due on the radio. He wants to listen to the weather.
‘Oh, you do?’ says his new friend.
‘For the sake of the car,’ Magnus explains.
Hunter gives out with a snort of amusement. ‘I’ll get you the weather, Magnus,’ he says. He is thinking he likes the boy’s name.
Hunter Dobbs is the first person Magnus has encountered who properly fits the description: old before his time. The man is skinny and tough and battered, but this doesn’t seem to bother him. Not any more, at any rate. This sort of aging happens quickly, Magnus assumes – which is funny for a man who can’t be hurried. Hunter Dobbs is the perfect fit, he is thinking, because he is a good actor and can carry it. That makes him a good cop.
The muscles around Magnus’ eyes are sore from squinting, but that isn’t why he asks Hunter Dobbs if he can have a go of his gold-rimmed mirror sunglasses. This country cop knows about the wild, about cars, animals and guns, as well as local villains. At home, all the country cops posted in the city didn’t know who the villains were and, fortunately for the rest, had no guns and no sunglasses. Magnus wants to see through American cop sunglasses.
Hunter lets him have a go, but just for a minute. Magus looks out at the expanse of desert with this exquisite filtration, but his body shudders. How can a desert be so cold at night? He had not known cold like it; a cold that makes you afraid. His muscles ache from contraction, from keeping his arms wrapped around himself through the stormy night. He had been brave all that day with his father, but not brave enough – which was why he’s shuddering now, he thinks.
‘I better have them back, Magnus,’ Hunter Dobbs says, holding out his hand.
The sun is sinking fast. All kinds of desert-night creatures will be wetting their bellies or sticking their long tongues into the tiny streams that run unbroken under the fences of military installations, and across terrain worked for borax, silver and tungsten.
‘What were you doing out there, Magnus?’
‘Looking for coyotes,’ Magnus lies.
‘You see any?’
‘Nah.’
‘They’re always watching.’
Somehow, this answer is satisfying for the boy.
Magnus tells Hunter Dobbs his father doesn’t talk much. It has to do with concentrating. If his father loses concentration, they will lose their way, and then he will forget why they have come to America, and they will never get back home. That would be no bad thing, except what will happen to his mother? She will be lost, too. Nobody will die, but they will all be lost.
‘You could remind your dad why you came to America,’ Hunter says, trying not to sound cunning.
Magnus doesn’t mind telling the cop why they’ve come here. Tells him about visiting his father’s blood relative, his real mother. There is a danger his father might just leave him in a motel by accident. Fathers can do such things if they are in a trance, like his dad. Magnus says, he knew to keep his mouth shut on the way to the relative. Keep it shut unless he had questions about something he saw on the road, or about food, or music, or the evangelical ministers on the radio, or he was reporting a cop car or a truck with a gun rack, or a dead skunk. After they met the blood it was different, he explains.
‘You see a dead skunk?’ Dobbs asks. He just can’t help being smart.
No, but Magnus’ father has told him to watch out for them.
‘And your dad knows how you two got here?’
Of course he knows. There’s nothing wrong with his head. They had flown here in a plane from Ireland. They had hired the brown convertible car to come looking for the blood relative.
‘Ireland?’
‘Yes. Dublin.’
Can Magnus write down his address?
He can. He writes it on the blank side of a form Hunter has on a clipboard.
Is there a telephone number?
Magnus recites the telephone number. Hunter gets him to add that on paper. And who will answer the telephone if somebody calls?
His mother, of course.
Stella.
That’s a nice name.
That’s what he calls her, Magnus adds. He doesn’t call her mum.
And he calls his father by his Christian name, too?
Yes. Edwin.
And he likes that?
He does. Except he hadn’t called him Edwin for days. Not since they arrived in America to visit the blood relative.
And who is this blood relative? What’s their name?
Irene. He doesn’t know the surname. He’ll ask his father when he’s out of his trance.
Does Edwin go into a trance because he has taken something? Pills? Or has been drinking?
No. He’s been too busy concentrating.
Ah … And does Stella not want to come to America?
No. They’d had a row. She and Edwin will be splitting up when they can organise it.
And does Stella know about the trip to America? Did she come to the airport to wave goodbye?
She knows about the trip. And no, she didn’t come to the airport. She shouted something awful from the window as the taxi pulled away from the house. But it will all work out now that they’ve found the blood-relative and she’s not wanted either. It will work out unless his dad is in trouble now. Is he in trouble?
People are just concerned.
Does that mean trouble?
It can’t be said for sure, but he’s not to worry.
Cops can find out about the blood-relatives, can’t they? Edwin should have gone to the cops first. Do cops stop to pick up dead skunks? Do they carry a shovel? Do they put them in the boot?
Where did he learn to drive?
An American car is easy to drive if you’re not a shortie, and you’ve been paying attention. Magnus is no shortie, and has been watching his father driving, has been imitating him. He still won’t be able to drive in Dublin.
He tells the cop about staying at the Silver Rails, and at the Providence.
Hunter Dobbs is a good skin, he decides. He asks for a go of the handcuffs. If he gets a go of the handcuffs, he’ll ask to hold the cop’s gun.