Arkansas by John Brandon

Author:John Brandon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grove Atlantic
Published: 2008-10-11T16:00:00+00:00

In the morning, Kyle found a note on his trailer door that said Swin had come down with the flu and had gone to Bright’s to sit in the big chair and recuperate. Kyle didn’t like them to hang out at Bright’s, but if Swin would be there, he figured, he might as well go, too.

He walked over, dug fish sticks out of Bright’s freezer, and slid them into the oven on a cookie sheet. Swin drank tea with lemon wedges and swallowed a few smelly vitamins, then watched a black comedian in a red vest make fun of the way white people sold things, responded to danger, and shopped for shoes. Swin said he didn’t know why all black guys didn’t become comedians. Kyle asked what he meant, but before Swin could answer there was a knock at the door. Kyle strolled to the window, pulled aside the curtain, and said that he’d known the nurse would become a problem. He sat at the kitchen table and watched Swin theatrically prepare to stand, tossing sections of the comforter this way and that, scooting his teacup and lemon carcasses, muting the black comedian. The knocking came again. Swin blew his nose. He pulled a roll of mints from his shorts and chewed one, then sauntered over and opened the door. Johnna guessed he’d be sick, she said, because she was sick the day before—a twenty-four-hour bug. She’d brought a broth of saw palmetto, which would help Swin pee. She explained that Bedford had wobbled up to her just as she’d given up knocking on the trailer, and he’d led her back to the house. On cue, the dog came out from behind the door. Johnna took a load off near the whiskey cabinet. She looked around herself, at the ceiling and moldings and appliances. What a nice house, she said. Jesus. It was the nicest house she’d ever been in. Except it was plain. It could really use some touches, but wow.

When the fish sticks were done, Johnna got sauce from the fridge and ate a few, dipping with no delicacy, just speed and intention. She started asking questions. Who all lived in this place? Swin and Kyle could use it, but not sleep in it? Who else worked at this park?

“I knew you’d crack,” proclaimed Swin, coughing. “I knew you’d become fascinated with me and my lifestyle.” He told Johnna that he and Kyle worked for a private firm that had been hired to evaluate the state park system. They had deemed the ranger at Felsenthal unfit, and he’d been shipped to a remedial ranger school on an Indian reservation in Oklahoma. Swin and Kyle had to stay on and put things right until the ranger was replaced—no telling how long that would be. Johnna wanted to know what, exactly, they were putting right, and Swin said it was mostly record-keeping.

“The house?” she asked.

“Well, now that it’s vacant—”

“We can’t live in it,” Kyle said. “Conflict of interest.”

“But no one would know if we did,” Swin said.

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