Border to Border by Kevin Moffett

Author:Kevin Moffett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

If not for the events of the past few days, Maxim would have recognized this as sound advice. Combined with his glee at hearing Paula say Maxim, it might have reminded him of when he brought his marching-band vest to the shop in Delray Beach to have his name embroidered on the pocket. Maybe the counterwoman was hard of hearing, because when he picked it up a week later, stitched in gold cursive on the pocket was ROBBY. He paid her and dutifully wore the vest during football games while he banged cymbals and counted steps. His bandmates began calling him Robby, then friends of his bandmates, then friends of the friends. “Robby’s here!” they’d say. “Robby’s running things!”

He wore the vest to school. He liked being Robby. Robby was loosely hinged, hazardous to women. Maxim napped with his hands in his underwear and was still afraid to watch The Wizard of Oz, but Robby wasn’t afraid of any goddamn thing. Robby laughed at flying monkeys. Robby studied the crowd during halftime, confident they were there just to watch him bang his cymbals. He didn’t need to explain where he came from. He didn’t need to create digestible capsule versions of his country. Robby was like night. You didn’t hear people asking night where it came from, did you?

One day some kids from marching band came into the doughnut shop. When they left, each said good-bye to Robby, and Maxim spent two hours explaining to his mom who Robby was.

“Maxim is your name. It means greatest,” she said. “What does Robby mean?”

“Danger, I think. Or a kind of leather.”

“You are not a kind of leather,” she said in Estonian. “You are Maxim.”

Yes, he was Maxim. Short, unlovely, pervious Maxim. Maxim with the hairy neck and donkey laugh. Maxim with the telltale clothes. The irregular-fit pants, the imitation American T-shirt that said WARNING: HOT SUMMER PROPERTY. Maxim who was too busy learning English and selling doughnuts to acquire a hobby.

Maxim who since arriving in the United States had grown very good at pretending. Later in the day, in fact, sitting in the bell cart with Danni, he pretended to be uninterested in a story of how he, Danni, had seduced one of the Angolan candle dancers the night before.

“To hell with big countries,” Danni was saying. “Brazil, China. Go right for one you never heard of. This woman, her name is . . . I forget. She’s black, you realize. I tell her all the lies people’ve been spreading about Angola, and make it up as I go. I put my arm around her and say, ‘I’ve always been a fierce supporter of your people. Tonight we’re gonna show everyone that love has no borders.’ Thirty minutes later we’re in her shower, naked, and you can guess the rest.” He paused. “Nah, I’ll tell you, so you don’t guess wrong.”

Maxim stared over the trees at a sky the color of fogged-up glass while Danni told him all the details of his humanitarian shower rut with the candle dancer.

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