The Rat lived in a three-story house which went to far as to have a hothouse on the roof. Set into the hillside was a garage, with his father’s Benz and the Rat’s Triumph TR III lined up snugly inside. Strangely, the part of the Rat’s house that emanated the homelike atmosphere the most was this garage. The garage was large enough that it seemed like a small airplane would fit right in it, and inside there was a collection of things that had fallen into disuse or were replaced by newer things inside the house: televisions and refrigerators, a sofa, a table and chairs, a stereo system, a sideboard; with all of these things arranged neatly in the garage, we had a lot of good times sitting out there drinking beer. As for the Rat’s father, I know very little about him. I never met him. When I’d ask about him, ‘He’s a guy, and he’s much older than me,’ was the Rat’s answer.
According to rumor, the Rat’s father used to be incredibly poor. This was before the war. Just before the war started, he scraped together enough money to acquire a chemical plant and sold insect-repelling ointment. There was some question as to its effectiveness, but as the front lines expanded southward, it practically flew off the shelves. When the war ended, he put the ointment in a warehouse, and shortly after that he sold dubious vitamin powder, which, after the Korean War ended, he repackaged as household detergent. Everyone seems to agree on this point. It seems quite possible. Twenty-five years ago, the insect repelling ointment-slathered bodies of Japanese soldiers piled up like mountains in the jungles of New Guinea, and now toilet cleaner stamped with the same insignia lies toppled in the bathrooms of houses everywhere. Thanks to that, the Rat’s father was loaded. Of course, I also had friends who were poor. One kid, his dad was a bus driver for the town. There’re probably rich bus drivers out there, but my friend’s dad wasn’t one of them. His parents were almost never home, so I hung out there quite a bit. His dad would be driving the bus, or maybe at the racetrack, and his mom would be out all day at her part-time job.
He was in the same grade as me, but our friendship began with a chance occurrence. One day, on my lunch break, I was taking a piss and he came over and stood next to me and unzipped his jeans. We pissed together in silence, then went to wash our hands when we were finished.
“I’ve got something you might wanna see,” he said as he wiped his hands on the ass of his jeans.
“Yeah?”
“You wanna see it?”
He pulled a picture from his wallet and handed it to me. It was a naked girl with her thighs completely spread out, a beer bottle jammed up inside.
“It’s great, yeah?”
“Sure thing.”
“If you come over to my house, there’s even better ones,” he said.
That’s how we became friends.
The town is home to many different kinds of people. In my eighteen years there, I learned lots of things. The town really took root in my heart, and most of my memories are tied to it. However, when I left town to go to college, I was relieved from the bottom of my soul.
For summer vacation and spring break I go back there, but I usually just end up drinking too much beer.
29
In just one week, the Rat’s condition worsened. Partially due to the onset of autumn, probably also due to some girl. The Rat didn’t breathe a word about any of it.
When the Rat wasn’t around, I grabbed J and tried to shake him down for a little information.
“Hey, what’s up with the Rat?”
“Well, you know as much as I do. It’s just because it’s the end of the summer.”
With the start of autumn, the Rat’s spirits always fell. He’d sit at the counter and stare at some book, holding up his end of our conversation only with oneword answers. When the evening came and that cool wind blew, and the smell of fall could be felt, the Rat stopped drinking beer and started gulping down bourbon, feeding limitless amounts of coins into the jukebox and kicking the pinball machine until the TILT light lit up and J got flustered.
“He probably feels like he’s being left behind. You know how that feels,” said J.
“Yeah?”
“Everyone’s leaving. Going back to school, going back to work. Aren’t you headed back yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“So you know what I mean.”
I nodded. “And the girl?”
“It’s been awhile, so I don’t remember so well.”
“Did something happen between them?”
“Who knows?”
J mumbled something and went back to his work. I didn’t press the issue any further. I went over to the jukebox, put some change in it, picked a few songs, then went back to the counter to drink beer. Ten minutes later, J came back over and stood in front of me.
“Hey, the Rat really didn’t say anything to you?”
“Nope.”
“Weird.”
“You think so?”
He kept polishing the glass in his hand as he thought it over.
“He really seemed like he wanted to talk to you about it.”
“So why didn’t he?”
“It’s hard for him. He feels like you’ll give him a hard time.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“It just seems that way. He’s felt that way for a long time. He’s a real easy-going kid, but when it comes to you, there’s something there…I’m not saying anything bad about you or anything.”
“I know that.”
“Anyway, I’ve got twenty years on you, and in that time I’ve seen quite a bit. ‘Cause of that, this is, well, it’s just…”
“You’re worried.”
“Yeah.”
I laughed and drank my beer.
“I’ll try and talk to him.”
“I think that’d be good.”
J put out his cigarette and went back to work. I got up from my seat and went to the washroom, washed my hands, and looked at my face lit up in the mirror. Then I went back and spaced out as I drank another beer.
30
Once upon a time, everybody was preoccupied with being cool.
When I finished high school, I resolved to say only half of what I was really thinking. I don’t know why, but that was the plan. Over the course of a few years, I was able to stick to this. Then one day I discovered that I was no longer the kind of person who could just say half of what he was really feeling.
I don’t know what that had to do with being cool. However, if you could call an old refrigerator in desperate need of defrosting cool, that was me. In that vein, I was caught in the ebb and flow of time, and when my consciousness begged for sleep, I kickstarted it with beer and cigarettes to keep on writing like this. I took lots of hot showers, shaved twice a day, and listened to old records ad infinitum. Right now, behind me, those old-fashioned Peter, Paul, and Mary are singing:
“Don’t think twice, it’s alright.”
31
The following day, I invited the Rat to the pool at the hotel on the mountainside. Summer was almost over, traffic was rough, and there were only ten other guests at the pool. Of them, half were swimming and the other half were contentedly-sunbathing Americans staying there.
The hotel was a remodeled nobleman’s estate spanned by a splendid lawn, the pool and the main wing partitioned by a hedge rising up a slightly inclining hill, with a clear view of the ocean, the town, and the harbor below.
After racing the Rat back and forth down the length of the twenty-five meter pool, we sat in the deck chairs and drank cola. I caught my breath and then in the time it took to take one hit of my cigarette, the Rat was all alone, his gaze fixed absently on an American girl swimming beautifully.