She thanked him for helping out, adding, “The students thought you were here for community service. It’s rare we get a real live hero here.”
Hero. Achilles smiled weakly.
“Volunteer often?” asked Ines.
“I just finished two paid vacations,” said Achilles.
“That’s right. Twenty months of shawarma,” she said.
“And bitter beer,” he said.
She made a lemon-sucking face. “Yuck! You were there.” In a serious tone, she added, “When did you get back?”
“About a month ago.”
She nodded knowingly. “Ah-ha! That explains the scars. What did you do?”
“Airborne Infantry.”
“An airborne soldier saved my life outside of Jalabad. He carried me right out of a minefield. I wandered into it and froze. We were bringing medical supplies to a remote village, and I had to go to the bathroom. It was my first week in country and I wanted privacy, the ubiquitous American amenity. There I was squatting down and I look over and see the sign. He walked right in after me and carried me out. You believe that? Of course you do.”
He had heard her say Goddamnistan. “Sounds like a murder-suicide pact.”
Ines frowned. “He had a metal detector.”
Her savior wasn’t as crazy as Troy, but she’d think Troy brave. “There are units specially equipped for that.”
“He had a metal detector,” repeated Ines.
He smelled something burning and looked in the direction of the green camelback. She turned to follow his gaze. He stole a glance at her profile, the outline of her white tee pressing against the night.
“Are you here often?” asked Achilles.
“Tomorrow I’ll be at the new St. Jude.”
The next two nights, he went to the new St. Jude, a converted high school significantly larger than the old location. An immense brick building with a white stone foundation, its four turrets and tiny windows gave the shelter the appearance of a fortified structure. The classrooms were dormitories and the cafeteria had annexed the gymnasium. Troy wasn’t there, but Ines was, because her work involved several shelters, and Achilles took the opportunity to learn about the other organizations, each night dutifully plotting them on his map.
As she explained it, “I coordinate the efforts between different shelters, churches, and NGOs, if they’re willing to cooperate and their charters allow it. If their calendars and interests intersect, I team them up for lower pricing and better services. For example, if St. Jude wants to feed a neighborhood on the same day that St. Mark’s plans a health clinic, I get them to overlap.”
“So you know all the churches and shelters?” asked Achilles.
“Every single one.”
“And you came up with this on your own?”
“Sure did.”
“That’s admirable,” said Achilles.
“Why do you say that?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.
“It just is.”
“So you’re the measure of what’s admirable?”
“I do know what I admire.”
“We’ll see if you’re still around in two weeks, when your guilt wears off.”
“I’m not guilty of anything,” said Achilles, crossing his arms.
“Of course not.”
“You?”
“Never. It’s what we do. My friends, family, all of us. I attended a small school in the Northeast. You know how it is. You’re young with a heart as big as the Hindenburg, and just as volatile. We joined the Peace Corps, went to grad school, to teach, or to New York. Every single person. Volunteering is best, a paid internship in an exotic locale. You help out without feeling any discomfort except the recognition of just how wealthy this country is. Then one day I asked myself why I was a thousand miles away when these black kids right here needed my help. I was just like all those white girls who do mindless shit to assuage guilt they claim not to have. You know how most white people are.”
“Most white people,” she said without a trace of irony or jest. There would be no oblique references, no mentioning that Tammy Wynette was his mother’s favorite singer and Waylon Jennings his father’s. There’d be no dropping a photo of his parents. Peace Corps, grad school, New York. Most white people. He could be most black people. I can play this game, Praise Jesus, thought Achilles.
After the fight, he had continued to sleep on the floor. But when Bethany came home, she would wake him, the little flashlight used to avoid disturbing him wielded with the opposite intention, the beam fanning his eyes. “The couch,” she’d say. And he’d adjust his bandages and lie on it until she went to bed. He’d wised up in the last few days and started sleeping on the couch until she got home. If only it were covered in plastic, like Janice’s mom’s couch.
He wondered what Janice was doing, then pictured Ines. Was she an innie or an outie? Slipping his hand into his shorts, tremors rippled across his stomach. His hands moved faster, making short yanking motions until he added spit for longer strokes. He wrapped his thumb and forefinger around his cock, making the okay sign, and tugged, breathing faster, imagining Ines above him. Feeling lightheaded, almost like he was floating, he rolled over and entered the cushions, thrusting spasmodically.
“Achilles! The couch!” said Bethany.
He hadn’t heard her come in, but should have smelled the antiseptics and alcohol trailing her like a ghost. She was taking her careful fencer’s steps and using the little flashlight to find her way. He appreciated her trying, so he never let on that he usually heard each step because, however soft, it always became a slide. He imagined her scowling face behind the beam that hovered on his dick like a spotlight on a fugitive. He covered himself. She switched off the light.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeated several times.
Hearing her bump into the wall and mutter a curse, he turned on the lamp, knocking over the starfish card. She was at the door and when she bent over to arrange her clogs, her scrubs pulled tight across her thighs, highlighting panty lines. He adjusted the tent in his blanket, searching for something to say.
She stood there a minute before finally saying, “At least you’re not sleeping on the floor anymore.” She nodded twice, that comment meeting her approval.
“Yeah,” said Achilles after searching for a response. He sat up and gave a half wave.
“It must be more comfortable,” she said. She stretched out comfortable like it was a cross between comfort and affordable.
“I like the couch,” said Achilles. “But I guess that’s obvious.”
“Don’t like it too much. We don’t want any little cushions running around. Though that would be more comfortable, and better for your back.”
“Always the nurse.”
Her smile was tight.
“I meant looking out for people,” Achilles said. “Nurses are good.”
“I understand,” she said. She put one hand on her hip, standing as if there was something on her mind, and she intended to share it. “He missed you guys. All the male bonding stuff. Growl.” She scowled, obviously her impression of a man’s face. “I thought it was an excuse to get away. Always seeing to this friend or that. But he’s happier when you’re here. Even though he drinks more. But seeing you here for your brother, seeing you together, I understand. You have something in common, but it’s not anything you would have wanted. They say you can choose your friends but not your family, but that’s not really true for you guys. I don’t know what I’m saying.”