Endgame Novella #4, Page 2
James Frey“The bastard just said that he’s mining Haiphong Harbor.”
“The bastard?” I asked. I took a shot and missed the pocket by an inch.
“We don’t say his name,” Jim said with a laugh.
Mary laughed. “If you say Nixon three times into a mirror, he’ll appear next to you.”
“What’s Haiphong Harbor?” I asked.
John took off his hat and twirled it in his hands. “Don’t know your Vietnam geography?”
“I know Hanoi and I know Saigon,” I said. “I know the Ho Chi Minh Trail and the Gulf of Tonkin.”
“And what, may I ask, is your position on the war?”
It was Mary’s turn, and she drilled the 5 ball into the side pocket. She held out her hand as she walked past me and I slapped it. “Good shot.”
“Thank you.” She lined up another one.
“My father,” I said to John, “would tell you that the Vietnam War is being fought to prevent the vile spread of Red Communism and strengthen our alliance with Australia. I worked with him nine to seven almost every day of the year, selling furniture, and he said that at least four times a week.”
John smiled and put his hat back on. “And what do you say?”
“I think we’re sending kids over there to die just so the president can say we’re doing something about the ‘communist threat,’ with the false belief that, as a superpower, we have the right to invade any small country we want.”
Mary knocked in the 7 ball and then stood up.
John nodded his agreement, and the waitress arrived. She set the drinks on the table beside John. John paid her and, if I was seeing correctly, gave her a huge tip.
“And today,” John said, “the bastard has declared that he’s going to be placing mines in Haiphong Harbor, the main port of North Vietnam. There are military ships in those waters, but it’ll mostly affect imports, like food and medical care. Yeah, it will hurt the army, but it’s sure as hell going to hurt the civilians more.”
Jim nudged me. “He was over there.”
“You’re a vet?” I looked at John.
He stared back at me and then pulled up his sleeve. There was a tattoo of a skull wearing a green beret.
Mary walked over next to me. “You coming? I don’t want to have to win this all by myself.”
“She could too,” John said.
I stood up. John looked older than everyone else. He looked weathered. “John, what do you do?” I asked.
John exhaled, a deep, slow breath. “It’s a long story.”
Mary pulled on my arm. “Come on.”
He grinned. “It’s called Endgame. Now go play pool.”
CHAPTER TWO
I sat on one of the couches, watching Jim and Julia play nine ball against each other. Mary had stuck with me all evening, which surprised me, but I didn’t want to question it. I didn’t think a girl like Mary had ever even looked at me, but here was one who was pulling me over to the couch by the hand and was in no hurry to let go. Tommy followed us and sat down in the chair next to our couch. He put his feet up on the table in the center, and I waited for John to join us.
“So, how do you know all these people?” I asked again, more to cut the silence than because I was interested.
Mary waved her hand dismissively. “Eh, I don’t want to talk about them. Tell me about you. Who is Michael Stavros?”
I took a breath. “Well, I already told you the important stuff. I came to Berkeley to do something more with my life than just be a furniture salesman. But for now I’m a janitor. Classy, right?”
“Don’t feel bad about that,” she said. “I worked at a burger place until I got my internship. I’ll probably go back there when school starts.”
“I thought you were on scholarship.”
“Pays for tuition, but nothing else. My dad has plenty of money, but he wants me to make my contribution, which is a buck sixty-five per hour, fifteen hours a week. But it could be worse. He originally didn’t want me to go to college at all.”
“You should be a janitor. We make one eighty.”
“I’d rather flip burgers.”
“What about your internship? That doesn’t pay?”
“Nope, but that’s okay, because I don’t really do anything. I make coffee, I take notes in meetings, and I get ogled by men who are divorcing their wives. But I have a desk with a window on the eighteenth floor, and my mom took me on a shopping spree for business clothes. That was fun. You should see me before I change clothes after work. I look like a Republican.”
“Scandalous,” I said with a laugh. “I could see you as a big-name lawyer in the city.”
She grimaced. “That’s because you don’t know me very well yet. I should get paid just for having to wear high heels every day. I’m a country girl, born and bred. I hated leaving the ranch and moving here. Give me boots and a rifle and I’m your girl.”
“I liked that about Pasadena. You can be over the hills and out of the city in ten minutes. Well, scratch that. I don’t like Pasadena. It’s too suburban—is that the word I’m looking for? It’s too bland. Nothing happens there.” I laughed. “The thing I just said that I liked about it was how easy it is to get out of there.”
“Never been there. Is it close to Disneyland?”
“About an hour. If you’re still a country girl at heart, how did you ever get into law?”
“I like to argue,” she said, and laughed.
John sat down with us and put a foot on the coffee table. He was wearing boots—looked like alligator skin.
“Mike, answer a question for me.”
“Sure,” I said. “Anything.”
“I don’t know Pasadena, but there was something in the paper about it a couple weeks ago. Made me think. There was an apartment fire. A guy had gotten out safely, but he ran back inside. They found his body in a hallway—they speculated that he’d been knocking on all the doors. Now, he wasn’t the manager. Neighbors said he was quiet, and no one really knew him.”
I nodded. I’d heard about the fire. “So what’s the question?”
“Why did he run back in? He was safe. The fire department was there.”
“Do you want details from a Pasadena native? Or just my opinion?”
“Just your opinion,” John said. “Hypothetical. Let’s say you’re the guy.”
“I think he was just a good guy. Wanted to help. Got out of his depth.”
A waitress brought him a new Scotch and water, but he seemed in no hurry to drink it. “You know, the Mormon missionaries came knocking on my door once. They have a saying: ‘It becometh every man who hath been warned to warn his neighbor.’ You sure you don’t want a drink?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said, and decided to change the subject. “Tell me about that game. What’s that?”
“Endgame?” John asked, and took a sip.
“It’s scary shit,” Tommy said.
Mary squeezed my hand.
“There’s a lot to know,” John said. “The history of it would take hours to tell. I’ll start with a question—what do you believe about the end of the world?”
I laughed for a moment, because I didn’t think he was being serious. But I was the only one laughing. “The end of the world? I don’t know. My mom is the churchgoer in our family. A Baptist. I’ve never paid much attention. Raining fire and brimstone, and all the sinners go to hell and the good people go to heaven, I guess? Why’s that important?”
“You want to know about Endgame, right? Mary, tell us what you know,” John said.
“What I know? Or what I was taught in catechism?”
“First what you were taught.”
She brushed some loose strands of hair out of her face. “I was raised Catholic. The Bible says that Christ will return, and that no one knows the time of his coming. The wicked will grow worse and worse and the Antichrist will come and the entire world will fall away. Finally Christ will come down to purge the wicked and sit in judgment of all people. That�
s what I was taught, anyway.â
I smiled, first at her and then at John. âAre we really sitting in the back of a bar talking about the end of the world? Do you know what Iâd be talking about if I was back home? Furniture. And if I went out with my friendsâwhich I never had time to doâweâd talk about baseball. And I hate baseball.â
âOh, youâve just never seen good baseball,â John said with a laugh. âBut yeahâthe end of the world. Itâs is a crazy topic. Youâve got to be a little bit nuts to deal with it all. Tommy, how about you? What do you believe?â
Tommy rolled his eyes. âIâm Hopi. Everything is different for us.â
âYeah,â John said, âbut I like to hear it. And it will help Mike understand.â
âThere are, supposedly, nine signs to watch for. The first one is that white men will come. As you can see, that oneâs already happened.â Tommy laughed. âThere are prophecies about covered wagons and longhorn cattle and telescopes. But it all comes down to the ninth sign. All the others have happened already. Weâre currently in the Fourth World, and the ninth prophecy says weâre going to hear a crash in the heavens and see a blue star. The Blue Star Kachina will be revealed and take the faithful to the Fifth World.â
âSo,â I asked, âwhat happens if youâre not Hopi?â
He pointed at Mary. âWhat happens if youâre not Catholic?â
John took a sip of his drink, looked at me, and said, âWhat do you think the truth is?â
âNuclear holocaust,â I said. âSooner or later.â
âAnd you donât believe in a god or a kachina or the Rapture or anything like that?â
âIâm not saying there definitely isnât a god. Iâm just saying I never really believed in one, like you.â
John eyed me carefully. âI donât believe in God,â he said. âI believe in Endgame.â
âWhat?â I asked. âWhat religion is that?â
âItâs not a religion. Itâs the end of the world. It could start at any moment. I donât know.â
I looked at Tommy, who stared at me like he was waiting for me to say something. Mary still held my hand, her other holding her bottle of Budweiser. She looked back at me as I stared, our faces close together.
âThis,â I said, turning back to John and laughing, âis why I never drink. You guys are freaking me out.â
âI like you, Mike.â John leaned back and laughed. âListen, when do you start work?â
Maryâs hand brushed against mine, but I tried to focus on John. âUh . . . not till next week.â
âWeâre having a get-together this weekend with a lot of my friends. Up at Maryâs ranch. Nothing formal, just fishing and shooting and hiking. Come with usâitâll be fun.â
âThanks, man. But I donât have a car.â
âThat doesnât matter,â John said. âWe have plenty of people coming who can give you a ride. Why donât you get a lift with Mary?â
She nodded emphatically. âI have my dadâs old Buick. Iâll pick you up.â
Tommy spoke up. âCâmon, Stavros. Itâs cool. You should come.â
I never did anything like this. And not only that, but I never did it so spontaneously. âWell, I donât know how to shoot, and I havenât fished since I was in the Boy Scouts, but sure, sounds good.â
I was happy. Iâd found a group of friends who felt like they could be my people. And for a moment I forgot about all the talk of the end of the world as John bought another round of drinks.
Tommy and I walked back to our dorm. He was drunkâweâd played pool for two straight hours. For my first day of college, this had been pretty cool. Iâd met a bunch of new people, including a beautiful girl whoâd stayed next to me most of the night. I had no idea where that had come fromâI didnât know what she meant by it.
I hoped it meant something.
âTommy,â I said, âhow long have you known Mary?â
âNot long. I only started hanging out with that group . . . um . . . during fall semester?â
âSo youâre pretty new?â
âYeah,â he said, his words slightly slurred from all the beer. âI guess. Sheâs been with the group for only a little longer than me. But I always get the feeling that sheâs known John forever.â
âForever?â
âFor a long time. I donât know. Longer than a year anyway. Are you interested in her?â
âWell, yeah.â
âHey man, thatâs cool. Sheâs not my type anyway.â
We turned onto a street without any streetlights.
âA totally hot girl with deep blue eyes and blond hair isnât your type? Sheâs on a scholarship at Stanford, so sheâs smart too. What is your type?â
âI like brunettes,â he said.
âWell, your loss is my gain.â
Tommy winked at me. âI assume this means youâre coming on our ranch trip?â
âA whole weekend with Mary?â I said. âAre you kidding? Of course Iâm in.â
I really did want to goâand not just because of Mary. Iâd had this picture in my head of what Berkeley was supposed to be like, and suddenly I was living it. Getting together with friends, talking about big issuesâthe war, the government. Even the end of the world.
Of course, at that point I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
CHAPTER THREE
We all met in the grocery store parking lot Friday at five in the morning, and I was stunned by who showed up. I thought it was going to be just our group, but it turned out to be a whole lot bigger than that. There were the people I knewâMary, Tommy, Jim, Julia, and Johnâbut there were also many Iâd never met.
Other than a change of clothes, I hadnât brought anything with me, but most had fishing poles or shotguns or deer rifles. When we got there, Mary threw her arms around me in a huge hug. She smelled like flowers, and I let my face nuzzle in her hair. My heart sped up at what that hug could mean. But then she gave the same big hug to Tommy, and another one to John. She was a hugger, I guessed.
She looked like the youngest girl there, and I was probably the youngest guy. I introduced myself to everyone.
âWeâre going to have fun today,â said a girl named Kat, smiling at me. She was in her twenties, super skinny, and a nurse. She gave me a hug too, and whispered in my ear, âThis may seem crazy at first, but youâre going to love it.â
What? I thought. It seemed like such an odd thing to say. I figured she meant Iâd love the groupâthe fishing and shooting.
âThe old guy,â I asked Kat. âWhoâs he?â
âThatâs Rodney. And heâs only thirty-two,â she said. âThatâs not old. Itâs his beard. But you should get to know himâhe owns a deli in Oakland. And watch for it: heâll ask you to go fishing with him, and heâll make a bet on who will catch the first fish. Donât take him up on it. I swear, he could get a fifteen-pound bass out of a pothole.â
Mary came and took my hand and led me to her car. âItâs a coupe,â she said, âso thereâs only room for the two of us.â
âGreat,â I said. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that showed her curves, and I couldnât believe Tommy wasnât interested in her. She was beautiful. Her hair was loose and long, and her skin was soft and warm in my hand. I couldnât believe how lucky I was that we had the whole car ride to ourselves.
Once everyone had arrivedâthere were eight cars and 21 peopleâMary and I pulled out of the parking lot and headed west. Her ranch was five hours north. Iâd heard Northern California was pretty, and she said there were lakes and rivers and hills on her familyâs property.
âDo your folks know youâre going up there?â I asked.
âWhat makes you ask that?â she said, tilting her head.
âJust curious.â
âNo,â she said, her expression suddenly tense. âThey donât. And they canât find out, or Iâm dead.â
âSo we have to keep the place nice and tidy?â
âExactly.â Mary glanced over at me, noticed I
was smiling. Her face loosened up, and she laughed. âReally, though, my parents donât use the ranch for much anymore. So they donât care. In the spring my dad will go up and make sure the fences are okay, and in autumn he still takes us hunting. The ranch is really bigâhave I said that? Itâs fifty-five thousand acres.â
âWow,â I said. I knew from my time with the Forest Service that that was enough land to get seriously lost in. It could cover whole mountain ranges.
âMy oldest brother owns a feed store up in Klamath Falls, Oregon. We keep expecting him to ask for the land so he can start his cattle operation, but so far he hasnât. His wife is from there, and I think she wants to stay. For now everything works out well for the ZL, though.â
âThe ZL?â
âOh,â she said, glancing over at me, like maybe sheâd said something she shouldnât have. âThatâs us. The group of us. It stands for Zero line.â
âWhat does that mean?â
âIt means . . . basically, it means that we consider each other family. You know how people talk about their bloodline? Weâthis groupâcall ourselves Zero line. Weâre our own kind of family.â
âI like that idea,â I said. âGod knows Iâd like to distance myself from my own family.â Mary laughed. I loved her laugh: so quick and light.
âSpeaking of family,â I said, âwhere does yours think you are this weekend?â
Mary laughed. âBack at school for a workshop. There are just some things you donât want to tell your parents, you know? Theyâre not the most open-minded people in the world. My dadâforget about sneaking onto the ranch. He wouldnât care about that too much. But if he knew I was with a boy from Berkeley, I think heâd flip.â
âToo liberal?â
âMy dad is a staunch Catholic, Nixon-supporting old cowboy. Just the idea that you want to study urban planning is enough to make him think youâre a pot-smoking hippie with newfangled ideas and immoral goals. He thinks a man should work with his hands. He should be a self-made man with big plans for being self-reliant.â
âAnd has that worked with the rest of the family?â