Where Nobody Knows

by Mike Kreiner

Last week Duke lit out from the cemetery after burying his mother and just drove and drove until he’d put five hundred miles between him and his last name. He didn’t feel free until the earth began undulating with foothills, and the flatlands of midwestern America gave way to trees, until a few states separated him from his hometown, until he found himself bowling alongside the only living relatives he cared about, far away from anything familiar.

“You know you’ve got it made here, right?” said Aunt Deb. “These girls grew up with all the same guys. A handsome boy like you can take your pick. I see you eyeing her.”

“Who, me?” said Duke.

“Let it be,” said Uncle Joe.

Duke was bowling now. “You ask around yet about funeral homes, Joe?”

“Not yet. I was still trying to find a place for you to stay. You don’t wanna stay on the couch too long.”

Duke replied, “couch is fine for now,” but he wasn’t looking back at Joe, his eyes were fixed on the lane. He strode forward, swung his arm back, and let it roll. The clouds in his ball swirled as it spun and spun, but it didn’t break, just kept going right past the center pins.

“Can’t bring a girl home to a couch,” said Aunt Deb as she passed him on the way to her ball.

“Listen,” said Duke, “what I need is to get the business going.”

Duke was a mortician, the makeup part of it. “We don’t have anybody for that, folks’ll appreciate you,” Uncle Joe had told him a few days ago. “Right now we have to drive an hour.”

There wouldn’t be much side work for Duke in their small town; what townspeople needed was a way to bring in more money from outside.

***

Duke set out the next morning later than he planned. He drove from town to town, visiting the funeral homes and churches. He’d grown up poor, but not Appalachian poor. The smaller the town, the more distrustful the looks when he pulled up. By midday, he found himself driving a switchback road up the side of a mountain, windows down, smiling as the van wobbled into and out of each hairpin turn. He twisted the dial but couldn’t find any radio, even up here. The road was wide for a switchback; it could accommodate logging trucks. They ought to leave the mountains alone, he thought.

The landscape was gorgeous and rugged. The trip down the other side of the mountain was less pleasant. His brakes held out, but complained loudly.

He was tired that night at the bowling alley. Deb and Joe’s neighbor Jack made it a foursome. Deb and Joe were talking about the four starting a league team.

“I don’t wanna have to roll in no faraway hollers,” said Jack. Hollers were neighboring valleys. Jack looked more the part of a mountainman than Uncle Joe, Duke thought, more scraggly. “I just like to get piss drunk and roll and stumble home.”

Duke tuned out when he saw the same woman behind the bar, dressed in her jeans and flannel shirt with rolled up sleeves. Duke couldn’t tell if her hair was all brown or had a little bit of red, but it was tied up in back with a few tendrils hanging down. She tended bar with poise.

She kept her shoulders back.

Aunt Deb leaned in and nudged him. “Why don't you ask her out?”

“No, just looking,” said Duke. The bartender was wearing a silver and turquoise cuff bracelet. Maybe it was pewter. Folks in town wore costume jewelry. She didn’t seem to notice his overlong gaze. Deb handed him an empty pitcher and nodded her way.

“What can I get ya?” the bartender asked.

“Just a club soda. And a pitcher for the table.”

“You know your uncle rolled a 240 last year. You any good?”

“Oh, I'm getting better. Still the weak link.”

“You sure Jack isn’t the weak link?” She nodded to his table, where Jack was doing a chicken dance. Duke looked back at her and they both chuckled.

“I’m Ruby, by the way.”

“Duke. Nice to meet you.”

“Club soda and a pitcher for ya.” Duke nodded and took them back to the table.

***

Later that week, they were out back around a bonfire, arguing about fireworks.

“What do you need 'em for?” said Uncle Joe.

“It’s fun,” said Duke. “You never set any off before?”

“Not in the last twenty years. You’d have to drive to Bainbridge to get them anyways.”

“Hey Deb,” said Duke, “you need anything from the Walmart?”

“I have a list going, but it’s long.” The wind turned. Smoke blew into Duke’s eyes.

“I can’t go fly-fishing tomorrow,” said Duke.

“How come?”

“Mrs. Pearce died. They need her ready by Monday.”

“Bad luck working on a Sunday,” said Aunt Deb. She was more superstitious than religious.

“How about we leave before dawn? You’ll be home by ten.”

It was minutes before noon when Duke and Joe made it back home. Duke hadn’t eaten, wouldn’t eat until the work was done. He drew back the white sheet from Mrs. Pearce. He hadn’t seen a dead body since his mother’s viewing.

He’d taken all his mother’s equipment with him when she died. Drawers and drawers of makeup: rows of lipstick and nail polish, brushes of all different shapes and sizes, spray tips for the air gun, odds and ends like super glue and eyebrow floss. He opened the gas valve for the air gun and began spraying a light base coat for her skin, which had already started to lose the glow of the living.

He’d spent countless hours after school watching his mom transform each person into a portrait of tranquility. They looked like they were resting when she finished, like they could wake at any moment to say “I’ve just had the most wonderful dream.”

He got his start doing her makeup after fights. He’d cover up the bruises and belt marks that landed where she couldn’t see or reach. He was in high school when he started working alongside his mother.

He closed his eyes and tried to shake off a memory, but he was already there. He found himself standing over Billy Cunningham, whose nose was bleeding all over the dirt trail that led back home from school. Duke knelt over Billy and took another swing. His head spun and bounced off the ground. Someone tackled Duke to the ground.

And then he’s looking down at his shoes, and his mom is asking, “what the hell happened?”

And he’s not saying anything because he doesn’t know. One minute he was walking home, and the next he’s taking a swing at Billy Cunningham, and then, he’s standing here saying, “I don’t know, mom. I got in a fight.”

“I can see that. I just got off the phone with Mrs. Cunningham. What did you do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“That’s not good enough. What if your dad finds out.”

“I don’t care if he does. Maybe he’ll hit me for a change and you can have the night off.”

She slapped him. “Don’t you dare.”

And then, the memory was gone. He was back with Mrs. Pearce, applying nail polish.

***

Weeks passed, and the business started slowly picking up. As the weather warmed, Duke spent more time in town. He liked being new. Where he came from, everybody knew his story.

The look of pity on their faces wherever he went.

His mother had been a beautician before she became a mortician. She had plenty of clients and made enough to support her husband and son, with a little help from the food pantry at the church. Business dried up the worse the abuse got. Women were scared to associate with her, were scared of her husband.

Duke was at the grocery store, waiting in line behind a father and son, when the father reached back and smacked the son in the head. Duke clenched his fists, but there was nothing he could do. The moment had passed. The father rested his hand on the son’s shoulder.

***

The next day was his mother’s birthday. Aunt Deb had a stack of pancakes waiting for him at the breakfast table, and coffee.

“I think I’ll split some logs after breakfast.”

“Eat up, then. I sent Joe out for bacon. He’ll help you split too; he could use the exercise.”

“No, I got it.”

Their cabin was old and sturdy. A century ago, the mining company blasted a railroad tunnel right through the mountainside. Sandstone was free to anyone signing onto the mine; the first hundred homes were built that year, sandstone and log cabins.

Duke put the axe to the grindstone. The blade grumbled a deep elemental sound that echoed through the trees. Memories of home invaded his solitude. The firewood was dense. Over and over he swung the axe overhead, until the blade floated in the air as if without gravity, then he’d pull it down with arms, torso, and legs working as one, violently. A spray of splinters flew back in his face with each swing, but he didn’t stop or slow, just stared at the widening gash, rocked the blade up and down until it came free, then hoisted it overhead until it hung in that gravity-free moment once again.

Duke bowled angry that night. His hands were blistered and his back ached. And he rolled like shit. A few beers in, Duke loosened up and the pins started falling.

“You’re in the zone now,” said Jack.

Aunt Deb shot Jack a look. “Keep it to yourself.”

“Grab another pitcher,” Duke said to the table.

“Get it yourself,” said Aunt Deb.

He walked over to the bar. “Hey there, Ruby.”

“Hey, Duke; how are ya tonight?” She looked him over.

“Tough day,” was all he could say back.

The parking lot outside was damp.

“Give me the keys, Duke,” said Uncle Joe. “We can get your van in the morning.”

“Bullshit,” said Duke.

Uncle Joe took a few steps closer. “C’mon, son, what’s got into you?”

Duke took a swing that landed. Uncle Joe’s glasses broke as they flew off his face.

***

Duke awoke to a hangover. The cabin felt cramped with him there. He folded his blanket and draped it over the couch, then went to splash water on his face.

Aunt Deb was too cheerful as she floated around the kitchen. And that condescending smile. “You want eggs?” she asked him.

“Just coffee.”

Aunt Deb put a plate of eggs in front of him and poured his coffee. “Pretty wild time last night, huh?”

“You mean how I got drunk and socked Joe in the parking lot?”

“Exactly.”

Duke looked down.

“Aw honey,” Aunt Deb said, “I don't know a grown man who hasn't gotten lit and taken a swing at his bud.”

“Bullshit. It's different for me.” She couldn’t possibly understand, he thought.

“Oh yeah, and what makes you so special?”

“I know what I am.” He pictured Billy Cunningham.

“Is this about your dad? You’re not a wife beater. Is that what you think? Have you ever even hit a woman?”

“No, I never got close enough.”

“Duke.” Her eyes went soft. She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “You did more to protect my sister than anyone. Is that what you think? You think you’re gonna hit your girlfriend?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got all this anger that you don’t know about.”

“Duke, I've seen the way you bowl, like you could kill those pins. That’s healthy. Your Dad didn’t ruin you. You’re a good man.”

Just then she looked like her sister.

Duke broke down and cried for the first time since before his mother died.

***

Duke strode confidently up to the bar.

“Hey, cowboy,” said Ruby.

“Ruby, I want to ask you out.”

“So why don't you?” she quipped.

“Will you go out with me?”

“Sure. But first you gotta tell me something about you.”

“Like what?”

“Well for starters, I don’t even know your last name.”

“Perkins.”