The Secrets of a Fire King Read online

  We practiced these from a rigging suspended from the ceiling. With luck, Howard said, everything should work automatically. But in case anything went wrong, we had to know how to get rid of the first parachute and open our reserve. We took turns in the rigging, yanking the release straps and falling a few feet before the canvas harness caught us. When I tried it, the straps cut painfully into my thighs.

  “In the air,” Howard said, “it won’t feel this bad.” I got down, my palms sweaty and shaky, and Stephen climbed into the harness.

  “Streamer!” Howard shouted, describing a parachute that opened but didn’t inflate. Stephen’s motions were fluid—he flipped open the metal buckles, slipped his thumbs through the protruding rings, and fell the few feet through the air.

  Howard nodded vigorously. “Yes,” he said. “Perfect. You do exactly the same for a Mae West—a parachute with a cord that’s caught, bisecting it through the middle.”

  The other two women had jumped before but their training had expired, and it took them a few tries to relearn the movements. After we had each gone through the procedure three times without hesitation, Howard let us break for lunch. Stephen and I bought Cokes and sat in the shade of the building, looking at the row of planes shining in the sun.

  “Have you noticed?” he asked. “Howard doesn’t sweat.”

  I laughed. It was true, Howard’s white clothes were as crisp now as when we had started.

  “You know what else, Kate?” Stephen went on, breaking a sandwich and giving half to me. “I’ve never flown either.”

  “You’re kidding?” I said. He was gazing out over the fields.

  “No, I’m not.” His hands were clasped calmly around his knees. “Do you think we’ll make it?”

  “Yes,” I said, but even then I couldn’t imagine myself taking that step into open space. “Of course,” I added, “we don’t have to do this.”

  “You don’t,” said Stephen, throwing his head back to drain his soda. He brushed crumbs out of his beard. “For me it’s my personal integrity at stake, remember?”

  “But you don’t have to worry,” I said. “You’re so good at this. You did all the procedures perfectly, and you weren’t even nervous.”

  “Hell,” Stephen said. He shook his head. “What’s to be nervous? The free fall is my natural state of mind.” He tapped the shirt pocket where his Valium was hidden.

  “Want one?” he asked. “For the flight?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said. “Thanks.”

  He shrugged. “Up to you.”

  He pulled the bottle out of his pocket and flipped it open. There was only one pill left.

  “Damn,” he said. He took the cotton out and shook it again, then threw the empty bottle angrily into the field.

  We finished eating in silence. I had made up my mind not to go through with it, but when Howard called us back to practice landing maneuvers, I stood up, brushing off the straw that clung to my legs. There seemed to be nothing else to do.

  I was going to jump first, so I was crouched closest to the opening in the side of the plane. There was no door, just a wide gaping hole. All I could see was brittle grass, blurring then growing fluid as we sped across the field and rose into the sky. The force of the ascent pushed me against the hot metal wall of the plane, and I gripped a ring in the floor to keep my balance. I closed my eyes, took deep breaths, and tried not to envision myself suspended on a piece of metal in the midst of all that air. The jumpmaster tugged at my arm. The plane had leveled and he motioned to the doorway.

  I crept forward and got into position. My legs hung out the opening and the wind pulled at my feet. The jumpmaster was tugging at my parachute and attaching the static line to the floor of the plane. I turned to watch, but the helmet blocked my view. I felt Stephen’s light touch on my arm. Then the plane turned, straightened itself. The jumpmaster’s hand pressed into my back.

  “Go!” he said.

  I couldn’t move. The ground was tiny, an aerial map, rich in detail, and the wind tugged at my feet. What were the commands? Arch, I whispered. Arch arch arch. That was all I could remember. I stood up, gripping the side of the opening, my feet balanced on the metal bar beneath the doorway, resisting the steady rush of wind. The jumpmaster shouted again. I felt the pressure of his fingers. And then I was gone. I left the plane behind me and fell into the air.

  I didn’t shout. The commands flew from my mind, as distant as the faint drone of the receding plane. I knew I must be falling, but the earth stayed the same abstract distance away. I was suspended, caught in a slow turn as the air rushed around me. Three seconds yet? I couldn’t tell. My parachute didn’t open but the earth came no closer, and I kept my eyes wide open, too terrified to scream.

  I felt the tug. It seemed too light after the heavy falls in the hanger, but when I looked up the parachute was unfolding above me, its army green mellowing beneath the sun. Far off I heard the plane as it banked again. Then it faded and the silence grew full, became complete. I leaned back in the straps and looked around. Four lakes curled around the horizon, jagged deep blue fingers. All summer I had felt myself slipping in the quick rush of the world, but here, in clear and steady descent, nothing seemed to move. It was knowledge to marvel at, and I tugged at the steering toggles, turning slowly in a circle. Cornfields unfolded, marked off by trees and fences. And still the silence; the only sound was the whisper of my parachute. I pulled the toggle again and saw someone on the ground, a tiny figure, trying to tell me something. All I could do was laugh, drifting, my voice clear and sharp in all that air. Gradually, the horizon settled into a tree line a quarter of a mile away, and I was falling, I realized, falling fast. I tensed, then remembered and forced myself to relax, to fix my gaze on that row of trees. My left foot hit the ground and turned and then, it seemed a long time later, my right foot touched. Inch by inch I rolled onto the ground. The corn all around me tunneled my vision, and the parachute dragged me slightly, then deflated. I lay there, smiling, gazing at the blue patch of sky.

  After a long time I heard my name in the distance.

  “Kate?” It was Stephen. “Kate, are you okay?”

  “I’m over here.” I sat up and took off my helmet.

  “Where?” he said. “Don’t be an idiot. I can’t see anything in all this corn.”

  We found each other by calling and moving awkwardly through the coarse, rustling leaves. Stephen hugged me when he saw me.

  “Wasn’t it wonderful?” I said. “Wasn’t it amazing?”

  “Yeah,” he said, helping me untangle the parachute and wad it up. “It was unbelievable.”

  “How did you get down before me?” I asked.

  “Some of us landed on target,” he said as we walked back to the hangar. “Others picked a cornfield.” I laughed, giddy with the solidity of earth beneath my feet.

  Stephen waited in the car while I went for my things. I hesitated in the cool, dim hangar, letting my eyes adjust. When I could see, I slipped off the jumpsuit and black boots, brushed off my clothes. Howard came out of the office.

  “How did I do?” I asked.

  “Not bad. You kind of flapped around out there, but not bad, for a first time. You earned this, anyway,” he said, handing me a certificate with my name, and his, and the ink still drying.

  “Which is more than your friend did,” he added. He shook his head at my look of surprise. “I can’t figure it out either. Best in the class, and he didn’t even make it to the door.”

  I didn’t say anything to Stephen when I got into the car. I didn’t know what to say, and by then, anyway, my ankle was swelling, turning an odd, tarnished shade of green. We went to the hospital. They took me into a consulting room and I waited a long time for the X-ray results, which showed no breaks, and for the doctor, who lectured me on my foolishness as he bandaged my sprained ankle. When I came out, precarious on new crutches, Stephen was joking around with one of the nurses.

  It wasn’t until halfway home, when he was talking
nonstop about this being the greatest high he’d ever had, that I finally spoke.

  “Look,” I said. “I know you didn’t jump. Howard told me.”

  Stephen got quiet and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “I wanted to,” he said. His nervous fingers worried me, and I didn’t answer.

  “I don’t know what happened, Kate. I stood right in that doorway, and the only thing I could imagine was my chute in a streamer.” His hands gripped the wheel tightly. “Crazy, huh?” he said. “I saw you falling, Kate. You disappeared so fast.”

  “Falling?” I repeated. It was the word he kept using, and it was the wrong one. I remembered the pull of the steering toggle, the slow turn in the air. I shook my head. “That’s the funny thing,” I told him. “There was no sense of descent. It was more like floating. You know, I was scared too, fiercely scared.” I touched the place above the bandage where my ankle was swelling. “But I made it,” I added softly, still full of wonder.

  We drove through the rolling fields that smelled of dust and ripening leaves. After a minute, Stephen spoke. “Just don’t tell anyone, okay, Kate? Right? It’s important.”

  “I’m not going to lie,” I said, even though I could imagine his friends, who would be unmerciful when they found out. I closed my eyes. The adrenaline had worn off, my ankle ached, and all I wanted to do was sleep.

  I knew the road, so when I felt the car swing left, I looked up. Stephen had turned off on a country lane and he was stepping hard on the gas, sending bands of dust up behind us.

  “Stephen,” I said. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He looked at me, and that’s when I got scared. A different fear than in the plane, because now I had no choice about what was going to happen. Stephen’s eyes, green, were wild and glittering.

  “Look,” I said, less certainly. “Stephen. Let’s just go home, okay?”

  He held the wheel with one hand and yanked the camera out of my lap. We swerved around on the road as he pulled out the film. He unrolled it, a narrow brown banner in the wind, and threw it into a field. Then he pressed the accelerator again.

  “Isn’t it a shame,” he said, “that you ruined all the film, Kate?”

  The land blurred; then he slammed the brakes and pulled to the side of the deserted road. Dusk was settling into the cornfields like fine gray mist. The air was cooling on my skin, but the leather of the seat was warm and damp beneath my palms.

  Stephen’s breathing was loud against the rising sound of crickets. He looked at me, eyes glittering, and smiled his crazy smile. He reached over and rested his hand on my shoulder, close to my neck.

  “I could do anything I wanted to you,” he said. His thumb traced a line on my throat. His touch was almost gentle, but I could feel the tension in his flesh. I thought of running, then remembered the crutches and nearly laughed out loud from nerves and panic at the comic strip image I had, me hobbling across the uneven fields, Stephen in hot pursuit.

  “What’s so funny?” Stephen asked. His hand slid down and seized my shoulder, hard enough to fix bruises there, delicate, shaped like a fan.

  “Nothing,” I said, biting my lip. “I just want to go home.”

  “I could take you home,” he said. “If you didn’t tell.”

  “Just drive,” I said. “I won’t tell.”

  He stared at me. “You promise?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I promise.”

  He was quiet for a long time. Bit by bit his fingers relaxed against my skin. His breathing slowed, and some of his wild energy seemed to diffuse into the steadily descending night. Watching him I thought of my father, all his stubborn silence, all the uneasiness and pain. It made me angry suddenly, a sharp illumination that ended a summer’s panic. The sound of crickets grew, and the trees stood black against the last dark shade of blue. Finally Stephen started the car.

  When we reached my house he turned and touched me lightly on the shoulder. His fingers rested gently where the bruises were already surfacing, and he traced his finger around them. His voice was soft and calm.

  “Look,” he said. There was a gentle tone in his voice, and I knew it was as close to an apology as he would ever come. “I have a bad temper, Kate. You shouldn’t provoke me, you know.” And then, more quietly, even apprehensively, he asked if I’d come over that night.

  I pulled my crutches out of the back seat, feeling oddly sad. I was too angry to ever forgive him, and I was his only real friend.

  “You can go to hell,” I said. “And if you ever bother me again, I’ll tell the entire town that you didn’t jump out of that plane.”

  He leaned across the seat and gazed at me for a second. I didn’t know what he would do, but it was my parents’ driveway and I knew I was safe.

  “Kate,” he said then, breaking into the charming smile I knew so well. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

  “No,” I said. “I think you’re afraid, just like everybody else.”

  I was quiet with the door, but my mother sat up right away from where she was dozing on the couch. Her long hair, which reached the middle of her back, was streaked with gray and silver. I had a story ready to tell her, about falling down a hill, but in the end it seemed easier to offer her the truth. I left out the part about Stephen. She followed me as I hobbled into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

  I didn’t expect her to be so angry. She stood by the counter, drumming her fingers against the Formica.

  “I don’t believe this,” she said. “All I’ve got to contend with, and you throw yourself out of a plane.” She gestured at the crutches. “How do you expect to work this week? How do you expect to pay for this?”

  “Give me a break,” I said, shaking my head. Stephen was home by now. I didn’t think he would bother me, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “Working is the least of my problems,” I said. “Compared to other things, the money aspect is a piece of cake.”

  And at that my eyes, and hers, fell on the counter, where the remains of yesterday’s fiasco were still piled high, the thick dark chocolate edged with creamy frosting. My mother gazed at it for a minute. She picked up a hunk and held it out to me.

  “Piece of cake?” she repeated, deadpan.

  My mouth quivered. I started laughing, then she did. We were both hysterical with laughter, clutching our sides in pain. And then my mother was shaking me. She was still laughing, unable to speak, but there were tears running down her face too, and when she hugged me to her I got quiet.

  “Kate,” she said. “My God, Katie, you could have been killed.”

  I held her and patted awkwardly at her back.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Mom, it’s okay. Next week, I’ll be as good as new.”

  She stepped back, one hand on my shoulder, and brushed at her damp eyes with the other hand.

  “I don’t know what’s with me,” she said. She sat down in one of the chairs and leaned her forehead against her hand. “It’s too much, I guess. All of this, and with your father. I just, I don’t know what to do about it all.”

  “You’re doing fine,” I said, thinking about all her hours spent on wedding cakes, building confections as fragile and unsubstantial as the dreams that demanded them. My father sat, still and silent in his white room, and I was angry with him for asking so much from us. I wanted to tell my mother this, to explain how the anger had seared away the panic, to share the calmness that, even now, was growing up within me. Whatever had plunged my father into silence, and Stephen into violence, wouldn’t find me. I had a bandaged ankle, but the rest of me was whole and strong.

  My mother pulled her long hair away from her face, then let it fall.

  “I’m going to take a bath,” she said. “You’re okay, then?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  I went to my room. The white curtains lifted, luminous in the darkness, and I heard the distant sound of running water from the bathroom. I took off all my clothes, very slowly, and let them lie where they fell
on the floor. The stars outside were bright, the sky clear. The curtains unfolded, brushing against my skin in a swell of night air, and what I remembered, standing there in the dark, was the way it felt to be falling.

  The Invitation

  JOYCE GENTRY’S DAY BEGAN BADLY, EARLY IN THE MORNING, when she discovered that the slender branches of her mango trees were crawling with ants. Not the tiny black ones, but the large coppery ants that seemed to have adhesive on their feet, clinging obstinately to her cloth gloves and stinging her wrists before she could brush them off. She cried out, more from the knowledge that her trees were endangered than from the sting of their bites. Jamal came at once. He was a little man, short and hard and thin, with a narrow mustache and deft hands, a habitual expression of worried concern on his face.

  Fortunately, he knew exactly what to do. A kettle of water poured down each nest, some concoction of herbs slathered on each dissolving anthill, and a stiff spray of the hose to clear the branches. Joyce watched with fascination as the ants tried to escape, spilling frenetically out of adjacent tunnels, carrying their eggs. What resilient creatures they were! Still, she felt no pity for them. They had destroyed half a dozen trees already, and it was just luck that she’d caught them before they’d chewed their way into the bark and killed these young trees as well. Jamal worked quickly in the rising heat of the morning, ringing each trunk with pesticide and raking up the ruined anthills, and she brought him a glass of iced tea from the kitchen when he finished.