American rust Read Free Page B

gone pro but—”
    “I was in the army,” said Otto. He was the tall Swede. Most of the people in the Valley were ethnic in some way or other: Poles, Swedes, Serbs, Germans, Irish. Except for Isaac's people, who were Scottish, and Poe's, who had been here so long no one knew what they were.
    “Otto is on leave from the VA.” Murray tapped his head.
    “Fuckin Murray,” Otto said.
    Isaac glanced over but Otto had gone quiet and was staring at the ground. As for the other man, he was dark and Hispanic- looking and a little smaller than Poe, he had a tattoo on his neck that said jesús in bubble letters. All three of the men were much larger than Isaac; the Swede, it now appeared, was close to seven feet.
    “You're lucky it was us come in,” said the Hispanic one. “They got some real lunatics around here.”
    “Jesús,” said Murray. “Stop being such a fuckin Mexican.”
    “Murray might want to shut his mouth,” said Jesús.
    Otto, the Swede, added: “Pretty soon it's a fuckin convention in here.”
    “These two ain't like that, they're locals.”
    The room seemed dark and small and the Swede picked up a long piece of lumber and rammed the end noisily into the stove. Isaac wondered how he'd get Poe to leave. The embers popped and shot across the floor and by the shadows on the wall all five men looked like sitting apes. This won't get any better, Isaac thought. Jesús jerked something from his pocket and Isaac flinched and Jesús burst out laughing. It was just a bottle of whiskey.
    “I gotta take a piss,” Isaac said. He didn't have to piss; he wanted to leave and he looked at Poe but Poe didn't get it.
    “Go on,” Poe said.
    “Those two usually piss together,” said Jesús.
    Isaac waited but Poe stayed where he was, staring at both Jesús and the Swede, he noticed Poe's jacket sitting there on the floor along with his backpack. Poe was in a definite mood, thinking he was indestructible. Isaac picked up the backpack, he could not afford to lose anything inside it, he held it by a strap and felt everyone watching him. He didn't know how to tell Poe to bring his coat. Finally he went out alone.
    It was nearly dark and the storm had broken temporarily, though more clouds were coming in—across the meadow he could see the trees swaying by the river. He wondered again how he'd get Poe to come out. Thinks it's still school. No consequences. As for the field, it was full of scrap metal, tall grass grown up around piles of train parts, huge engine blocks, wheels, driveshafts and gears. A handful of bats were cutting and darting over the piles of rusted steel.
    There was a patch of high clouds in the bloodorange light and he watched until the sun faded completely. He didn't know whether to go back and get Poe or if Poe would come out on his own. Poe was always doing these things. He'd nearly gone to jail for beating up a kid from Donora, he was still on probation for it. He can't resist a fight, not something you understand. Probably it's not his fault. Probably you can't be as big as him without having some kind of robot mentality.
    Suddenly there were raised voices from inside the building, then shouting and banging around. Isaac tightened the straps on his pack and picked an escape route across the field and waited for Poe to come running. But Poe did not appear. Keep waiting, he told himself, just sit tight. The shouting and noises stopped. Isaac waited a while longer. Maybe it's okay. No, something is wrong. You have to go back in.
    His hands were shaking but he took the money from his pocket and stuffed it deep inside his backpack and then quickly hid the pack under a piece of sheet metal. This is fine. The kid's got this under control. Don't go in empty- handed. He saw a short length of iron pipe but it would just get taken away from him. Underneath the other scrap—he reached his hand carefully through the stack of rusted metal to where a dozen or so industrial ball bearings were scattered in the dirt.