Matthew Derby - Full Metal Jhacket

Matthew Derby

University of Michigan Press
Ann Arbor

Copyright 2015 by Matthew Derby

All rights reserved

This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, including illustrations, in any form (beyond that copying permitted by Sections 107 and 108 of the U.S. Copyright Law and except by reviewers for the public press), without written permission from the publisher.

Published in the United States of America by the

University of Michigan Press

Manufactured in the United States of America

2018 2017 2016 2015 4 3 2 1

DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.3998/tfcp.13240730.0001.001

ISBN 978-0-472-03615-8 (paper : alk. paper)

ISBN 978-0-472-12096-3 (e-book)

For William Derby

January in December originally appeared in Guernica; The Snipe originally appeared as a JR Van Sant Chapbook Series selection; Dokken and Heightmap of Her Countenance originally appeared in Unstuck; Full Metal Jhacket originally appeared in The Collagist; The Past, Uncorrected originally appeared in Caketrain Journal; Thirty Years of Prosperity for Every Fifteen Years of Hard Work originally appeared in The Columbia Journal; Yeti originally appeared in Ben Marcuss Smallwork; How The Rebels Took Port Harcourt originally appeared in The Columbia Journal; KraftMark originally appeared in The Apocalypse Reader anthology; and Walden Galleria Prayer originally appeared in The Book of Uncommon Prayer anthology.

Church was bunk. Scarves were bunk. The cold was bunk. Robert Fancers grandfather, the man he was wheeling back from afternoon service in a crappy chair, was massively bunk. There wasnt a word for the level of bunk Fancers grandfather was. Especially when the wheels of the chair were coated in brown gritty slush, like they were just then, on the way back from the church, and the grandfather was trying to tell him shortcuts that didnt even exist anymore, places that had been bricked up years before or fenced in or protected by loud dogs, and his grandfather smelled and was losing his mind and he apologized even though he didnt mean to apologize, even when he was trying to do the opposite of apologizing underneath the apology.

If you had turned down that alley, wed be home by now, he said, pounding his fists against his thighs.

That wasnt an alley. That was a newsstand.

Im sorry about that, Robert. But if there was an alley there, and there should be, we would be home.

Before, Fancers mother had taken care of everythingthe catheter, the vinyl sheets, the runny bowelsall of the horrible things that happened to Fancers grandfather in the course of a day. She executed these tasks with such precision that they attained a transparency. It was only through the yellowed lens of her death that Fancer saw how profound her influence was over the apartment, how much discord had been held back by her fierce, silent vigilance. She was dead and he could no longer pay for the Pakistani nurse to come, the one with the fantasy name he couldnt even pronounce whose voice was thin and sweet, always on the verge of song. She would come once in the morning and again in the afternoon and when she came the second time her voice was always lower, as if weighted down. Fancer missed the nurse. He felt a pitted longing for the wind she carried through the house, the brief flurry that stirred the still, dim rooms, sheets snapping and halving under the direction of her sure hands as she stood next to his grandfathers bed. Fancer wanted to ask her where she had learned to do these things with such dispassion, under what circumstances she had happened into this part of the world tending to the small brown apartment he shared with his grandfather, which seemed a profound disgrace. He wanted most of all to hear the voice, to drape it over himself like a shawl, but he could barely muster speech in the presence of the nurse, and so he never asked, just left the money in an envelope on the small table by the front door and waited for her to leave. Then he got fired from the supermarket for crashing a delivery truck packed with snack cakes and his grandfathers pension was barely enough for them to keep hold of the apartment. He called the agency that sent the nurse, asking for a temporary extension of credit, but they did not do credit, they were a cash-only establishment.

Fancer and his grandfather made it back to the apartment building. Fancer bent down and hefted the old man, who weighed less than a stick, onto his back. This was the only way they could get up the stairs because the chair would wobble when he tried to lug it up backwards and Fancer worried something would break or that hed lose his grip on the rubber handles and his grandfather would tumble down the long narrow flight, his bones snapping like kindling.

Youre good for doing this, for making sure I get to mass, Fancers grandfather said, clinging to him with feathery arms. Im very thankful. Do I seem thankful to you?

Yes.

I want to make sure you know I am thankful. I was never thankful, not to your mother or to your grandmother before her. They both died resenting me. I know it.

They did not. Its fine.

Thats nice of you, Robert. But I can tell. I can feel it. I can feel them looking down from heaven. I can feel the pressure of their eyes above me, bearing down.

Fancer carried his grandfather into the apartment, laid him out on the special bed, covered him in a crocheted afghan, and turned on the news. The first story involved a group of nuns who had been raped and murdered by soldiers in El Salvador. Father Gregory had mentioned the women in his homily. He told the congregation to turn their anger into prayer because the sentiment would multiply like the loaves and fishes and spread out into the world in the form of peace. After the story about the nuns the news anchors talked about the hostages in Iran, a warehouse full of abused cats that had been discovered in White Plains, a new advance in heart medicine, and the Dallas Cowboys. The male anchor made a joke about the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders at the expense of the female anchor. The female anchor laughed, concealing a grimace, and the news ended.

Why didnt they mention the election? When does the election happen? Fancers grandfather asked, clicking laboriously through the channels, which were mostly jagged bands of static. The wand worked only intermittently and only when you rolled the batteries back and forth while clicking. Mostly they kept it on the same station and hoped.

Grand-dad, come on. Already happened.

The grandfather stopped clicking. Youre serious.

Yes. You saw it.

Who won?

Come on, Grand-dad. Reagan won. You know this.

Oh, god. I hate this head. It wont work. The grandfather blinked and scrubbed a veinous hand over his scalp, smacking with his elbow a Tupperware bowl full of unpopped and half-popped corn kernels left over from the day before.

Fancer knelt on the floor and began picking the oily kernels out of the carpet pile.

Im sorry, Robert. About the mess Ive made. Not just there, the mess on the floor. I mean the mess inside me. I hate when that happens, when I forget.

Its fine.

But I really am sorry. You cant understand what its like. I have these huge holes in my head where all of the memory goes. Like down a drain. Do you understand?

Fancer paused, crouched on his elbows and knees. Stop apologizing, please.

But I want you to know. My life is going away, slowly, down these holes.