Tropical Paradise
Big Joe launched a duffel containing most of his worldly possessions over one side of the rusted F-150. It landed in the bed at Ellie’s feet, and she wrestled it into a pile with the rest: a tool chest, spare tires, three milk crates full of rope, twine and chains, two buckets full of trowel parts, hawks and gloves, fishing rods, a cardboard box of National Geographic magazines, and another bucket full of mixed nails, screws, hinges, drill bits, pulls and greasy paperbacks.
“But where is Belize, exactly?” asked Ellie.
“It's down south a piece. I told you already,” said Big Joe. “Now go ahead and fish a tarp out from your father’s bins.”
Ellie hopped off the pickup and ran to one of the sheds where three fugitive chickens pecked at the feed-dusted floor. She shoved them out the hole they sneaked in through and propped an old tire across it. From the tack bin she chose the large cotton duck sheet she trimmed out with polished brass eyelets and tie-dyed last summer. She panted back and handed it to Big Joe.
“Is it as far as Mexico?”
He held one side while she stretched it across the truck bed. “It's further than that.”
He tied his knots simple and fast, then came across to help her. His knuckles where wide as quarters, she measured them the first week he moved back. She could fit her entire hand in his palm, and when he blew on his thumb, his arms inflated.
“But don't you think I should go with you, Big Joe? We could have a real good time in Belize, and I could pick us up some tacos when we pull through Mexico. Plus, who’s going to do your laundry? You’ve got to figure that in.”
She wore a green shirt with two yellow stripes on each sleeve, faded blue high-waters and rusty Velcro shoes. Her pale ginger hair fell halfway to her shoulders and stuck out all over like straw. She knew Big Joe once had ginger hair, too.
“You aren't coming, and that's all there is to it, so you might as well drop it now, Ellie.”
“Well goddamn it,” she scuffed the gravel.
“Enough of that, or I’ll get out my belt. Your father already gave me hell about your potty mouth.”
As if the mention were a summons, Joe Junior came tearing up the driveway, throwing stones, skidding to a stop and hopping out in one movement.
“Whatever it is this time, just hold on, Pop,” he said.
“Hold on to yourself, it’s nothing,” Big Joe retied one of Ellie’s knots.
“We’re packing up for Belize, Dad,” Ellie said, “I’ll give you a call when we get there so you know we’re okay.”
“Goddamn it, Ellie, I told you enough of that,” said Big Joe.
“Goddamn it, Dad,” said Little Joe.
“Goddamn it," said Ellie, and kicked the driveway again.
“Watch your mouth, Ellie,” Little Joe said. “She never used to talk that way, know that Pop? And no way is she going to Belize, I’ll tell you that right now.”
“She isn’t,” said Big Joe. He looked over at Ellie, “Just like I told you, right Ellie?”
Ellie double checked one of the knots.
“Then what the hell is going on? Delma said you were packing everything up again. Will one of you tell me where the hell Belize is at?"
“It's down south,” said Ellie, “Right over there by Mexico.”
“Well that's about it, I guess,” said Big Joe.
“And just what in hell do you know about Belize?”
“I know plenty. I got an article in the truck. Ellie, go get your daddy that Geographic.”
Ellie left the knots and fetched the magazine from where it lay on the bench seat, next to an unopened letter marked ‘Official Business’.
“It’s all right here,” she said, slapping the magazine with back of her hand, “Tropical paradise.”
“Who says?”
“By god, it is a goddamn tropical paradise,” said Big Joe. He pointed to a double page spread with several beautiful, brown skinned women lounging in white sands with palm trees and blue water behind them.
“Listen Dad, what in hell you think you are going to do in Belize? You don't have a house, you don't know a soul, you don't have a job. You don’t speak Belizian. How much savings do you even own?”
Behind the house, Marcy was barking.
“I can still work anywhere. I got two hands, don’t I? Down there, you just set up in a field for a while, and it’s yours. The government doesn't go around taking all your cash and charging you to live on land you already own. Don't worry about me, I’ll be just fine.” He sliced the air with his hand to make the point.
“Oh great, so he’s all pissed off at America again,” Little Joe raised his arms to the sky and let them slap down on his thighs. He took off his hat and rubbed it along his brown hair.
Marcy let off a long volley of throaty woofs that echoed between the sheds.
“Shut up, Marcy!” said both Joe’s.
“She’s a hollering at something!” Ellie ran out back to the pen. Marcy put her head down and sniffed.
“Listen Dad,” said Little Joe, standing between the trucks, “This isn't a good idea, its not like Oregon this time, or Montana, or any of the other ones. They have diseases down there. Malaria and such. Do you even have the right shots for that?”
“Diseases, he says! Listen to him talk. They got diseases up here! Taxes, they call them. You want me to starve to death up here in the land of the free? Diseases. Ha!” The old man spat at the gravel and flipped through his National Geographic without reading.
Behind the house, Marcy stood her front paws on the fence, scenting the air with narrowed eyes. Ellie yelled, “I think she’s got something now! She’s sniffing around pretty fierce over here!”
Little Joe slapped his leg with his hat, “Dammit, Pop, will you just think it out for a minute? You can't just go around saying taxes is the same thing as malaria! You’re gonna get yourself sick. Or worse. Just hold on a minute, and lets figure this thing out.”
Marcy was barking again.
“Figure what? There’s nothing to figure on, I’m heading south, going to be in Belize in a week. Done deal. Ellie, can't you quiet her down?”
“She smells something funny!”
“Well settle her down, then,” shouted Little Joe. “Listen, Dad. We’re doing good. Damn good. If it’s about money, why don’t you…”
Big Joe waved away the question. He pointed to a line of print, “Three hundred eighty kilometers of coastline,” he brought the magazine close to his nose, “Is a kilometer bigger or smaller than a mile?”
“It’s smaller, Dad. You didn’t learn that in Ottawa?”
“Anyhow, it says right here, ‘Belize is slightly smaller than the state of Massachusetts.’ So there you go.”
“There you go what? Gimme that thing,” Little Joe grabbed at the magazine, but his father snatched it away.
“Hold on a minute, I was getting to the good part. Says right here, the place is practically empty. Almost the size of a state, and it’s practically empty!”
“Well, let me see it…”
“Now, hold on a goddamn minute…”
Little Joe grabbed the top of the magazine, but Big Joe held fast to the bottom. “Let go!”
Marcy hopped the fence.
“I ain't done with it yet, goddamn it. You let go.”
Marcy shot by them, barking and leaping, a yellow streak.
“Oh shoot, grab her!” shouted Ellie, running down to the trucks.
“How’d she get out, Ellie?”
“Jumped the goddamn fence! And you two just let her run right by ya!”
“Watch your mouth, Ellie!” said Little Joe. At that moment, his Rescue Squad pager set up a squall of high pitched squawks. “Ah shit,” he said “They’re toning me out, I gotta get to the fire station. Would you two get that goddamn dog back in the fence? You aren’t going anywhere pop, got it?” He ran to Big Joe’s truck, reached in, pulled the keys and was back in his own truck, spewing gravel across the yard before Big Joe could stop him.
“Well, goddamn it,” said Big Joe. “Go get the leash, Ellie!”
Ellie ran back to the shed and pulled the leash from its spot by the light switch. “Go on, before she gallops the cows,” Ellie shouted.
The glossy magazine fluttered in a small breeze on the hood of Big Joe’s pickup. Ellie took it back to the shed, hid it in the bottom of the tack bin and lit out across the field where Marcy dodged between the startled cows and Big Joe cussed. They chased her behind the barns and house and behind the pens, through a shallow tree line and into the back pasture. She bounded across a meadow and into more trees on the other side, over a tiny brook to the edge of the road, Joe and Ellie puffing along in her wake, calling when they gathered enough air. And when they had her at arm’s length, Marcy ran back through the woods and the field and the meadow, a blonde bolt hopping and barking, full of the joy of freedom, to the back porch.
She wagged her tail, circling again and again as Big Joe and Ellie made it to the bottom step. Ellie collapsed into the soft lawn, and Big Joe eased himself down beside her.
“Good planting, this ground.” said Big Joe. He wiped sweat from his forehead.
“Big Joe, can I ask you something?”
“That depends on the something, Ellie.”
“Why are you leaving out again?”
Joe thought for a time. “Can you remember when my daddy died, Ellie?”
“I like to think I wouldn’t forget a thing like Joe Senior dying.” She plucked out some of the cool grass and let it fly away from her fingers on the wind. Marcy finally found a suitable spot and lay down on the porch.
“I’m going to take you in on a secret here.” He looked down at the daughter of his only son. “This is something you aren’t going to hear in school, so I want you to listen good.”
Ellie shrugged. “Sure.”
“The day Joe Sr. died, I became an orphan. That’s what happens. That's the secret nobody tells you. Even if it all goes right, and your kids grow up and have kids of their own ‒ that’s you ‒ even then, one morning you wake up to the plain fact that you’re a seventy five year old orphan. There are no nets, Ellie. Not even for you.”
“Are you going to leave us again for real?”
“Nowhere is home to an orphan.” He built himself slowly up to his feet. “But one day they’ll send me back. I want you to lay me down right here. This’ll be the spot.” He dug in to the dirt with the tip of his boot.
Ellie lay back on her arms and looked over the treetops. Marcy lifted her head, suddenly panting off the heat in the way dogs do. She got up and spun around a few times, then lay down again on cooler part of the porch.
Ellie sat up. “I hid your magazine in the shed, Big Joe. I guess I wished you’d stay.”
“I know, Ellie,” said Big Joe. “I know.”