Meanwhile, Philip and Hayes decided to do a bit of exploring on their own. With Bess securely docked along the river, they wandered the streets of Tristesse, peering in through every shop's window and marveling at the town's perfection. Mister Jacobi would have been proud of a town like this, Philip thought. It was a town that stuck to its ideals without lusting after the money large corporations dangle from their pocketbooks.
"Hot damn," said Hayes, after taking a quick glance through a particular window. He quickly shuffled inside the store, leaving Philip to linger on the sidewalk before following him inside.
Philip looked around at the shop. There were long, white cardboard boxes all along the walls and several shallow bookshelves that stood near the counter.
"What is this place?" he asked.
"This is a comic shop," said Hayes. "A damn fine one at that." He nodded politely at the apathetic clerk behind the counter. "Alright, first thing's first--I gotta find me some goddamn Ghost Rider."
Hayes spent the next forty minutes browsing through the boxes, purchased a large stack of comic books, and then immediately headed back to the boat.
"Where are you going?" Philip asked.
"Back to the boat. Got some reading to catch up on."
"We have a whole day off, and you want to spend it reading comic books? Great."
"You coming?"
Philip sighed. "I guess."
When they boarded Bess once again, Hayes immediately shuffled into the cabin and plopped down on the old cot. He sorted through his plastic-coated stack of thin paper books, arranging them in the order he found most appealing.
"You ever read comics, kiddo?" he asked, his eyes already fixed on the colored panels of the comic in his hand.
Philip paced back and forth across the room. "Not since I was a kid, I guess," he replied. "My father used to bring me some back every time he and Mister Jacobi were away on a job."
"You should give 'em a try sometime. You'd be surprised at what you're missing. You got your action, your drama, your romance. You name it, you can find it. Though I still think some of 'em take themselves too seriously. Sometimes you wanna read something that ain't got no subtext or metaphor. Sometimes you just need something to absorb yourself into--the kind of pure emotion that fuels ya. Entertainment for the sake of entertainment. Something just plain fun. You know what I mean?"
"No, not really."
"Well, you should. It'd do ya some good. Go ahead and rummage through my stack here, if you want, and see if there's anything that catches your eye. We've got plenty of time," said Hayes.
"I'd rather not."
Hayes ignored his response altogether. "Some people stick with a writer or artist they like," he said. "Then some just like the characters. I like to think that when you follow the characters, it's because they say something about you. Me, I'm a Ghost Rider fan. Have been since 'Nam. You don't mess with a flame-headed skeleton son of a bitch."
Philip relented, sat on the edge of a stool, and stared down at Hayes, who was sprawled out on top of the cot like a half-empty sack.
"So what does Ghost Rider say about you?"
"Dunno," Hayes replied. "Maybe that somewhere along the line, I know what it feels like to have sold my soul."
"I didn't know you were in Vietnam."
Hayes tossed the comic he was reading to the side and again shuffled through his stack, looking for something in particular. "Yeah, well, I don't much like to talk about it," he said. "I'd barely been out of school a week when they shipped me over. They told me I'd make a good soldier, and by God, I did. But I hated that damn place. Every few weeks I got a package from my folks--mostly pictures and a few comics if I was lucky. Guess dads are good for that stuff, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Anyway, when I came back home, there weren't many things waiting here for me. Couldn't find work for the life of me. Then I met Jacobi, and he offered me a job. At first I's just so happy to have something to do and some money to show for it. Didn't ask any questions either--just like a good soldier. But yeah, don't let nobody lie to ya. That place was a living hell, and I've got the dead buddies to prove it. Never would've made it without them, though. A man's gotta have friends."
Finally, he found what he was looking for and pulled it free from the others. He rocked himself to his feet and ambled over to where Philip sat.
"Here, I got something for ya," he said, tossing a comic into Philip's hands. "I'm gonna go get some fresh air. It'll still be awhile until the kids get back, so try not to get too antsy to get back on the job."
Philip stared at the cover, which featured a silver man atop a surfboard in outer space, appropriately titled Silver Surfer. "What's this one about?"
"It's all about isolation," Hayes replied. "You'll love it." Then he stepped up onto the deck, leaving Philip alone with the comic.
He studied the art on the cover for a moment longer, then pulled the book out from its plastic sheath and began to read.
The cemetery was greener than Vitus remembered. He seemed to recall a prevalence of earthy tones, like mud covering the entire ground. Seeing it now, though, it seemed to be a very peaceful place, and as strange as it sounded, he was quite happy to be there. The antique-dealer had not visited his parents graves since before he became an antique-dealer, and as he approached, the hand of his partner was held tight in his own.
They spent several moments just standing beside the headstones. Luckily, Jenn had had the foresight to bring along a small collection of flowers she had liberated from gardens along the way. She gave them to Vitus, and he placed them in the stone vases attached to the markers. They said very little and then left quietly.
From there, Vitus led her through several of the nearby parks that were scattered all across the landscape of the town. Jenn imagined that this would have been a wonderful place in which to grow up, and though she didn't dare mention it to Vitus, she wished she could call it home. They wandered up and down the streets--a two person parade of their very own that had no clear starting or stopping place. They passed the schools he had attended as a boy, and the antique shop that had sparked his interest in antiquities in the first place. Jenn stared at every location as if it was an exhibit at a museum, albeit it one devoted entirely to an obscure antique-dealer who was on the run from a bench-obsessed Russian hoodlum.
"Isn't it amazing how something so simple as a walk around town can take your mind off of everything?" Jenn mused.
"It is nice for a change," Vitus agreed. "No gunfights, no narrow escapes, no getting shot and falling into a large body of water. I could get used to this lifestyle."
"So what will we do when this is all over?"
"I don't know. Do you still want to live in Europe?"
"I suppose," said Jenn, though her voice had just the slightest hint of reluctance embedded within it. "It's so far away, though, and I'll have to replace all my appliances with ones that have a funky plug. That'll be a bitch."
"I don't know if that will even be an option anymore," said Vitus. "Before long, we're going to have to take a few odd jobs transporting goods to even have enough money for fuel--if this crusade Philip's on drags out any further."
"So what, then? We don't run away and settle down? Do you want to stay on that boat forever?" Jenn asked.
"God, no. A life on the run isn't much of a life at all. I don't want to lie awake every night, wondering when Rasputin will send the next hitman after us. I don't know. It's complicated," said Vitus, but Jenn felt entirely the same way.
"Don't worry," she said, "we'll figure everything out eventually. If something's meant to be, it'll be--even if that something makes us look over our shoulders every day for the rest of our lives."
Another voice spoke up from behind them. It was one that had a distant familiarity to it. "Or you could just look over your shoulder right now," it said. Vitus and Jenn both turned to face a bruised man with a gun in his hands. He grinned and adjusted his fashionable brown suit and the strap of the bag over his shoulder with his free hand.
"Hey, guys," said the man called Hemingway. "Miss me?"
"Hot damn," said Hayes, after taking a quick glance through a particular window. He quickly shuffled inside the store, leaving Philip to linger on the sidewalk before following him inside.
Philip looked around at the shop. There were long, white cardboard boxes all along the walls and several shallow bookshelves that stood near the counter.
"What is this place?" he asked.
"This is a comic shop," said Hayes. "A damn fine one at that." He nodded politely at the apathetic clerk behind the counter. "Alright, first thing's first--I gotta find me some goddamn Ghost Rider."
Hayes spent the next forty minutes browsing through the boxes, purchased a large stack of comic books, and then immediately headed back to the boat.
"Where are you going?" Philip asked.
"Back to the boat. Got some reading to catch up on."
"We have a whole day off, and you want to spend it reading comic books? Great."
"You coming?"
Philip sighed. "I guess."
When they boarded Bess once again, Hayes immediately shuffled into the cabin and plopped down on the old cot. He sorted through his plastic-coated stack of thin paper books, arranging them in the order he found most appealing.
"You ever read comics, kiddo?" he asked, his eyes already fixed on the colored panels of the comic in his hand.
Philip paced back and forth across the room. "Not since I was a kid, I guess," he replied. "My father used to bring me some back every time he and Mister Jacobi were away on a job."
"You should give 'em a try sometime. You'd be surprised at what you're missing. You got your action, your drama, your romance. You name it, you can find it. Though I still think some of 'em take themselves too seriously. Sometimes you wanna read something that ain't got no subtext or metaphor. Sometimes you just need something to absorb yourself into--the kind of pure emotion that fuels ya. Entertainment for the sake of entertainment. Something just plain fun. You know what I mean?"
"No, not really."
"Well, you should. It'd do ya some good. Go ahead and rummage through my stack here, if you want, and see if there's anything that catches your eye. We've got plenty of time," said Hayes.
"I'd rather not."
Hayes ignored his response altogether. "Some people stick with a writer or artist they like," he said. "Then some just like the characters. I like to think that when you follow the characters, it's because they say something about you. Me, I'm a Ghost Rider fan. Have been since 'Nam. You don't mess with a flame-headed skeleton son of a bitch."
Philip relented, sat on the edge of a stool, and stared down at Hayes, who was sprawled out on top of the cot like a half-empty sack.
"So what does Ghost Rider say about you?"
"Dunno," Hayes replied. "Maybe that somewhere along the line, I know what it feels like to have sold my soul."
"I didn't know you were in Vietnam."
Hayes tossed the comic he was reading to the side and again shuffled through his stack, looking for something in particular. "Yeah, well, I don't much like to talk about it," he said. "I'd barely been out of school a week when they shipped me over. They told me I'd make a good soldier, and by God, I did. But I hated that damn place. Every few weeks I got a package from my folks--mostly pictures and a few comics if I was lucky. Guess dads are good for that stuff, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Anyway, when I came back home, there weren't many things waiting here for me. Couldn't find work for the life of me. Then I met Jacobi, and he offered me a job. At first I's just so happy to have something to do and some money to show for it. Didn't ask any questions either--just like a good soldier. But yeah, don't let nobody lie to ya. That place was a living hell, and I've got the dead buddies to prove it. Never would've made it without them, though. A man's gotta have friends."
Finally, he found what he was looking for and pulled it free from the others. He rocked himself to his feet and ambled over to where Philip sat.
"Here, I got something for ya," he said, tossing a comic into Philip's hands. "I'm gonna go get some fresh air. It'll still be awhile until the kids get back, so try not to get too antsy to get back on the job."
Philip stared at the cover, which featured a silver man atop a surfboard in outer space, appropriately titled Silver Surfer. "What's this one about?"
"It's all about isolation," Hayes replied. "You'll love it." Then he stepped up onto the deck, leaving Philip alone with the comic.
He studied the art on the cover for a moment longer, then pulled the book out from its plastic sheath and began to read.
***
The cemetery was greener than Vitus remembered. He seemed to recall a prevalence of earthy tones, like mud covering the entire ground. Seeing it now, though, it seemed to be a very peaceful place, and as strange as it sounded, he was quite happy to be there. The antique-dealer had not visited his parents graves since before he became an antique-dealer, and as he approached, the hand of his partner was held tight in his own.
They spent several moments just standing beside the headstones. Luckily, Jenn had had the foresight to bring along a small collection of flowers she had liberated from gardens along the way. She gave them to Vitus, and he placed them in the stone vases attached to the markers. They said very little and then left quietly.
From there, Vitus led her through several of the nearby parks that were scattered all across the landscape of the town. Jenn imagined that this would have been a wonderful place in which to grow up, and though she didn't dare mention it to Vitus, she wished she could call it home. They wandered up and down the streets--a two person parade of their very own that had no clear starting or stopping place. They passed the schools he had attended as a boy, and the antique shop that had sparked his interest in antiquities in the first place. Jenn stared at every location as if it was an exhibit at a museum, albeit it one devoted entirely to an obscure antique-dealer who was on the run from a bench-obsessed Russian hoodlum.
"Isn't it amazing how something so simple as a walk around town can take your mind off of everything?" Jenn mused.
"It is nice for a change," Vitus agreed. "No gunfights, no narrow escapes, no getting shot and falling into a large body of water. I could get used to this lifestyle."
"So what will we do when this is all over?"
"I don't know. Do you still want to live in Europe?"
"I suppose," said Jenn, though her voice had just the slightest hint of reluctance embedded within it. "It's so far away, though, and I'll have to replace all my appliances with ones that have a funky plug. That'll be a bitch."
"I don't know if that will even be an option anymore," said Vitus. "Before long, we're going to have to take a few odd jobs transporting goods to even have enough money for fuel--if this crusade Philip's on drags out any further."
"So what, then? We don't run away and settle down? Do you want to stay on that boat forever?" Jenn asked.
"God, no. A life on the run isn't much of a life at all. I don't want to lie awake every night, wondering when Rasputin will send the next hitman after us. I don't know. It's complicated," said Vitus, but Jenn felt entirely the same way.
"Don't worry," she said, "we'll figure everything out eventually. If something's meant to be, it'll be--even if that something makes us look over our shoulders every day for the rest of our lives."
Another voice spoke up from behind them. It was one that had a distant familiarity to it. "Or you could just look over your shoulder right now," it said. Vitus and Jenn both turned to face a bruised man with a gun in his hands. He grinned and adjusted his fashionable brown suit and the strap of the bag over his shoulder with his free hand.
"Hey, guys," said the man called Hemingway. "Miss me?"
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