Chapter Thirty-Four

Dark clouds drowned out the sunlight, the wind howled, and sheets of rain blew through the open sides of the gazebo. The mourners screamed and rushed for the house, running in a zigzag pattern to confuse the lightning. Elizabeth slammed Howard’s coffin shut and ran after them.
Inside the house, the electricity went out. They lit candles, saw the lightning show in the garden, and heard the wind cackle. Elizabeth lit a silver candelabrum and took it up the stairs with her to go change out of her drenched mourning clothes. The other people didn’t have spare clothes, so they dried off as best they could with towels from the bathroom. Tyrone loosened his tie and took off his jacket; wet sackcloth was quite uncomfortable.
Derrick examined himself by candlelight in the television screen’s reflection. He licked his hand and tried to flatten his frizzy, electrocuted hair, but it was no use; electrocuted hair was hard to tame. Then he tried to angle himself so he could see the reflection of the lightning burns on his back.
“Dat ain’t so bad,” Tyrone said, hanging his wet sackcloth jacket on an umbrella stand. “You gots nuffin to worry ‘bout. Ghetto Traveler’s an excellent salve.” He pulled out the bottle and slathered a generous amount on Derrick’s back.
“IT BURNS!!!” Derrick screamed.
“Means it’s workin’.”
Loquacious lifted up her skirt and scratched her knee. “I have a rash,” she said. “Do you think Ghetto Traveler could help?”
“Couldn’t hurt,” Tyrone said.
“Yes it could!” Derrick whimpered.
Elizabeth came down the stairs wearing dryer and more cheerful clothes: jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. She turned to the man who had given her the bouquet. He was sitting on a sofa, holding a blue candle, and staring absently out at the garden. When he noticed Elizabeth staring at him, he quickly blew out his candle and tried to be quiet so she couldn’t find him. It didn’t work. Elizabeth touched her flame to his wick, relighting his candle.
“You,” she said. “You tried to give me my own flowers.”
“Now look, I said I was sorry.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Fine. I take back my apology.”
“I’m the one who should apologize to you. You were right. They weren’t my flowers.” She turned and gazed out at the lightning storm. “They belong to everyone. I was just keeping them locked up in my garden all for myself. And look what happened.”
“Well, okay,” the man said. “That’s very big of you. I accept your apology.”
***
The gray clouds parted and a beam of sunlight shone on the gazebo. The wind died down and a rainbow spread across the brilliant blue sky. David opened the sliding glass door, stepped out onto the patio, and saw that the wet grass had never looked so green. Birds chirped cautiously. Flower petals floated through the flooded lawn. All the flowers seemed to be dead; there was no one left to hear David’s poems. After all his work helping them grow, they were gone. The greenhouses were metal skeletons, their glass roofs shattered. Hail scars pitted the gazebo’s wooden roof, chipping away the white paint and exposing flecks of raw wood. The storm had blown open the coffin and filled it with rainwater. Howard did the back float.
Elizabeth pushed past David and splashed through the flooded lawn. She tripped and fell, going completely under the water and soaking her hair. She leapt back up and ran to the gazebo, ran up the steps, up to Howard’s coffin where she cupped her hands and bailed water. David ran into the gazebo and helped her bail the water. Others joined in. Soon the water level dropped and Howard began to descend back into his coffin.
“That’s the end of the garden,” Elizabeth said, breathlessly bailing water.
“You can rebuild,” David said. “You can get new flowers.”
“No.” Elizabeth shook her head. “After all the tragedy that’s happened here, I couldn’t stand to see the garden anymore. Too many bad memories. Howard choking, Howard dying, Howard’s funeral rained out. I don’t like being here any more.”
David figured she was going to give up the garden and dabble her way on to some new hobby. She was firing him. He would be unemployed, forced to go back to Reggie and beg for his dishwashing job back.
“You can’t fire me,” David said. “I quit.”
“I’m not firing you.”
“I rescind my resignation.”
***
***
It was dark outside, late in the evening, and the bright stadium lights were turned on so the dogs could practice their bubble navigation in the yard. David and Dr. McGee stood on the roof of the administration building and looked down at the dogs rolling their bubbles around the green grass. Howard came rolling at the pins and knocked them all down. A strike.
“He’s getting better,” Dr. McGee commented.
Howard had been practicing for several weeks now and was able to literally run circles around some of the other dogs. Soon he would be ready to leave the rehab center and the flower caravan could continue.
Dr. McGee reached into his pocket and brought out a small, unlabeled plastic bottle with a clear liquid inside. “One drop’s all you need.”
“What’s that?” David asked although he had a feeling he already knew the answer.
“Remember that drink I gave you?”
“The bitterest substance known to man?”
Dr. McGee nodded. “Just put a drop in each tank of antifreeze, in all of your trucks. Then, if you get a leak, no dogs or small children will drink it.”
“Thanks,” David said and put the bottle in his pocket. “How come the antifreeze at the store doesn’t have this in it?”
Dr. McGee laughed sadly. “Antifreeze is made by heartless corporations. For them, antifreeze isn’t about regulating engine temperature—it’s about money. The fraction of a cent extra per bottle is worth more to them than the children and dogs that die from drinking their product.”
Down in the yard, Howard rolled at the pins. His aim was great; he hit the head pin and went straight through the middle, but two of the pins didn’t fall—they just wobbled and stayed upright. A seven-ten split.
“There’s got to be some way to change this,” the poet said. “Some way to make the corporations put bittering agents in their antifreeze.”
“They’ll never put bittering agents in the antifreeze,” the doctor said, “until there’s a law that they have to.”
“So why isn’t there a law?”
“Who do you think controls the government?”
“Who?”
“The Antifreeze Lobby, that’s who.”
“The Antifreeze Lobby?”
“Antifreeze is big business. Everything with a motor uses antifreeze. Cars, buses, trains, airplanes. They’ve got all the money they need.”
“Yeah, well there’s one thing they didn’t count on,” David said.
“What’s that?” the doctor asked.
“The Flower Lobby.”
Howard hit the side of the seven-pin and sent it flying at ten-pin, picking up the spare.
***
י''ב באדר תשס''ח
ירושלים
February 18, 2008
Jerusalem