Acre Under a Green Sky

The drive to Lincoln that day was a pleasure rather than the usual chore. It was one of those perfect summer days that comes along only once or twice a summer –– though our memory tells us there are many. The air was crystal clear, and the sun shone brightly, but not hot. The sky was the purest blue with just a few clouds to accentuate the blue. It was perfect.

Perhaps it was the weather or my eagerness to see Luka again, but I had a feeling my father and I could become friends that day. During the ride to Lincoln, we talked about trivial things with no self-consciousness on either side; or so it seemed to me. At one point, he gave me a playful slap on the knee, and I found that I liked it, so I slapped him back and we laughed. We talked about how great it would be to have a convertible –– to be making this trip with the top down, and not once did he lecture me on the pros and cons of soft-tops. I learned my father could dream like a kid, and it was fun sharing frivolous dreams and never once mistaking them for plans with options and pitfalls and advantages. We were just two guys sharing idle daydreams.

Pulling into the County Jail parking lot, we saw men lounging across the hoods and trunks of their cars like lizards on rocks. We openly envied them. We, too, hated the idea of leaving the outdoors for the dark confines of that medieval building with its blackened stone walls, but that's where they held Luka prisoner.

The Visitors Room also served as dining room for the prisoners. It was large with concrete floors and stone walls. Long, collapsible tables and folding chairs were arranged in indistinct rows. Racks of florescent lights hung down from the high ceiling on poles.

The room was empty when we entered it, and the only light came from the wired windows high up along one wall. The windows were so high that no one had bothered to clean them in years, so the light was diffused by a greasy, sooty film. The effect was strangely cool and serene; probably less gloomy than when the room was awash in florescence and crowded with people. Our footfalls echoed and resonated throughout the room like ricocheting bullets. I self-consciously tiptoed after my father to a table at the far corner of the room near a big steel door. My father sat facing the door. He was all business again retrieving pads and pencils from his briefcase, while I paced on tiptoe trying not to make a sound. Finally, I stopped dead and there was not a sound except the sound of my father's breathing and the ticking of his wristwatch.

Then there a faint musical sound I couldn't identify. I held my breath and followed the sound to my father's jacket pocket. He was absentmindedly fingering the ID bracelet. I stared hard at him until he realized what he was doing. Then he laughed in mock embarrassment and held up both hands to me. Maybe he wasn't 'all business' after all.

"Where is everyone?" I whispered.

"This is supposed to be a private meeting, remember?"

Just then, the door swung open and a guard stepped in and made way for Luka.

Luka was handcuffed at the wrists, and I was transfixed by those bracelets. Then Luka broke the spell by calling my name, and I looked up into those eyes and saw that wonderful smile. It was the old Luka. All signs of infirmity were gone. His face was pale; but no longer bloated, and his eyes were clear. It was hard to believe that just three weeks ago this man was dying.

He held out his manacled hands to me, and said, "Sorry I can't give you a hug, buddy. I guess a warm handshake will have to do," and his two hands swallowed mine like the jaws of a crocodile.

I had so much to tell Luka –– stuff that would make him laugh, but before I could begin, he sat and turned his full attention to my father.

"Got anything for me?" he said.

"Guess what Garry did!" I said.

My father didn't understand. Then he slapped his forehead and reached into his briefcase for the carton of Camels he had been carrying with him for days. He tossed it across the table to Luka.

"Guess what Garry did!" I said again.

"Could you open one for me?" Luka said to my father, "I'm all out."

"He pissed into his squirt gun, and then what do you think he did?"

But Luka wasn't listening. He was watching my father.

My father opened the carton and took out a pack. He started unzipping the top when another idea came to him. He handed the pack to me to open for Luka. I didn't realize it at the time, but he was intentionally shifting the focus to me.

"Guess what Garry did then, Luka!" I said, tearing open the foil on the cigarette pack.

"That kid's liable to do most anything," Luka said, "He's just biding time till he can get laid."

"He shot Austin with it. Right in the eye!"

Luka laughed that wonderful dirty-joke laugh of his, and said, "I'll bet Flo Engle was beside herself."

"Not an enviable position to be in," my father added, and we all laughed.

Then Luka said, "Hey buddy, can I have a smoke there?"

"Me too," my father said.

With a couple of taps against the ball of my thumb, I projected two cigarettes from the pack and gave one each to my father and Luka. My father took a book of matches from his breast pocket and lit both cigarettes.

"Can I keep those?" Luka said.

My father put the matches inside Luka's shirt pocket; and for the first time, I noticed the prisoner number stenciled there: '1077'. I fingered the stencil and asked Luka what the number was.

"That's my age, little pal," he said, taking a long, deep drag of the cigarette as it were life itself. I pushed the banged-up metal ashtray between them.

"And my Mom almost decked Mrs. Eagle," I said, "because Austin dumped garbage all over the porch."

Luka admired the cigarette; saying, "It's been a long time. Sure tastes good."

"Anything else you need?" my father said.

"Don't suppose you can get me some toilet paper?"

"Toilet paper?" my father said.

"What do you wipe yourself with?" I said, but Luka wasn't listening to me.

"Yeah. Toilet paper," Luka said.

"How much do you need?"

"A couple of rolls is as much as I can carry."

I pulled on Luka's sleeve to get his attention.

"What do you wipe yourself with?" I said louder.

"In a minute," Luka said, brushing me off.

"Are you all right in there?" my father said.

"Yeah, sure. They're a great bunch of guys. I've met some old friends, as a matter of fact. You just don't let anyone know you need anything, that's all. I'm real grateful for this, you know. Billy Kiernan was by yesterday, but he doesn't have two dimes to rub together. Every cent he makes at the Royal, he spends there."

"Billy hasn't got a pot to piss in," I said, laughing alone at my own joke. That was the last straw. It was clear my visit with Luka was over. I was really pissed. I jumped up from my chair; nearly knocking it over, and thought, "I will never speak to Luka again, and he can rot in this jail for all I care!"

"Where you off to?" my father said.

"Nowhere," I said, before running all the way to the other side of the cavernous room.

Luka's voice boomed and bounced from wall to wall to wall and back again, "Hey, whatcha doin' down there, buddy?"

I didn't answer him. I just pressed my face against the cool black stone of the wall. Then I heard my father speak as if he were standing right next to me. I kept my ear to the wall as I moved closer and closer to them.

"Look, we need to talk about Joe Scarceletti and Gwen."

"What about them?"

"You know they were seeing each other?"

"Sure. They're friends."

"Well, I got to wonder if they were a little more than friends?"

Luka snorted and said, "You got it all wrong, believe me. They're just good friends, that's all."

"I think they were out together the night Gwen was murdered."

You could actually see Luka withdraw to some secret place within himself and pull down a mask.

"You're barking up the wrong tree," he said, "Drop it."

"I'm sorry, Luka, but I think they were sleeping together."

"You're wrong. Gwen would tell me. She wouldn't stay with me one night if she was with another man. For her, it would be over right then and there. I guess you don't know Gwen, after all."

"So what were they doing? Out together? Her all dressed up? Monday nights? Drives to Lincoln?"

Luka's eyes flared, and he seemed to withdraw even further into himself –– this time more fearfully.

"You don't know shit," he said.

This was a Luka I had never seen or heard before. This was a Luka with something to hide, and it scared me.

"What is it, Luka? What were they up to?"

"What the fuck are you up to? That's what I want to know! I'm not going to let you turn Gwen into a whore. You understand me? Not to save my ass. I'll burn in hell before I let you say a word against her."

My father was on his feet now with a hand on Luka's shoulder; holding him down.

"I'm sorry, Luka," my father said, "but you have to accept the possibility that Gwen might have been seeing someone."

"Like hell!"

"The possibility never entered your mind?"

"Not in a million years. Never!"

"Does the date, "February 17th" mean anything to you?"

"Yeah. It's Valentine's Day, isn't it?"

Luka's answer was steely and defiant. Luka was scared.

My father pulled the ID bracelet from his pocket and dropped it on the table in front of Luka. Luka flinched back from it, then stared at it without making a move to touch it. It was clear Luka recognized it.

"What's that?" Luka said.

"We found it in Marilyn's baton," my father said.

"So? You found us out. My daughter steals things. What of it?"

" 'And ever after. Love J.' " my father read aloud from the back of the bracelet before handing it to Luka.

"Oh, I get it. That's supposed to be Joe, uh? And I guess this is some kind of Valentine's Day present to Gwen, am I right?"

"Valentine's Day is the fourteenth; not the seventeenth."

"Whatever. I never seen this before in my life, but it's not Gwen's. Don't you know our Marilyn's got sticky fingers? This could be Nora's bangle for all I know. Did you ever think of that? Maybe Joe's banging your wife?"

"What are you doing, Luka? You're facing the rest of your life in jail! Someone killed her! Killed them all, and you're clamming up on me. I'm on your side, remember!?"

"I'm telling you you're barking up the wrong tree!"

"God help me, I don't understand. I thought . . . "

Suddenly, there was the flickering, gnat-like sound of a florescent starter overhead, and all the lights went on; momentarily blinding us all. The double doors at the other side of the room opened, and the guard made way for a very pregnant woman with two toddlers. They were followed by an elderly couple and another woman.

"What's going on?" my father called out to the guard.

"Visiting hours."

"Now?"

"Noon to two; Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. And all day Sunday."

My father nodded to the other guard who had been watching through a porthole in the big steel door. The guard entered and put a hand on Luka's shoulder. Luka rose to his feet and looked down at me.

"I know you're mad at me, buddy. It's just that I got a lot on my mind right now. Do you think you can forgive me?"

"Sure," I said.

"Looks like everybody's mad at me," Luka said with a nod toward my father.

My father started collecting his pads and pencils.

"You know, Luka," he said, "You're still speaking of them in the present tense. Not uncommon in cases like this. But they're not present." And then looking directly into Luka's eyes, he said, "They're all dead. And you've been accused of killing them."

I didn't think Luka was capable of hatred, but there it was in his eyes staring back at my father.

Finally Luka said, "Thanks for the smokes. Here."

The handcuffs jangled as Luka tossed the I.D. bracelet through the air with both hands. My father caught it with one hand. A really great catch.

The heavy door slammed, and Luka was gone. My father stood there for an instant staring at the door; then he said, "What day is it?"

"Skating tonight. Monday."

"Oh –– right, right," my father said almost under his breath; then he put his arm around my shoulder and said, "Do you think we could skip that tonight?"

"Like hell!"

He gave me a swat across the back of my head.

"Cut that talk out!" he said.

"You do it!"

"Well, that's different."

"It is not!"

"Yeah, yeah –– you foul-mouthed little brat!"

No doubt about it, I could definitely like this man.