Van Booven 1

Jeff Van Booven

Moon City
David tossed his bag beside him, and then stripped out of his suit jacket, letting it fall
across the bag. He sat down on the outskirts of the crowd and leaned against a tree. The jeans and
dress shirt were a bad idea, he thought, and a haircut to keep the sweat out of his eyes wouldnt
have hurt. The last time he wore shorts eluded him, sometime before he started grad school and
after he started getting dates, and he wasnt sure if he even owned a pair anymore. It was a
tradeoff between confidence and comfort; however, hed been with Hannah some time now and
could probably afford to loosen up. Their relationship had not yet reached the point where people
pestered him about when they were getting married, but after the several months theyd been
together, he considered the relationship approaching seriousness.
Hannah sat on the stage, crammed in with the other storytellers under a small picnic
canopy, white in order to reflect sunlight. The stage itself could hold ten more canopies and have
generous space left over for aisles. She fidgeted with the gingham dress, revealing her more
modern boots. David had spent countless hours listening to her complain about how only she had
to dress in real period costume. The guys could wear overalls and a flannel pattern shirt and call
it good, shed say, and then finish with, Theyd probably throw a fit if they knew these boots
were fashionable. David would watch as shed kick her leg in the air to illicit a comment from
him. At first he struggled with responses, though managed to avoid ever saying the wrong thing,
but had settled into making comments about how they had no room to complain when they
bought all their clothes from Bass Pro.
David looked beside him, at the black jacket which covered the satchel. His brain focused
on the satchel, dull brown, faux leather, more straps than strictly necessary for a messenger bag.

Van Booven 2

Inside hed stashed the e-mail printout; a job offer from a research institute in Chicago. The job
wasnt fame or fortune, but David figured part of growing up was realizing fame and fortune
werent the important part of success. The job was part of doing something to help humanity,
which was what hed set his sights on since graduating from his masters program. Doing
something notable, being remembered for helping human progress, would be icing on his cake,
but David knew he could live without that so long as he made the attempt and made life better
for somebody and Hannah didnt count.
He hadnt told Hannah about the job yet, afraid shed be unwilling to jump on his
bandwagon with both feet. Printing it out made it seem more real, like a train ticket to his own
personal Narnia. He could put the paper in her hands as he explained to her all the benefits of
relocating to Chicago, what a great opportunity it would be for both of them to leave behind this
small city for a real place on a mapto experience a place mentioned in books and history. In
his mind, the skyline, filled with towers reaching towards the heavens was the elsewhere where
things happened.
Despite the number of times David played through the scenario through his mind, and
despite the number of times he envisioned Hannah, leaning across the dinner table, interrupting
him to agree to move before he even finished his pitch, ending in passionate lovemaking on the
couchit was his imagination after allhe could never bring himself to actually believe it. After
all, he would think, the only lovemaking they did happened in the bed room. Verisimilitude was
an issue. However, David was running out of time. The company needed an answer by Monday,
and he felt he owed Hannah at least all of Sunday to decide. Secretly he hoped it was as easy a
decision for her as it was for him; he hadnt a contingency plan if she refused to move. Stay

Van Booven 3

perhaps, but he felt she could as a show of her feelings for him at least give the thought of
moving some serious consideration.
When the current storyteller, the oldest of the group with the longest beard, finished and
hobbled back to his seat, Hannah stood and approached the microphone with far more ease than
David figured the dress allowed. Shed always seemed hobbled around him, causing him distress
at having to choose between helping her into the car and up stairs and an enlightened response
that she didnt need a mans help. Perhaps, he wondered, thered been a reason men preferred
women to wear those kinds of clothes back in the days of rough and tough or thoroughly
civilized men. Standing in the middle of the semi-circle of old men sitting on folding chairs,
Hannah adjusted the microphone.
The scene reminded David of a cult gathering mixed with an evangelical prayer event in
a football stadium. As Hannah was the last speaker for the day, the crowd started to dissipate.
Not a mad rush to the exit, a steady stream of people, a good percent with children in tow or
carried over shoulders, made their way up the aisles. There were dinners to be cooked and the
stagnant heat that even laying underneath the shade of a large oak had David sweating more than
he did on one of his morning runs. Excessive heat made him feel ill and lethargic ever since the
time in high school when he ran himself into heat stroke during a cross-country meet; he still
finished the race, even if he was nearly last despite being in contention for most of it. David
wished he could strip, tossing the grey dress shirt aside, whipping the belt from his jeans and
letting the denim fall where he was. The crowd might not even notice, he thought, though, if
Hannah did, hed be sleeping on the couch for at least a week. She wasnt big on public nudity or
PDAs unless it came to her desire to go skinny dipping. If ever there was a first time for him, he
thought, now was the time, his modesty be damned. He didnt want to imagine how much worse

Van Booven 4

it must be for Hannah, who they probably had wearing bloomers no less, but he couldnt help but
wish for a sudden thunderstorm to wash over the valley so they could get out of the heat.
There was some trouble with the microphone and David watched one of the old men
fiddle with about as much success as a cat trying to catch a laser dot. Hannah tried to get him to
join the group a little while after they started dating, dragging him to meetings, but his resistance
wore her down and he could now get away with a hug and kiss as she left. The meetings
consisted of a few old guys with graying beards and overalls telling yarns and fables about life in
the Ozarks, though David figured they could be told about any place with minor shifts in
description. The first meeting Hannah and the group badgered him to tell a story. He tried to tell
a story based on his novel he was working on.
Unlike the groups oral histories, Davids story followed Alfred Spike, a thirty one year
old detective who fled to Moon City, the largest and oldest base on the Moon. The city was a
lethargic town where not much happened. Alfred, clad in ill-fitting suits and ties he picked up
from thrift stores, spent most of his time in bars blowing the money he earned from
photographing cheating husbands on menial and flavorless booze. He smoked too much; another
habit hed developed to keep from remembering a time when he wouldnt punch someone for
calling him Alfie.
Alfreds story, like any good story, started with a murder and a woman. Roxana, a girl of
less than moderate means newly arrived in Moon City from the bustling cities of Mars and
coming to join her brother only to find him recently deceased. He promised himself he wouldnt
take these kinds of cases anymore, but a damsel from the homeworld he couldnt refuse. He also
had an idea of where to start.

Van Booven 5

Hannah had glared at David when he started the tale, her eyes suggesting he should
reconsider his story choice. Shed never had anything nice or constructive to say about that story,
at least other than the usual platitudes David expected from a girlfriend, which even then seemed
sparse to him. Her lack of support had, early on, caused him a touch of anxiety, but as the
relationship continued hed pushed those feelings to the back of his mind. He wasnt surprised
when the gathered men didnt seem to like it, offering him veiled hints about different stories he
could tell, all of them assuming he already knew the basics. He wrote them off as not his kind of
audience; besides, he felt half the trouble with his novel was the lack of potential for a detective
in a small Ozarkian city. A detective would be elsewhere, where things happened other than the
appearance of a mysterious stranger. And, David had developed as a nagging thought, he needed
to be where those things happened or he would never get the experience he needed to make his
writing come alive. Elsewhere was where the people he could connect with were, unlike the old
men. Elsewhere was Chicago.
The old man gave up on the microphone, leaving Hannah to fidget with it for a moment.
The latch gave way and with a few twists and shoves, she brought the mic down to her level
where she was able to shove plug back into the microphone. She tapped it a few times and the
mechanical bup, bup, bup echoed off the hills, rattling a few birds in the tree David was leaning
against. He struggled against the heat to regain his focus, while Hannah, with an air of gravitas
he didnt expect from such a small frame, began her story, one hed heard many times before. He
knew she was intent on making it her signature piece.
***
The year was 1899. The tuberculosis outbreak raged through the community taking all
manner of folk rich and poor. No matter the station in life, you could be carted off to the

Van Booven 6

quarantine on the southern edge of town where nuns from St. Louis would look after your soul.
But this is not the story of disease. This is the story of old Sheedy farm, which some of you may
know as the Albino farm.
Three people lived on the Sheedy farm. Genevieve Sheedy, who had run the farm with
her husband Fredrick until he succumbed to consumption. Her younger sister by seven years,
Mary, and an albino man who they brought on as a hand after their older brother was taken away
to the quarantine. On the particular day of this story, Mary and Genevieve were sitting on the
porch swing looking out over the field at some particularly fluffy clouds.
As they rocked on the swing, Mary spoke up, Bernard tells me they have one of those
new talky boxes down at the rail station.
Mary had designs on Bernard, though he had only an inkling of this. He was just under
six feet and had thick dark hair. While his looks were good, what really attracted Mary was his
ownership of a small supply store on the north side of town. Farm life never appealed to her. He
was even particularly funny, though she suspected he might have cribbed a fair bit from Mr.
Twain, whose works he had a full shelf.
Aware of her sisters urge to talk about her crush, Genevieve refused to take the bait. I
dont like it. Itll just lead to jibber-jabbering. Telegraphs are the best for communication. Short,
to the point. Even a letter is better. You have time to think about what youre saying.
Oh Genevieve, Mary said. Wouldnt it be nice to be able to talk to people in town? Its
been such a sad season. Nobody comes out to the farm for picnics anymore since the
consumption hit.
Genevieve looked at Mary with an air of pity. The consumption had taken their father,
brother, and her husband and Mary had only just come of marrying age. Some people had a high

Van Booven 7

opinion, but Genevieve was more inclined to agree with the traveling preachers who proclaimed
the inherent evil of man. With no eligible heir to the Sheedy farm it wasnt worth hitching up the
wagons to pay call, consumption or not.
Mary looked down to examine her boots, which she tapped against the loose wooden
board to break the silence. Genevieve furled her brow and looked on with some disdain, but
found the tapping far more pleasant than nave optimism. She scrounged her sewing materials off
the stout porch table and set to work while Mary looked for something to draw delight in, as was
her way.
Genevieve cursed under her breath as Marys elbowing caused her to miss a stitch.
Absorbed in the work, she first missed Mary repeatedly calling her name. It wasnt until Mary
began tugging on her blouse sleeve she uttered a loud and unkind, What?
***
Hannahs loud shout startled David. He scootched his back up the tree so he was once
again sitting upright, looking alert, like he had been paying attention the whole time. Though, he
wondered whether he was doing it simply because he felt guilty. As far away as the stage was,
Hannah wouldnt be able to pick him out of the crowd, and thats assuming she was looking. In
earlier versions of story, after theyd met, Bernard had resembled him in description, but that
part, at the urging of her group, had been cut.
Hed been daydreaming about the time she criticized his novel, or at least his
subconscious, emulating the Boy Scouts, felt he needed to remember that moment, perhaps
because, having waited till the last moment, and not being that serious of a relationshiptheyd
never professed their love to one anothershe would turn his offer of relocation down. Be

Van Booven 8

prepared his unconscious would say to him, while he would protest back that he didnt actually
hate her.
David had been in his office checking the view count on his latest blog post and
responding to comments when Hannah walked into the room, the first chapter of his novel in
hand. Shed only recently moved in to the apartment at this point. She wore pajama pants and a tshirt while he had donned his usual jeans, dress shirt, and even suit jacket. David felt he needed
to separate work from pleasure, even while at home. The outfit was a way of delineating and
helped him feel professional.
David spun around in his chair, planted his foot on the ground, then, seeing Hannah had
not yet sat down, spun around again. She sat in the bucket chair on the far side of the room. On
either side, a bookshelf towered over her and the light coming through the window illuminated
only one side of her face, giving her a somewhat sinister feel. David wheeled his chair between
her and the window, casting his shadow over her. He wasnt a fan of the power dynamic, though
he did it all the time at work and so the position seemed second nature to him. Turning on the
nearby floor lamp would seem odd. Instead, David leaned to his left to allow the light to once
more fall on Hannah, but he didnt like to see any sort of maliciousness in her, even if it was
unintentional. Reaching behind him, straining his shoulder, he grasped the thin cord and drew the
blinds shut. Hannah opened her mouth, but David was out of his chair and across the room to the
switch before she could speak. Returning to his chair, squeaking as he sat, he eyed the stack of
paper in her hand and admired her new nail polish: a soft pink.
She sat, eyes fixated on him for a moment just past no longer comfortable before asking,
Hows the blog going?

Van Booven 9

Pretty good, he responded, letting the words calm him down from his thought he might
have upset her.
Good, she responded, flashing a brief smile before asking if it was the Chicago post.
David nodded and Hannah praised it as her favorite. Hed been in Chicago to interview
for the job whose offer now sat in the bag beside him. Though hed never admitted it to Hannah,
he had cut his planned trip short so he could make a date with her before she had to leave on a
business trip of her own. There was also a file on his computer, sitting in the unpublished
sketches folder; a lengthy two page sketch he wrote to describe her after theyd had their first
date. He considered it even better than his Chicago post, but never published it for fear she
wouldnt like it, particularly after she criticized his novel. Like his other posts, it lacked any
description of who she was as a person. He felt it needed her desires, her past, and her present to
be an accurate picture of who she was.
Hannah, sitting in the bucket chair, leaned forward and with a slight toss, landed the stack
of paper in Davids lap. David started to read her body posture, but got no lower than her face.
The smile had disappeared and she avoided eye contact. Good news it was not.
Honestly, she said with little reservation, its not very good. Its not like your character
sketches at all.
David, caught up on the first part of her sentences, took a few moments to process her
softening blow. He sat back in his chair, taking the stack of paper in one hand and tossing it
behind him on the desk. The clip gave way and the stack ended with paper careening off the
back, falling down behind with all the cords. But those are just descriptions of people, he said
defensively, consciously holding his voice down so as not to appear upset or angry. Theres
nothing to them. Its life and nobody wants to read about that. They deal with that everyday.

Van Booven 10

Hannah stood and gestured towards the computer with her hand. Her mouth hung open
and her eyes bulged. She fixated on David before spinning and, with an emphasis on each step,
left the room. David could still hear her feet as she walked down the hall to the living room.
After that moment, David never showed her another piece of his fiction. He never
bothered to even tell her he continued to write. Avoidance had always been his style. Alfred,
however, only avoided responsibility and paying bar tabs when he could, but with Roxana
around both were increasingly hard to shirk. Bartenders memories, Alfred found, were far more
selective when presented with a generous and timely tip. He didnt know if the Man, as Alfred
had taken to calling him, suspected he was being tailed. There were only so many seedy bars in
Moon City, few enough that running into the same clientele was likely enough to not arouse
suspicion, unless you dressed like the Man. Based off a guy David and Hannah saw far too often
around town to not know anything about, the Man was short with graying and curly hair that
came down to about the shoulders. The nose was prominent and bulbous, but he drew attention
aware from his face by dressing as if he were on a perpetual Caribbean vacation, from the tacky
silk shirts with palm tree patters right down to the flip-flops. He was a yeah man or two aware
from being a hippy, David had once quipped to a less than amused reaction than he had hoped
from Hannah.
Thinking over his novel, David found himself examining the branches on the tree above
him. The leaves looked wilted. They were a dull green and unable to hold themselves outright.
To David they seemed defeated, like theyd given up hope of ever seeing rain again. In the
background, Hannahs voice distracted him from his thoughts on his novel.
***

Van Booven 11

Mary stood, causing the swing to jerk and Genevieves thread nearly toppled from her
lap. Theres people coming up the road. What a surprising delight. I bet theyre handsome. She
turned to face Genevieve, who having set her sewing aside once more began to stand. Do you
think theyre handsome?
Rather than answer her sisters over-excited meanderings, she made her way down the
porch steps and out into the yard in order to get a better look as the interlopers approached.
Mary, she shouted, fetch the medical kit from the kitchen. And make sure the parlor has air.
Two men were approaching up the road. Genevieve strained to tell who they were, but
one was about the right height and demeanor to be the neighbor Mr. Portenmaeux. The other
man, who she couldnt place, held in his arms a young woman, who was fast approaching her
adult years. That meant trouble. Where was Albert, she thought. He was a good, hardy worker,
whom she could give a scarce complaint, but he never seemed to be around in their most dire. A
few months earlier, while attempting to draw some flour from the barn, the sack shifted and
pinned her. While uninjured, she waited three hours for him to return while she read a book her
sister had fetched. He could swiftly transport the girl to their parlor, unlike the man who was
barely struggling to contain her, even with the awkward help Mr. Portenmaeux attempted to
offer.
Genevieve stood by the gate, sweat dripping down her face and soaking into her blouse as
the sun bore down on her. She had struggled to pull the gate open by herself. She didnt
recognize the girl or the other man. Something ripped and slashed the girls dress; there was a
gash from the right shoulder down to the elbow. Parts of her petticoats were missing and only the
lord knew what shoes shed been wearing. As they came closer, Genevieve could make out the
blackening bump on her head, surrounded by dried blood. She let out a slight sigh, then sucked

Van Booven 12

in a large breath, realizing shed been holding her breath. At least the bleeding had stopped, she
thought in order to comfort herself.
***
The sun had shifted down behind the stage, causing David to shift his gaze from Hannah
to the crowd. Among the sea of Mr. Portenmaeuxs he tried to spot the minority, the one person
among the crowd of Christian Conservatives who wouldnt attribute his beliefs to the influence
of Satan, or at least didnt listen to politicians who claimed as much. Perhaps he should listen to
the news less, so he would miss the latest controversial rantings of Limbaugh, OReilly, and
Beck. Maybe then he would feel more comfortable putting his feet in the door of local
establishments without thinking he would be castigated.
The whole mass before David seemed to him a collected stereotype: white southerners
wearing flag t-shirts and cut-off shorts, eating fried food, and garbling down culture like only
they had a right to partake. Sure, he thought, this group could be polite on the surface, but
underneath theyd been trained to fester and boil an insincerity and hatred towards any
difference, real or perceived. If he wasnt welcome in their town, he felt, then paused to
reconsider his thought. If he wasnt welcome in this townwhy should they get to own itthen
they werent welcome on his blog. They didnt deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as the
mother hed seen on the L, much less separated by months on the same blog. David thought
back to his trip.
The latino woman had stood near the subway door, holding the hands of two young
children. She wasnt beautiful or seductive; pretty maybe. A young mother, David thought her
somewhere in her thirties, she chatted about tattooing the line map on her shoulder to placate her
childrens anxiety. She answered her phone, switching from English to Spanish as she greeted the

Van Booven 13

caller. Perhaps it was her husband, or a lover. It could have even been a woman who would not
only fill her life with passion, but also treat her kids well. David had no way of knowing. She
was not a poet, likely lacked the time to write, yet, to David, the sound of her voice, the
inflection of her language filled the ears of those who took the time to listen with notes on being
a human; on a subway, not in front of it.
For David, she lacked a past and once she left the train, she would have no future either.
She had no politics or fists of solidarity, only two kids whose tiny fingers intertwined with hers
as she guided them off the subway towards the surface. David held fast to the pole, fretting he
would never get used to keeping his feet as the subway jerked forward. He didnt know how the
woman managed with both her hands full.
David couldnt wait to go back to Chicago, to share such a moment with Hannah. He was
nearly laying fully in the grass under the tree, imagining the two of them together on the subway,
her hair curled up the way she did when they went out, makeup on, and between them a small
child. Hannah might have wanted a boy, but for David the child was a girl, with a pink dress on,
hair done in ponytails, and wearing Hannahs flower beret, which looked comically oversized on
the childs head. Hannahs voice filled the vision and destroyed it at the same time. Her story
overshadowed his.
***
Is she alright? What happened? Genevieve asked when they were finally close enough
she neednt yell.
I suppose, Mr. Portenmaeux said. He slowed at the gate while his companion continued
towards the house. He took off his hat and fanned his bristled face. Content with the reprieve, he

Van Booven 14

tucked the ragged cowboy hat under his arm, and then slowly removed his gloves, first loosening
each finger and then pulling them off. It was your albino. He attacked her.
Not Albert. He wouldnt, Genevieve protested. In other circumstances, she might have
led him on a bit, delighting in watching him arch his back to make his chest seem larger and
pressing him towards even more convoluted flattery. Since hed taken on hands, his build had
started to wane, the shoulders being less broad and a pooch developing round his middle. Instead
she felt faint, but held herself against a fence pole, feeling the wood texture, the cracks and knots
imprint on her palms. A pang of platonic affection for Albert made her steady herself upright.
Hed been a godsend.
Mrs. Springlawn. Mr. Portenmaeux lowered his voice and looked down at the dirt
before meeting her eyes once more. His boots were wet and his shirt had come untucked. He
done killed two boys as well.
Now see here, she said, keeping pace with him as he headed to the house, Ill not have
you saying such things of Albert unless you have proof. She found his gruff and condescending
manner no more pleasing now than when he had made serious attempts at courting her. She
could recall no kind word spoken by him of her late husband either.
Sally said as much, he offered.
Said as much or said Mr. Portenmaeux? she asked with emphasis on the latter.
We found her in an awful state, Mrs. Springlawn. A truly dreadful state that even now
Im wary you should enter the house and see her and I do hope my farmhand has kept your sister
away for her sensibilities are far more fragile than your own.
Genevieve scoffed at him while imagining the many ways her boot could find itself
forcefully placed in front of his shins so as to cause painful impact most pleasing to her delicate

Van Booven 15

sensibilities. Immediately after having such thoughts, she mentally chastised herself. Whatever
her abhorrence of Mr. Portenmaeux, she needed to think of the girl and getting him away from
her.
Mr. Portenmaeux scorned her with his eyes before continuing. As I was getting to. When
we found her, she was dreadfully arranged. She managed to speak, albeit soft and labored.
Albino, he, was all she could managed before she fainted. He continued to explain how Mr.
Propen, his hunting companion had looked over into the creek and discovered the bodies of the
two dead boys. Genevieve was beyond listening to him, enticed to anger as she was about the
quick assumptions drawn as to Alberts guilt. She missed how Mr. Propen had been dispatched to
fetch the sheriff and as large an armed posse as could be arranged on short notice.
***
That Hannah had so readily agreed to move in with David after his roommate left had
been a surprise to him. Sure, living with her parents must have been a drag and he enjoyed
waking up to her in the morning and having a roommate he actually wanted to be around was a
plus, but the move was quite a bit unexpected for a two-month-old relationship. In retrospect,
that she might ask for a part of his office for her own work might have caused him to call the
whole relationship off.
He remembered watching her feet go up and down the stairs to the apartment as he
followed behind her carrying this and that, clothes mostly. The extra bedroom filled with her
belongings and yet, he recalled, the lack of any sort of bedroom furniture. After they were done
moving, they ended up on the couch in the living room. Some B movie played on whatever
station the t.v. was tuned to, not that it really mattered on a Saturday afternoon.
So, David said without looking at her.

Van Booven 16

Hannah let her head fall towards him, waited for David to respond, before finally
answering, yes?
Uh, he stuttered out, wherere you going to sleep?
With you, she said, matter of fact, as if he were dumb for not having already reasoned
it out.
My bed barely fits me.
We can get a bigger one.
So were just going to use the other room for storage? David asked, hoping to catch her
up.
I was thinking a library, Hannah said. You said you wanted one.
With little more persuasion needed, David relented. He spent many days curled up in the
library, particularly on drizzly days in the fall while the leaves lost their grip on their branches
and fluttered to the ground. The fake fireplace crackled and Hannahs cat would alternate
between stretching out in front of the fire and Davids lap. David and the cat would play the
game for hours and he never accomplished the reading he intended, instead cherishing the
private moments of interaction, the secret connection with her cat, whose interactions with
Hannah were more antagonistic.
On drier days, hed walk into the woods that occupied the vacant land behind the
apartment complex. There were a few worn paths, created by college students, and ending up in
various cleared areas littered with empty beer cans, cigarettes or burned up blunts, and the
occasional crudely constructed fire pit. David avoided these rubbish-strewn circles, not because
he feared encounters with wayward college students, but because they ruined the natural

Van Booven 17

aesthetic he found so calming. Also, in his college years hed never been invited to partake in
such an excursion.
As the images of his natural adventures filled his mind, David wondered why hed never
bothered to include the woods as part of his series of sketches. They were his versions of Alfred
Spikes urban alleyways. Alfred had favorite buildings. David had favorite trees, like the oak
where the dense foliage kept the undergrowth at bay, leaving an acorn covered surface that
reminded him of what an old growth forest would look like. There was the sugar maple on the far
side of the woods. If he climbed it, he could see the abandoned house on the far side of the field;
another albino farm for whose heritage had been forgotten. He had, on a few occasions while
sitting near the top of the tree, feeling the breeze come off the field, rustling the leaves and
tossing his hair, thought to invent a history for the decrepit arrangement of rocks, but he realized
his story wouldnt have the same draw. The story would be his and his alone, unlike Hannahs,
whose story drew from the local urban legends.
David rubbed his shoulder. Despite not wearing the bag, his old football injury, from the
one year he playing in high school, was acting up. With only a notebook and the e-mail printout,
and though it was impossible, he remembered the bag as far heavier than he knew it to be. He
thought of Chicago. There wouldnt be room for the library. Even if the new job paid more, hed
be lucky to afford a one-bedroom and woodlands wouldnt exist. Instead, the apartment would
probably have a nice view of a brick wall. Brickface never excited him, not with the propensity
towards square buildings, designed by pre-Lego architects. David knew he would miss the
idiosyncrasies and rock walks he jogged past. He might even need a gym membership. The
crowded sidewalks of Chicago didnt seem to afford a rewarding jogging route, unlike the
subdivisions east of campus.

Van Booven 18

David looked to Hannah, who seemed to be picking up a second wind. She wouldnt get
opportunities like this in Chicago. How interested would they be in the oral histories of the Bible
Belt, whose residents according to mass culture were racist evangelicals? Then again, he thought,
how interested was she in Chicago?
***
The curtains of the sitting room were strung up, leaving the afternoon sun to illuminate
every corner of the room. Sally lay immobile on the couch, whose green upholstery clashed with
the pinks of her dress. A shadow cast by the tall back of the couch, which slightly obscured the
bottoms of the windows, fell over her tiny frame. It hid much of the damage but made the girls
skin seem all the more pale. The windows were all open and Genevieve mused on closing them
as the draft, though warm, may not do the young girl well. Have you tried the salts, she asked
her sister, who was sitting in a chair while Mr. Portenmaeuxs farmhand stood menacingly over
her.
Mary responded in the negative. She tilted her head back and allowed her eyes to fall on
the man beside her. He advised against it.
Well he aint done no doctoring I can discern, Genevieve said in a huff and headed
towards the medical kit laying on the end table nearest the girls head. He might have been right
about it being best for the girl to rest, but she wanted to hear from the girls own lips.
The man stepped in her way, while Mr. Portenmaeux dashed across the room to accost
her. He refused to relax until Genevieve settled herself in a chair across the room and then
proceeded to give her a mild scolding, indicating that she had done enough by just opening her
house to the poor girl. His double meaning did not go amiss by her and she grabbed the armrests
ever more tightly, regretting not troubling his shins with her boots earlier.

Van Booven 19

Genevieve fixed her eyes on Mr. Portenmaeux, who had taken up a position next to the
window and kept his right arm hovering over his holster. Mary tried to make small talk, but the
men ignored her and she resorted to clawing at the knees of her dress, bunching it up in her lap.
A short time later, a small posse of men arrived with the sheriff. Mr. Weston was among their
number, looking the most agitated. Another was Mr. Clairemonte, the owner of a tavern attached
to an old mill. The other four were unknown to Genevieve, but the way they occasionally swayed
or took a misstep caused her to protest to Mr. Portenmaeux that they should be relieved of their
weapons.
She feared one of their number might be left behind, not for her safety, but rather to keep
her from Sally. However, with the prospect of a lynch mob, the men were not about to let slip a
chance to demonstrate their manhood by an elaborate presentation of their honor. Armed
peacocks, Genevieve thought. Brains about the same size too. They set off whooping and
hollering in ways she had only read about in some of the old novels her father had collected, but
wouldnt let her read. Shed taken them up after he died but found them not to her liking. They,
as she found herself agreeing with others she didnt normally care to agree with, contain a fair
amount of literary offenses.
***
The sun disappeared behind a mountain, or what passes for a mountain in the Ozarks.
Compared to the Rockies its like the difference between the Mississippi and the local river
where people go floating. A more accurate description of an Ozark Mountains, as David once
offered his friend who lived outside Boston, is a series of hills that grew too large to be called
rolling.

Van Booven 20

A cool breeze started up the valley, rustling the leaves on the trees. Though a cloudless
sky, David felt the beginnings of a thunderstorm in his bones. He hoped it would hold off until he
and Hannah made it home. Then the two of them could sit on their porch, sipping local beers
he had Three Blind Mice on tapwhile watching the storm roll in. The moments before the
storm hit were his favorite. The strong chilled winds, darkening skies, and the silence of animals
created a sense of danger mixed with serenity before things broke loose and water drenched the
world.
When the rain came, they would retreat inside, put on some jazz, and sit on the couch
reading books. David would pause occasionally to glance over at Hannah. Shed have pulled her
hair up, or braided it into a pony tail and changed into old jeans with a ratty t-shirt. Moments like
these, with the rain battering the roof and windows reminded David of his youthful summers
when he crawled behind the couch and watched the storms pass. They were happy moments for
him. While he, when young, would eventually bore and go off to play with Legos or video
games, David never left the couch before Hannah. Even though she never returned his glance,
sitting on the couch together, watching her absorbed in whatever book she was reading, her eyes
twitching back and forth, he felt connected to her.
David tried to write a scene like that into his novel, but failed. Alfred, he realized, would
never sit next to Roxana and look at her longingly over the top of a book. It wasnt that kind of a
relationship. Study her for a clue, possibly, but with the case left open, Roxana was a piece of a
puzzle that needed solving before life could go on. Even if Alfred wanted to, he didnt own a
couch. His small flat was a Spartan testament to minimalism. If pressed, he claimed it had
amazing Feng shui if only because there was nothing for a dragon to run into other than a barren
wall one could meditate at. Roxana, after spending her time there at Alfreds behest, said it

Van Booven 21

needed color. Alfred said it needed less women staying there. He himself made due by being
elsewhere and it had been a perfectly reasonable solution for him.
Before Davids roommate moved to the East coast, when he and Hannah had only been
together for a few months, David convinced her, after a storm, to go hiking with him. She
initially resisted, fearing the path would be mostly mud. Hed been down the paths enough times
to know which trails had enough rocks and other detritus to avoid turning into a slush. Even then,
he had added, the lack of rain meant most of the water would be absorbed into the ground. He
was glad when she relented. There was a spot he wanted to show her, where, after a storm, the
creek bed filled with water. In one spot, a series of large stones stayed high enough out of the
water so that he could rest on top of them and allow his feet to dangle in the cool stream. At first
Hannah had called it neat, then the two proceeded to something more physical, but not as far as
David would have hoped. Many things, in fact, did not go as he hoped, being in the relationship
was one of the few things that had, that made David feel as if he was getting his life on track.
Neither of them had gone back since and David wondered if the place still existed. He
assumed it should, they werent small rocks by any means. In Chicago he could stick his feet in a
fountain, but theyd probably run him off as if he were one of the many homeless who, due to
some mental illness or drug habit for which they could no longer get assistance, were doomed to
wander the streets. If the people he lived among had to see such visible reminders of their
politics, he thought, they might follow the teachings of Jesus as much as they pretended to.
With the thought in mind, David grasped his jacket, dragging it closer so he could extract
his moleskin notebook. He wrote a note, in his scrawling and nearly illegible handwriting,
reminding himself to drive up to C-Street where the pedestrian bridge went over the tracks. The
homeless of the town gathered there behind the buildings. A few sketches for the local newspaper

Van Booven 22

might enlighten people to the rampant poverty around them, offering them something to read in
the morning over coffee in their oversized suburban house on the south side of town. Even if it
never accomplished more than those ads for adopting Latin American children for twenty cents a
day, at the least he would have started to put the homeless in the minds of those who would
rather pretend they didnt exist. He wondered though, if this was really the extent to what he
could possibly do. Raising awareness for him was about as rewarding as slapping a magnetic
ribbon on the back of a car. When he would complain about his feelings of powerlessness to
affect change, Hannah would respond in trite clichs about the thought being what counts;
however, in his mind David played with his response. Thoughts were a lot like prayers. They do
little and require even less effort.
David considered Genevieve. What was she really going to accomplish by waking the
girl up? Would it really help the albino? She hadnt even demanded Mr. Portenmaeux explain
himself. No, Portenmaeux was the Albinos problem. If her curiousity was assuage everything
was alright by her.
***
With the men out of sight, Genevieve took the salts from the table and, kneeling with her
nose turned away from the girl, broke the tablets. Even facing away the smell infected her
nostrils and made her glad she was not prone to fainting spells. Though, if she were, she
reasoned, a few whiffs of salts would cure her of such a disposition.
Mary had stood up and was now hovering behind Genevieve. Do you think he hurt her?
she asked softly, as if she thought she might disturb the girl.
Genevieve looked up as she waved the salts back and forth. Honestly, I hope he was
watching the farm. If he sneaks back here, we could set him up with Pike. Hes a fast enough

Van Booven 23

horse that he should be able to get up north. Send a message up the Wire Road when its safe for
him to return.
On the couch, Sarah coughed ever so lightly Genevieve thought she might have imagined
it. If it wasnt for the moaned that followed she might have been inclined to believe she had. The
girl started to sit up but Genevieve settled her back, shushing her and assuring her that
everything would be all right. She didnt want the girl to panic and faint again. Sally, she said
in an imitation of her mother before she died, youre at Springlawn farm. Do you understand?
Sally nodded slowly, hair falling in front of her eyes. Genevieve brushed it away. She
knelt down closer to the girl and held her up while Mary maneuvered a pillow behind her. There
now, thats more comfortable.
Yes miss, Sally said faintly, hesitating to continue.
Genevieve found the girls desire to be proper, even while in such a state, to be charming.
She told the girl to call her Gen, a name only her mother had called her when she was little and
one she never particularly liked.
Gen. Sally tried to raise her arm but winced and dropped it back to the couch. She
followed by asking if she could have some water, which Genevieve dispatched Mary to fetch.
Now this might be hard, Genevieve said, and I wouldnt ask you to if it wasnt
important. But I need to know what happened. She assured Sally that she mustnt stress herself.
If she wasnt able then she wasnt able and nobody would blame her.
Mary reappeared with the water and handed it to Genevieve who held it up to Sallys lips,
less puffy than they had been before, so that she could slowly sip the cool drink. Genevieve
detected the slight smell of brandy that Mary had mixed in, and might have pulled the drink
away, but the sentiment of the act seemed well intentioned.

Van Booven 24

***
A small child caught Davids eye. The small mop of blonde perched atop a flowery pink
dress was carrying a slushi back to her seat. Clasped around the oversized cup, her tiny hands
failed to meet. Her mother walked beside her. Without her mothers hand to steady her, the girl
tripped, breaking her fall with the cup she refused to let go of. It crushed open, sending globs of
red, partially melted ice over the girl, staining her dress, covering her face and hair, and sending
her into a sobbing fit.
David had never been a big fan of children, though admittedly, hed little exposure with
them in his adult life, but the crying child with red goop ruining what he imagined was her
favorite dress caused him remorse at both the loss of her drink and dress. When he was little and
his parents took him to Disney World, they bought him a large chocolate chip cookie, but a
seagull had swooped down and snatched the treat from his hands. The entire day had been
ruined. Since that day he was always overly careful not to spill anything he bought for fear he
would lose it. Even when he bought chocolate, it would sit at home for months before hed eat it
because he didnt want to experience the loss of potential happiness. However, as hed grown,
the idea of placing happiness in objects seemed increasingly silly to him. He looked at Hannah,
standing on stage in her period dress and anachronistic shoes. And object or a place werent what
was making him happy anymore. Sartre was wrong. David still, however, harbored a vendetta
against seagulls, though it mostly manifested itself as an interesting topic of conversation at
parties.
The girl was whisked away by her mother to be cleaned up and so David turned his
attention back to Hannah, whose feet were planted firmly on the stage. With the sun peeking out
from behind the mountain once more, she had an eerie glow. Children and a family were never

Van Booven 25

part of his plans until Hannah. They didnt seem to be in hers either, but David had on a few
occasions seen her with her friends child. Shed make faces, the baby would mimic them, and
Hannah would smile. It was a side of Hannah he never saw when it was the two of them alone
and yet he wanted to see her happy like that more often. He felt he could raise a family with her,
if its what she really wanted. They could be more like Mary and Bernard, even if it meant he
would have the unfulfilling job, rather than Genevieve and her disdain for men.
***
After drinking the glass, Sally began to tell her story. She had gone down to Oxbridge
Hollow with the Wentworth boys. Her mom and dad had forbidden any contact with them,
claiming them the wrong kind of family, but her parents had died of consumption she was placed
in the care of her uncle whose primary concern was where his next bottle was from. He wasnt
abusive, just neglectful. Sally determined to make up for lost time. Sallys friends, whod had
many an opportunity to be partnered with Dixon or Eaton at the country-dances shed been
forbidden from, held the Wentworth boys as a high prize. When, on a hot day, they availed upon
her to join them to enjoy the cool water of the hollow, she acquiesced without a feign of protest.
Oxbridge Hollow was one of the few places along Dry Mill Creek where, during a dry
spell, the creek bed was low enough for water to retake the surface. Thus, the bubbling water
remained always cool even in the most oppressive heat. Alberts addition of a rock damn to turn
the hallow into a small wading poolthough his intent was to make it easier to draw water from
made the hollow a favorite of many area youths who also enjoyed the steep banks with heavy
vegetation that made it hard for passersby to oversee their tomfoolery. The banks also prevented
sound from escaping, creating a perfect hideaway for the youth to get up to their schemes.

Van Booven 26

The Wentworth boys were wading in the water with their pants rolled up to the knees
while Sally looked on. She had perched herself on a large rock aside the pool and let her feet
dangle delicately in the water. Eaton, the younger of the two had caught her eye. He, unlike his
brother, was clean-shaven and not quite as stocky. His hair was shorter as well, more kept than
Dixon who let it grow out into a scraggly mop.
She was enjoying the view when the boys began splashing water at each other. In the
process of getting each other wet beyond repair, they had splashed the hem of Sallys dress. She
tried her best to look angry, squinting and scowling, but the boys just laughed and began
stripping off their wet clothes. When she objected to their impropriety, they splashed more water
on her, soaking her dress completely. Best to get that off and let it dry before you catch cold,
Dixon argued and Eaton pointed out the sun baked rocks as a perfect place to let them dry.
Sally objected as the two closed in on her. She tried to stand, but lost her footing on the
now wet rock and plunged into the shallow water. Her head struck a rock. When she came to she
could feel hands grabbing at her dress and her lungs felt on fire. Wet filled her mouth as she tried
to draw in air. Panicked, she tried to rear back, but a weight fell on top of her then rolled off. She
raised her head above the surface and breathed deep. She sputtered. Never had breathing been
this hard. Getting to her feet, she coughed, heaved, and fell down to her knees. Vomit.
There was screaming. A glint of metal held in the hand of the scrawny kid. Sally heard a
loud crack and the kid fell. Rocks scratched into one another. There was the beast coming
towards her. Sickly white, bright red eyes, too white hair. He walked out to her. This was it she
thought. The beast of many a campfire stories was upon her. She felt she should be frightened.
Yet, he was too slow and he held his hands out for her to see, like a person approaching a new
dog.

Van Booven 27

Sally let him grab her underneath her arms. He lifted her from the water and carried her,
soaking wet dress and all, to the warmth of the sunlit rocks. There he laid her down on her side,
propping her up with his hands. She coughed and vomited again. The pressure left her back. She
nearly cried out, but a hand returned soon and a ladle pressed against her lips. She sipped at it for
a bit and then it went away. The hand on her back was moving in a circle between her shoulder
blades. The scary man, the beast, Albert as she learned to call him, spoke to her. Sally would later
claim he was singing. She never could recall what he said.
It could have been half an hour or five minutes, but there was yelling in the distance. The
hand on her back jerked more and pressed harder. Albert no longer spoke. Somebody close
yelled into the hollow. The hand left her back followed by the low grind of smooth rocks pressed
against one another. Sally fell on her back and looked towards the sky. There were no clouds, the
sun was shining, but the blue was darker. Not even a light blue. Just blue. Somebody shook her.
A face, with gristle. The breath smelled bad and he asked her something. Albino, he. The sky
was black.
After asking a few more questions of Sally, Genevieve satisfied herself that Albert had
acted only in defense of himself and the girl. The wind blew in through the windows, catching
houseplants and bending them over. The pot of tulips fell off its small perch and crashed on the
floor. Sally jerked. Genevieve enticed her to calm down with another glass of water Mary had
fetched. I dont like this, she said softly to Mary.
***
The story over, David met Hannah outside the back exit. He remained quiet for the drive,
hoping Hannah didnt want to talk after spending most of the last hour doing nothing but. Even
in the restaurant, he barely opened his mouth, making only occasional sounds and nodding his

Van Booven 28

head to prove he was paying attention. Tomatoes sat on the window sill and outside in the
courtyard, water splashed down the layers of the fountain. On a wall was a cloth map of the
counties of Ireland, next to it on the bookshelf was a photobook of the country that David had
leafed through on many of his unaccompanied visits to the restaurant in college. As a tearoom,
the restaurant closed before dinner on most weekdays. After college the job at the advertising
agency kept him away. The last time the two ate there, they talked about how much they wished
they could visit Ireland. David offered pictures and stories. Hannah talked of her experience of
being there while taking a semester abroad. She wanted some goats. He wanted a sheep.
Together, he recalled joking, they created a small imaginary barnyard with a garden and a few
cats.
On this visit, as he watched the sky fill with clouds, he muttered, A pity they dont have
any whiskey.
It was one of the few things he said the whole visit and Hannah didnt respond. The
waitress came by, took Hannahs plate and brought a kettle of hot water to refill the teas. David
still had half a sandwich left and what remained of his tea had gone cold. He was usually the first
to finish. Having an older brother, hed learned to eat quickly.
Hannah ordered a dessert. While she waited, she looked at David who avoided her gaze.
Whats wrong? she asked.
At first David pretended he didnt hear her, until she repeated herself louder. He turned
away from the window, muttering some incomprehensible gibberish under his breath to stall for
time. She pressed him again and he responded, bluntly, I have something to tell you.
Hannah sat back in her chair, causing it to tip a little before it settled back to the floor.
David reached into his bag. His fingers closed on the e-mail. His fingers slid across the paper as

Van Booven 29

it pulled the moisture from his skin. His skin would dry, become abrasive. The paper would
wrinkle, eventually drying with ridges where his fingers had held it. As he started to pull the
single sheet of paper from the bag, he thought of earlier, of his trip to Chicago where he had to
jostle through crowds on the sidewalk and subway. He knew nothing about them. He thought of
Hannahs group, who despite disliking his story, still cared enough to give advice. He thought of
children, of going out into nature, of sitting with Hannah and watching the weather. They
couldnt get a house in Chicago. They wouldnt even have room for the dachshund he wanted,
much less the sheep or goats. For a garden they might have some potted plants, which wouldnt
do for a stroll. Hannah was here, sitting across from him. He was here. The people he knew were
here. The things that made him happy werent the mythical possibilities of elsewhere, but places
where he and his friends actually walked.
Hannahs eyes stared at him, accusing him of needlessly drawing out what he had to say.
He wondered if she thought he would propose or if she thought he had bad news. In a way, he
thought, it was. The paper seemed to grow in his hand, threatening a papercut. His tender grasp
held the paper open, ready to lift it from the bag, but he couldnt yet bring himself to put the
message on the table.
David thought of his novel, of his detective Alfred Spike sitting next to Roxana on beach
chairs looking out over the barren lunar sea after toppling the only major criminal enterprise in
Moon City in the last thirty years. All of this was the result of a simple oversight on Alfreds part:
paying too much attention to a woman at a bar. That he ended up with the girl, David thought,
was just something that could happen in a novel. The hand of the author swooping in and setting
reality in line with karma. Yet, as David sat in the silence imagining Alfred reclining in his suit,
top button of his shirt undone with the tie loosely tied round his neck, there was still the

Van Booven 30

beginning of Alfreds journey to reckon with. Alfred hadnt started in Moon City. Hed fled
there. It had been his elsewhere after a turbulent and mysterious past.
David thought again of Hannahs group. Their advice wasnt about storytelling. It was
about becoming more like them. Hed never really wanted children. Nature, hed been alone
there. Hannah only went to the creek with him that once and in the entire time theyd sat on the
couch reading David couldnt recall a single time shed looked up at him. The friends he had
hung out with in his school days had long since moved on in their lives. The people he knew
were Hannahs friends. They were her roots. Her life was here, and it wasnt his. The house, the
garden, the pets, he realized, were all substitutions for elsewhere, for the mythical possibilities of
Chicago.
Hannah seemed to David on the verge of breaking her silent awaiting of his response. Her
lips parted and closed. The thought struck him. He was her albino, a convenience who was
denied his hopes and dreams in exchange for a place to be and unwilling to strike out for
elsewhere. He needed to get on the horse and head for St. Louis and beyond not just to escape
Mr. Portenmaeux and the town he represented, but Hannah as well. Or, as Alfred was fond of
saying, Its easy to shoot for the Moon, when youre on the Moon. The job, for David, was the
reason to take the rocket there and Hannah wasnt the woman Chicago could be.