Someday Over Yonder--19, 20, 21, 22

19

I arrived at the bookstore a little early that morning. Ramona Clemens was putting the finishing touches on the John Grisham display. Saturday was our busiest time; it was also the first of the month. Ramona hoped July's profits would surge. She scheduled a children's reading for noon. She also advertised in a coupon magazine to complement the huge sale-banner hanging over the door.

By late morning the store began filling up. The travel section did a brisk business, along with a pocket-sized, Spanish-American dictionary, and of course, John Grisham. After story time, we opened the second cash register to accommodate the swelling crowd purchasing children's books, which were "flying off the shelves" as Ramona put it. She couldn't have been happier.

While listening to a cancer survivor (a recently converted Christian), who had been brought back from death's fraternity, I saw Ramona answer the phone. Her face went pale; she motioned in my direction. I got there just in time to catch her.

"Julie is being held hostage," she said, swooning sideways. "Hank, they're in your building. Your neighbor has Julie. Holy Mother of God! "

I grabbed the receiver out of Ramona's hand; the urgency in Reggie Dean's voice was palpable.

"Ramona. Ramona! Is Hank Maddox there? Is he there?"

"Detective, this is Hank Maddox."

"We have a hostage situation. In an attempt to help Julie, Noah charged into the apartment. Shots were fired."

"Is Noah all right?"

"That's all I know," the detective said. "I need you here. They're barricaded in the
building and the swat team has been called in. Please, every minute counts."

"I'm leaving now!" I took I-75, the quickest way there. As I accelerated at every opportunity, Noah's mechanical ability proved top notch. The van hummed like a racecar. Noah stamped his mark on every area of my life. My hands trembled. The faces in the cars all reminded me of him--his laughter, his innocence, his caring, strength, wisdom. In the car to my right, an old man placed his hand on the window. It became Noah's hand on the glass enclosure, in jail, touching mine. Everything was connected! Noah was right; what mattered was right now. Noah had embarked on the only logical course of action for him, to save his friend.

The whole block was cordoned off. Snipers braced themselves on the rooftops. A police officer led me to Detective Reggie Dean, who gave it to me straight.

"Hank. Noah has been shot, but he's alive. Julie is unharmed. This character, Jack Jones, or whatever his name is, wants to talk to you. The telephone company has hooked us up."

"What does he want?"

"I'm not sure. But while you're talking, never say no, never mention dying, and always convey that you want to help him. You got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"This guy did the stabbing at the chili parlor," Detective Dean added. "A witness came forward."

"Do you think this is the guy that murdered Julie's father?"

"I don't know, but his latest victim died yesterday. Whatever you do, don't mention Julie's father, or anything about his victim. If he happens to ask, just say the man is recovering. You ready?"

"What's going to happen?"

"Hank, we have snipers everywhere."

Detective Dean placed the receiver in my hand. The next thing I heard was my neighbor's voice.

"That you, doggie man?"

"It's me. What do you want?"

"I told you to keep that mangy little mutt quiet, didn't I? Then your big dumb friend had to stick his nose in it. He's losing a lot of blood."

"Let me talk to Noah."

"Shut up and listen. Send in the little dog and I'll let your retarded friend out of here. That's the only way. Yes-siree. I'm gonna skin the little mongrel."

"You let me talk to Noah, or nothing is going to happen." Detective Dean's face formed a disturbed expression, which I ignored. "Well, what's it going to be?" The next voice I heard was Noah's.

"Is that you, Hank?"

"You all right?"

"Don't worry, Julie's OK," Noah said in a brave voice. "I'm your older brother, and I want you to listen to me. Hank, you listen. Don't you let Hobo in here--you let the police handle it. We're a family; this time it's up to me to do what's right."

I heard what sounded like Noah being slapped on the head, and then Jones' voice. "If you don't send that mutt in, your friend's a goner."

"All right, " I screamed. "Don't hurt Noah."

"I don't give a damn about your stupid friend. You got three minutes."

I heard the Swat Commander giving sharpshooters their instructions. Then he turned toward Reggie Dean.

"What's it going to be detective? My gut tells me this nut will kill the male hostage, right on schedule. If he fires, it's a full breech."

"That's my partner's daughter in there," Reggie Dean huffed.

"It's her only chance," the Swat Commander said.

The speaker squawked. "Two minutes!"

Detective Dean put his hand on my shoulder. "Hank. Sending the dog in might gives us the opportunity to take the guy out. The profilers are convinced he's a psychopath. He'll kill Noah first."

"Won't Hobo be killed?"

"Most likely."

My neighbor's voice intensified. "One minute!"

I quickly retrieved Hobo and pointed him at our neighbor's front entrance. Hobo sensed what needed to be done. I picked up the receiver.

"Open the door and shout for Hobo, " I told Jones. "Yell for him to come."

"Ten seconds! Nine, eight, seven, six . . ."

I let Hobo go; he dashed like a champion. The door flung open. As Hobo darted through, a blast from a high-powered rifle echoed. Another gun went off. Swat members stormed the apartment. There were sounds, but I couldn't make them out. Radios squawked. Sirens blared. Uniformed figures moved in step to a blues song. I think Guitar Slim used to play it, maybe a Howlin Wolf tune. Policemen marched around the parking lot singing in unison. Then Noah, Hobo, and I were at Eden Park. Everything went dark.

I woke up in an ambulance, with Hobo licking my face. "Noah's fine," Julie said. "We're on our way to the hospital. He has a gunshot wound in the leg, but he's not in any danger. It's my fault. I saw the guy go in the apartment and thought it was my lucky day. I should've called for backup--plain and simple. I never thought Noah would charge in to save me. He's one brave human being . . . not to mention you," she gulped, reaching for Hobo. "You're definitely a wonder dog."

"I'm glad you're safe, Julie," I said. "You're mother was petrified, scared out of her mind. You should have seen her face when she got the call."

"I've talked to her. Whether this guy is the one or not, I'm through. I promised her that I would try to let it go. I mean it this time. Life's too short. What will be, will be. I want to thank you Hank. It must have been hard for you to risk Hobo. Reggie believes we might not have made it out alive otherwise."

"Hobo's the hero all right," I said, looking him over for injuries. Julie rehearsed the entire episode on the way to Christ hospital. In hindsight, of course, she realized her grave error might have resulted in a different outcome. She apologized over and over.

Julie sat with Hobo, while I checked on Noah. I suspected him to be furious with me, for endangering Hobo. I prepared to take my punishment. His big smile nullified my fears.

"Hank, I'm proud of you. You knew what to do; you made the right decision. I was wrong. I just couldn't imagine losing Hobo, again. I wasn't strong enough to see what to do. They said Hobo was fine."

"Sure. He's down stairs with Julie."

"Is our neighbor dead?"

"Yeah. We don't have to worry about him anymore. And Julie's fine. The paramedics checked her out. You did a brave thing. Julie wants to thank you."

"I'm tired. I'll talk to her later."

"Sure. You're coming home tomorrow. You rest."

"You too, Hank. Give Hobo some pudding."

Something changed in Noah, something I couldn't put my finger on. Like a vehicle that doesn't sound quite right, immediately before it breaks down. I hoped it was a fluke and attributed his behavior to the emotional encounter. Let's face it, he had just risked his life, been shot, and thought his best friends might die. That would put a damper on the heartiest of individuals. But Noah wasn't just anyone. He was the most extraordinary human being that I had ever known. He supported my very existence, the glue that held me together. I was worried.

20

One Month Later
Dr. Herndon's Office

"Noah has gone through an appalling amount of emotional trauma and confusion," Doc said, over mounds of paperwork atop his desk. "In my opinion, he's fairing better than can be expected, although, his depression is deepening. Noah believes he has caused you, Hobo, Elizabeth, Julie, Allen--his new family--nothing but trouble, like he's failed the lot of you."

"He should know that isn't true."

"Hank, he's tried to convince himself otherwise, but the fact remains. Noah feels like an outsider, a burden to everyone around him. In a-round-about way, he's mentioned it numerous times. He thinks if he were blood relation, maybe he'd have the right. Noah doesn't want to admit it, but he's sick with worry that he might have another family who needs him, and that he's letting them down, too. I believe he's experiencing guilt. Oddly enough, he feels guilty over being happy. In Noah's mind, worrying about them betrays you and Hobo--his new family. It's a dilemma he can't solve. Truth is, without some resolution, he may never get beyond this."

"Doc, do you believe he will ever remember who he is?"

"Initially, I thought so. But it's unlikely, I'm sorry. Too much time has passed. There is some good news my friend--the reason I asked you here. Has Noah ever mentioned anything concerning Chicago, anything at all?"

"I don't think so."

"Take your time, Doc said. "It's important."

"He remembers living in central Florida, but he's never said anything about Chicago, not that I . . .wait a minute, when he came out of the coma he was ranting about all sorts of strange things--crazy things, monkeys, little men. Ya know, he did say something about everyone being sad that Michael Jordan quit basketball."

"October 1993!" Doc announced, like he'd hit a bingo. "That's when Jordan retired. I've compared Allen's papers with Elizabeth's box of conversations, and I believe there's convincing evidence that Noah was in Chicago in 1993. Even though he doesn't know where it is, he describes Grant Park perfectly, right down to Buckingham Fountain. My wife and I used to live there. Noah remembers disrupting a race, where a "Mexican-looking" fellow won. That's the La Salle Bank Marathon, which starts and ends in Grant Park. A Brazilian man--Luiz Antonio Dos Santos--won in 1993. I looked it up."

"That's when Julie's father was murdered!"

"Exactly," Doc exclaimed, beaming like a lighthouse.

"This is great news, Doc. Maybe this will bring Noah out of his doldrums? And Julie will be ecstatic."

Doc leaned back and ran his hands through his gray hair. "I'm going to make an appointment with Detective Reggie Dean. Hopefully, this will close his book on Noah S. Wilder."

"Doc, I don't know what to say."

"I feel blessed to have you and Noah as friends," Doc said. "I hope you feel the same. This has been the case of a lifetime, probably my last. My retirement is upon me. Tell me. Did your neighbor have scars under his beard?"

"No, I'm afraid not, still no mystery man."

"How did Miss Clemens take it?"

"Julie says she moving on with her life."

"And what of Allen Silver's father?"

"Allen has never given up on finding his father."

"You, and your extended family, are so inspiring," Doc said, standing up and putting his arm on my shoulder. "I see so much despair; so few are able to rise above it. All of you have experienced such misfortune, and yet displayed genuine dignity and courage. This would make for one enthralling novel."

"If I write it, you'll be in it. That's for sure, Doc."

The city was crowded and the humidity stifling. The dog days of summer made the pedestrians appear to be walking in slow motion. My mind, however, was moving at the speed of light. When I arrived home, Noah was sitting on the stoop. Hobo lay in the shade, a short distance away. Upon hearing Doc's news, Noah's sense of relief was unimpressive.

"Well, I expected a little more outward celebration," I said, throwing a stick at Hobo.

"We need to call Julie's mother," Noah said. "This will make her feel better at the graduation party--she's been through so much. I didn't want to upset her or anything."

"You saved her daughter's life, Noah. Believe me, she's going to be happy to see you. Have you thought about Julie's present?"

"I'm gonna leave that to you, Hank. When we first met Julie, did you ever think we would end up going to her graduation party?"

"Aren't you the one that says there's a reason for everything?"

"I guess I've sorta forgotten lately. I'm happy about the news, Hank. Really." Noah stood up and shuffled his feet. "What do think about me asking Allen to find out if he can locate my biological family? Would you be mad?"

"I think it's a great idea. We'll call him after the party. He'll be happy to help."

"Hobo and I are gonna clean our room, Hank. We've been neglecting it pretty bad."

I smiled and thought about them rolling on the floor that first day we met, when they broke my bookshelf. The last seven months had been the most unnerving, mysterious, challenging, and rewarding time of my life. The fact is, I never had a life before Hobo and Noah came along. They say Noah might have five years to live. Do any of us really know how long we have? I rememberd the mono-toned voice, as if it were now whispering in my ear--"life is not certain". I figured this was a blessing, reconciling to welcome whatever the universe sent my way. Noah was spending three overnights a month with Elizabeth, and her mental health was steadily improving. She had even installed a telephone. Hobo was happier than ever, and for the first time in my life I enjoyed my job. I was absolutely through blaming the universe.

21

I decided on a leather briefcase for Julie. Noah and Hobo approved. Elizabeth Wilder donated to the cause. Of course, she couldn't attend the affair, but instructed Noah to purchase an appropriate card. It took him the better part of an hour to pick it out. He settled on one that extolled both the graduate's good looks and intelligence. From what little I've been able to ascertain, it seemed that he was well on his way to understanding women. Noah also purchased a disposable camera and a pair of slacks and a matching shirt for himself. I laid out the same clothes that I wore to meet Allen Silver at the Plaza. My shoes were already polished.

Hobo turned in so many circles that I figured he should've passed out from dizziness. Fresh from a bath and showing off a brand-new, bright-red bandana, he knew something unusual was in the works. He had already received two lectures on the importance of good manners, and Noah appeared ready to start in again when a knock on the door interrupted him.

"I'll get it," he shouted, pointing a crooked finger at Hobo. "I'm not finished with you. Howdy! Come on in fellas. I was just explaining to Hobo about watching his manners today."

"I brought my guitar, just like Julie asked," Slim clamored. "Know It All thinks I should play before I have anything to drink."

"Might not be a bad idea," I said, slapping him on the back. "You don't want to get too carried away; I'd say they'll be policemen there. Let me take a look at everyone."

Know It All modeled a new pair of straight-legged jeans, which made his legs look really skinny and his potbelly even bigger. Guitar Slim sported a white, button-down shirt, tucked in newly washed jeans, and his hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

I felt proud. "I'd say our party looks spiffy enough, if I do say so myself."

"You just did," Noah said, and everyone laughed.

Know It All held up a brown bag. "Me and Slim went together on a mighty fine gift--a good bottle of Kentucky Bourbon. We're gonna leave it the van, until we see if they drink."


Cars lined both sides of the street, and we had to park several blocks away. As we approached the house, it became apparent the gathering was taking place in the back yard. A huge, enclosed tent was the focal point. After checking my group's appearance, we made our way to the party. Ramona Clemens graciously accepted the offering and made all the proper introductions. She hailed Noah and Hobo as the heroes who saved Julie's life. During the huge applause, I whispered in Ramona's ear. "It's probably best to let Slim go ahead and play before he has anything to drink." Ramona smiled and then presented Noah a tool kit, with his name inscribed on it, and Hobo with an expensive food bowl.

Julie found Slim an armless chair and gave him an introduction worthy of Muddy Waters. Within minutes, Slim had everyone tapping his or her toes, blue uniforms included.

"He's quite a musician," Julie said, standing closer to me than she'd ever been. "How much does he get for something like this?"

"He's past all that; he doesn't gig anymore. This is his gift to you."

Julie said, "Wonder what the future holds for Guitar Slim?"

"He lives in the here and now. What's in the future for our college graduate?"

Without hesitation, she answered, "I'm going to Alaska. My dad always dreamed of living there. I've saved a little money and I can find something to do."

"We'll all miss you," I blurted out. "I will miss you."

"I'll miss you, too. It won't be forever. I need to be alone, so I can decide what I'm going to do with the rest of life. Dad wanted me to be a detective, but Mom's totally against it. It appears the decisions we make are more important than I ever imagined. My last one was really bad. I shouldn't have confronted your neighbor by myself. I'm going to meditate long and hard before I make my next decision."

"Noah says there's a reason for everything," I said.

"He's probably right," she returned, as if she wanted to say something different. "And to hear Mom tell it, you'll be running the bookstore in no time."

"I'm indebted to you."

"You're more than welcome," Julie said. "I'm glad you'll be here while I'm away. Did you hear Reggie Dean closed the book on Noah."

"It was such a relief that Noah wasn't involved."

"There's more," Julie said, her voice softening. "Remember the highway pile-up that Lennox Wilder caused attempting to miss a dog?"

"A tragedy," I said. "Their son was killed instantly. Mr. Wilder died three days later. It's what pushed Elizabeth over the edge, initiating her phobias."

Julie handed me an envelope filled with newspaper clippings. "Your grandparents were killed in that crash . . . God's works are too mysterious for me."

I sat down in the nearest lawn chair. This incident, and all the coincidences connected to it, overloaded my emotions. "I'll get you something to drink," I heard Julie say. I watched her vanish, like the rationale in my understanding. I remembered the orphanage superintendent telling me what my mother had told him: my father came home for my grandparent's funeral, and I was conceived before he returned to Vietnam. He was killed shortly thereafter. If not for the car accident bringing him home, I may have never been born. Of course, if the accident hadn't occurred, my father might still be alive. There were to many ifs to God's mysterious ways.

Julie returned with a stiff drink, and Noah. He had his hat cocked sideways and was jostling with Know It All and Guitar Slim. I slipped the envelope in the zipper pocket of my pants. Noah didn't need to hear this right now. I felt the packet of unopened photos that I had brought with me, yesterday's arrival from Allen Silver. I figured they would give us something to do, if there was a lull in the conversation. Perfect for right now.

"You guys want to see some pictures?" I opened the packet and pulled out the first photograph, it was old and faded. By now, Noah and I were thoroughly familiar with Allen's father. With the jungle in the background, his large frame (with the flat face and nose) stood next to another large soldier. It looked like Noah. I examined the younger man's face, imagining it with scars, a Beatle-style haircut, and years of hardship. It couldn't be. Then I saw the derby-like hat in John Silver's hand. I looked up at Noah . . . He took the photo and fiddled with his hat, putting it on and off.

"That's Allen's dad . . . and my hat!"

"Not only that," I heard myself say. "I believe the other man is you. Look closer, try to remember."

Noah scrutinized the photo and then closed his eyes, rubbing the hat against his face, swaying back in forth. "I sort of remember him, I sorta do."

The next image was a perfect close-up. It showed two men standing in a shallow river, shirtless. It was obvious they were great comrades. There was no doubt. Noah's imposing physique, green eyes, Roman nose, and defined jaw were unmistakable. I placed the photo in Noah's hand.

"It's me," Noah said, struggling for more. "And this man was a friend of mine." As he eyed the photo, I pulled another from the packet. John Silver and Noah were cleaning their weapons. In this one, the hat was on Noah's head.

I turned it over . . . flabbergasted, I spoke in a feeble voice that surprised even me, "Could we be alone, please?" Julie ushered Know It All Harry and Guitar Slim away; Hobo stayed. Noah sat down beside me. I handed him the truth. The inscription read: John Silver and James Maddox, best friends.

Bewildered, Noah asked, "That's your daddy's name, isn't it?"

"Yes it is."

Noah's facial expressions went from confused to a partial understanding, and finally to something amazingly profound--our eyes and hearts met. It was as if all the sounds and vibrations in the whole world stopped. Like nothing else existed in the universe, except Noah and me frozen in time. All at once, he smiled a smile wider than the Ohio River.

The smile was like a cool breeze on a hot summer day; how I imagined little league or cruising on my bike for the first time without training wheels. How Christmas and fireworks should have always felt. Noah grabbed me. I don't know how long we hugged. Suddenly, he broke the embrace and held me at arms length.

"Did you see it, son? Did you see it?"

"I saw it Dad. It was beautiful."

"Yes son! It was a purple triangle and the colors of a rainbow. It soared high above the treetops like an eagle. You did it, Hank--all by yourself--against every obstacle. You did it!"

22

In the months that followed, my dad gradually put most of the puzzle together. After returning to Saigon, he never learned that his wife was with child. An explosion jarred his brain--the same blast that killed his best friend. Prior to this, they had each buried one dog tag deep in the soil of Vietnam and exchanged the other for good luck. They vowed to swap the tag only after they were safely home, in the world, as they were fond of saying.

John Silver lay torn in two by a mortar shell, his face wiped away, unrecognizable. In shock, Dad grabbed John's lucky hat (several yards away from the body), but forgot about the dog tag. He stumbled into an enemy patrol a short time later and was imprisoned, swallowing the tag at his first opportunity. With a diminishing memory, and unable to tell the Viet Cong what they wanted to hear, Dad experienced horrendous torture. The same two men entered the hut every third morning and began their ruthless onslaught, although, for some unknown reason, they let him keep the hat.

"You must tell us your name and what your mission is," the first soldier spoke in broken English, with Vietnamese thrown in. The second man stuck bamboo reeds underneath Dad's fingernails. This was followed by slicing pieces off the fingertips. The final step was binding his fingers in a fixed position, with thin, razor-sharp wire, and beating them with a hammer. His distorted fingers bear witness to this very day. On occasion, he still wakes me up at night screaming. "Make it stop, make it stop."

Dad retrieved the dog tag after his first bowel movement, and then swallowed it again. He repeated the process for seven months, before finally escaping during an air raid. Remarkably, he made his way to Saigon, hat in hand. He said the scene was horrific--like the end of the world--and refuses to discuss it in any detail. While he followed a wounded soldier through the mayhem, White Christmas played over a load speaker. Of course, you've read how he got to Walter Reed Hospital from the letter Allen Silver still keeps under lock and key to this very day. For those who would like to know more about the time my dad doesn't like to talk about, the libraries are filled with books about that terrible time. We should never forget.

Allen Silver was eternally grateful for Noah's returning memory, the final resolution better than not knowing. Allen visits twice a year. The last time was spent largely at Elizabeth Wilders', who is now able to receive guests on a regular basis. She also has a scruffy companion. Hobo sired a litter with Doc's mixed terrier. Allen also brought me a copy of my novel, straight off his company press. I immediately mailed it to Alaska where Julie was still making up her mind. I wished I could've been there, when she began reading Someday Over Yonder.

The End

AUTHOR'S REQUEST: PLEASE DON'T GIVE AWAY THE ENDING IN YOUR PUBLIC REVIEW. Thanks for taking this journey with me. Coolhand