THOUGHTS ON DRIVE HOME: No thoughts. I spoke aloud. I spoke without thinking. Want to see the pool where we swim? I said to the spaceman. Sure, the spaceman said. The pool was closed, but you could still see in. The walls of the pool were glass. We leaned against the cool glass. Light from a streetlamp lit the place up. I told the spaceman how solar panels helped heat the water. I told the spaceman how the pool had very little chlorine and that ultraviolet rays were used to kill the bacteria. The spaceman said he swam on his high school team. The spaceman said that whenever he smells chlorine it reminds him of that time in high school. That’s the time, he said, that he first decided he would someday meet his real father. The father he had who was married to his mother was not a good swimmer. When they went to a pool or the beach, the father would swim sidestroke, and even then, the spaceman said, his father would swallow the water and choke and sputter and cough and his mother would worry about him and his mother would send her son into the water, to make sure his father, his not-real father, was all right and would not drown.
WHAT THE WIFE TOLD THE SPACEMAN WHEN WE GOT HOME: Don’t be silly, there’s no need to stay in a motel. It’s late. Spend the night here, she said.
WHAT THE WIFE TOLD ME IN BED IN A WHISPER SO THE SPACEMAN WOULD NOT HEAR: What does he want?
WHAT I SAID: Nothing. You know, just to see who I am. Just to know.
WHAT THE WIFE SAID: When is he leaving?
WHAT I SAID: In the morning, I’m sure. What does it matter? He seems nice. Did you know he used to swim?
WHAT THE WIFE SAID: What do we tell the children when they meet him?
WHAT I SAID: If they ask, I’ll tell them the truth. The spaceman will have his curiosity fulfilled. He’ll see I’m just an ordinary man and then he’ll go home and appreciate his father whom his mother is married to. This will blow over, I said.
WHAT THE WIFE SAID: You call him the spaceman?
WHAT SARAH SAID AT BREAKFAST: You two look alike. You both have that thingy, that hole in your chins. Are you an uncle or a cousin?
WHAT THE SPACEMAN SAID: I’m your half brother.
WHAT SARAH SAID: One whole brother is bad enough.
WHAT SAM SAID WHEN HE CAME DOWN TO BREAKFAST: Cool, I always wanted a brother. I’m sick of my sisters. Are you going to live with us?
WHAT THE SPACEMAN SAID: No, I have an apartment in Philadelphia.
WHAT SAM SAID: You might like it here. We get lots of s-s-snow and the sledding is good. Mom’s an okay cook, that is if you like green olives.
WHAT SARAH SAID: Sam was in a coma and now he talks funny. Sam, say Sally sells seashells by the seashore.
WHAT SAM SAID: Bugger off, Sarah.
WHAT THE SPACEMAN SAID: A coma?
WHAT SARAH SAID: Yes, he was shot and fell out of the tree stand.
WHAT MIA SAYS: They thought he was a bird. Show him your scars, Sam.
WHAT SAM SAID: Bugger off, Mia. See how annoying my sisters are?
WHAT THE SPACEMAN SAID: That’s terrible. Who did it?
WHAT SARAH SAID: Someone in town, but we’re not sure.
CALL: One of Arlo’s Chianina cows with porcupine quills stuck in its muzzle.
ACTION: Spaceman and I set off in my truck to the farm. Spaceman wanted to know about my son. Is it true, he said, you don’t know who shot your son? I shook my head. In this little town, you don’t know? I shook my head again. I can’t be sure. It might have been a guy named Passen, but he’s in jail for something else now. I’ll never know for sure. It could have been anyone. He put your son in a coma for weeks? the spaceman asked. Yes, I said. I didn’t want to shake my head again. I was looking past the field where I had seen a coyote trotting across before, and I wanted to see if he might be trotting this way again. The spaceman whistled. I thought at first it was going to be a tune, but it was not. It was a whistle of surprise. A whistle of incredulity. Oh my God, he said. You and your wife must have been sick with worry. When he said it I remembered how Jen would sit up in bed at night, not reading, just staring at the windows that were dotted with cluster fly shit. It’s not too late, the spaceman said. You can still try to find out who it was. No, I said. I said it quickly and loudly. The spaceman shook his head. He looked out the window. I felt bad for saying no the way I had said it. We drove on the road where the taxidermist had his sign that said SKULL CLEANING HALF PRICE. I pointed it out to the spaceman. I laughed. Can you believe that sign? I said. The spaceman nodded his head. I can believe it, he said. If you’re not sure who it was, if it was Passen or not, then why are you still making these vet calls, and you’re not out knocking on everyone’s door trying to find out exactly who did that to your son? What are the police doing? he said.
There was no evidence. There were no telltale footprints in the woods that anyone could find. There was no car parked by the side of the road, no tire tread marks that could be traced. No way to trace the gunshot. The police did what they could do, I said. The spaceman worked his jaw. He shook his head. He exhaled loudly.
When we drove up the road to Arlo’s, we could see his white Chianina cattle standing on the hillside in the early mist. They’re beautiful. They look like ghosts, the spaceman said, while shaking his head and smiling. I introduced the spaceman as Mark Howell to Arlo. Arlo showed us the cow. She had about seventeen quills stuck in her nose. I tranqued the cow. While I pulled out the quills Arlo held the cow and murmured to her, telling her to be still and calm. The cow was so tall that Arlo just had to turn his head to talk into the blackness of her white ear. He did not have to bend down to her. I told Arlo that the spaceman was from Philadelphia. Arlo said he had never been to Philadelphia. He said he had never been away from here because he liked the trees here and the trees were enough for him here. He did not need to leave his state and see other trees. He did not need to travel to see mountain ridges with tree lines that were not his. Arlo laughed at himself. You’d think I was goofy about trees, he said. The cow shook her head. The tranq was wearing off. I gave her a little more. I gave the spaceman the quills as I pulled them out. The spaceman lined them up on his palms, the tapered ends all facing the same way. Arlo wanted to know if the spaceman was a doctor, too. Oh, no, I teach, the spaceman said. The spaceman taught Spanish in a public school. The spaceman said he had learned it in Spain, and so there was a time when he got back from Spain that not even the Puerto Rican postman understood what he was saying because when speaking Spanish you sound out the Z’s like they were Th’s and the way the Puerto Rican postman looked at the spaceman when he spoke Spanish with his lisp you’d think he did not speak Spanish at all. You’d think, and yes here the spaceman said it, You’d think I was from another planet. Then the spaceman said, What about the doctor’s son, Arlo? Do you know anything about who shot his son, almost killed him, and then put him into a coma for weeks? Arlo shook his head. He patted the hind end of his cow with a hand that was deeply lined, and the veins popping out on the backs of his hands looked as large as earthworms as he patted the cow. I think you do know, said the spaceman. This is too small a town not to know.