Apprenticed

[Jamestown Chronicles #9]

Thirty years ago now, the first time I came to Mars' place. I can still see him tearing the door off an old refrigerator. Doesn't ask who I am or what I'm doing there, just gestures and I know by instinct to grab the back of the fridge by the condenser coil and brace it against his boot. One hinge sticks, he wiggles it and the whole unit feels like it's going to fall on him, then on me, then there's a metallic tear like a screech from an alien bird and it wobbles, me still gripping those coils, cool to the touch in my imagination or memory, and he carries the door over to a pile of scrap and tosses it on top like he's collecting wood for a fire. The whole yard was like that, sawhorses, doorknob pyramids, cars on blocks, more basketballs than we ever needed, railroad ties, tires sprouting rubber like hair, rows of paint cans weirdly organized, impeccably, by color, the whole mess radiating out in a spiral from the back entrance to the house, down a few steps to the Murder Dungeon which was really a paneled workspace where he worked on his more delicate projects, vacuum cleaners and radios and such.