God’s Conveyor Belt

 He wouldn’t always have the boys move the bags in the dead of night. Secrecy wasn’t a part of it. But they were under the full moon tonight, lugging black industrial trash bags down to the river. All because the old man had had a fit about the condition of his house. He couldn’t take the sight of the forest he’d created in his kitchen and living room. An entire ecosystem really, where beer bottles and cans are the trees, crowding tabletops and counter space, and stained paper plates the fern and undergrowth. Fruit flies the swooping birds of prey, landing on meat gristle and drowning in steak blood.

 So the old man said, “Boys, clear this shit outta here and make a dump run.” Then Tim, the older brother, held open one of the black bags, while Johnny, the pup, cleared the forest.

 Not that they needed the moon’s light, for they knew this trail to the river like they knew the hallway from their bedroom to bathroom. Trash hauling was their job in service to the grandpa that took them in. “Down to the river with it,” the old man would say, “to God’s conveyor belt.”

 Johnny’s bag had caught a fat sliver of wood on one of the bridges’ planks and it tore open as the child tried to tug it free. So Johnny and Tim had to start throwing garbage into the river instead of dumping. While Johnny did enjoy the throwing, the plunking noises and the smashing of glass, it still felt strange that they should just get rid of their mess in the free nature, and he always asked his brother about it.

 “You sure this is what we supposed to do? Aren’t there dumpsters and stuff?”

 “This is what grandpa tells us to do. It’s his place. He was in the war. He says the river cleans itself, takes it all away. Stop worrying, Johnny, and stop asking me about it.”

 When the boys got back to the mobile home their grandpa had cooked three cheap steaks, and had already started a new forest.

 The three sat at an old card table and ate their meat off of paper plates. The grandpa poured Jonny some soda in a red plastic cup, and let Tim have a beer. After dinner the boys went to their room, and the old man fell asleep in his ripped recliner in front of the gigantic television.

 In the morning Johnny said, “Let’s go fishin.”

 They walked the same trail, the trash trail, down to the water. They fished just down river of the bridge, their dump sight.

 As they cast their lines, Johnny asked, “How come we always dump the trash in the same spot? Shouldn’t we move sometimes, you know to spread it out?”

 “That spot under the bridge, Johnny, is where the fastest and meanest rapids in the whole river are. It’s the most efficient section of God’s conveyor belt, you might say,” and he sounded just like his grandfather.

 After the boys caught only trash bags and styrofoam, they gave up hope of a fish and headed home. 

 Waiting on paper plates was cheap steak, a red cup full of soda for Johnny, and a beer for Tim. The grandpa was snoring in his chair, and the news was blaring on the giant television.       “Heavy drought,” said the weather man, “heavy drought coming to town.”

 “How can a drought be heavy?” Asked Johnny, “isn’t it lite?” 

 “He’s just a dumb ass,” said the hoarse voice of the grandfather, awoken by Johnny’s question. “You boys wanna watch a movie?” And their reply was giddy.

 Grandpa wasn’t mean, but he was a t.v. hog. Naturally, they watched a western, something from the seventies, but that was alright with the boys, it was better than the news.

 In the morning the forest was lush. The grandpa must have killed a case during the night. He was snoring in his recliner when Tim and Johnny woke up. Coming out of sleep to the sight of pollution is not easy on any pair of eyes, so the boys, without being asked, cleared the forest. 

 As they headed out the door, a black bag over each shoulder, the grandpa spoke, his eyes still closed. “Keep the bags!” He said.

 On the bridge, after the boys had turned the bags upside down and sent glass and aluminum into the rapids, Johnny said, “We should find a new fishing spot. Maybe go way up river, to a part we ain’t been yet.” He looked at his older brother with big, unblinking eyes.

 Tim was watching a beer bottle bobbing against a rock. “Alright,” he said.

 And what luck, way up river, each boy caught a fish—coho salmon, not even beat up by the river yet, still silver, perhaps with sea lice still attached.

 They raced back to show their grandfather. Even though the cheap steaks were already cooked and set on paper plates, Johnny asked, “Look grandpa! Can we eat fish tonight?”

 Through bloodshot, glassy eyes, the old man looked at the fish. “Don’t like salmon,” he said, and took a beer from the fridge. Johnny looked down at the floor. The old man turned “But,” he put a finger under Johnny’s chin, “maybe I’ll let you boys cook tomorrow.” He took the fish from his grandsons and put them raw in the freezer.

 That night they watched another western.

 Quiet. A creepy quiet was what the boys woke to the next morning. The old man wasn’t even snoring. In their customary way, the brothers cleared the new forest. They walked slowly to the bridge with their bags. “Something’s wrong,” said Johnny.

 “I know,” said Tim.

 They found out what once they reached the bridge. The terrible silence was the absence of rushing water, the absence of any water. The river was gone, completely dried up. Only the bed remained, and what a full bed. Years of garbage, hundreds of dump runs, all still there, and not washed away.

 “A heavy drought,” said Tim.

 “It’s broken,” said Johnny.

 “What is?”

 “God’s conveyor belt.”

  For the first time, the brothers brought two full trash bags back to the house.

 “I don’t think he’s gonna be happy,” said Tim.

 “Well he was wrong,” said Johnny.

  Inside, there was no trace of a new forest, and the old man was still in his chair with his eyes closed. Tim dropped his bag, he could tell. He went over to his grandpa and put his hand in front of his mouth. No breath coming out, only fruit flies.

 Then Johnny dropped his bag. He exhaled. “At least,” he said, “grandpa will never know it broke, and that it didn’t work in the first place.”