Root of all Evil

By Jeff Eblen

Dirty and Stinkin'

Franklin walks like he is the center of the universe: upright, tall, and chest out. But he wears no shirt. All he has on are some dirty Levis and dirty Reeboks. His hair sticks up all over the place and his beard is growing out weird.

He smells bad, too.

But so do I. That’s what happens when you live off the land. You’re dirty and you smell bad. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Freedom, that’s what it’s about, right? What do I have to do? What do we need to do? Nothing. Sometimes we would go for days drinking like mad and eating fish we catch. No worries.

But we needed money for beer and cigarettes.

Money. My grandmother always said, “Money is the root of all evil.” She actually screamed it. She was crazy. But she was right. Franklin and I knew it. That was why we lived by the river. Society was full of shit and the only society we needed to deal with by the river was campers and the occasional state police.

Still, we depended on society for beer and cigarettes. And so we salvaged cans and bottles that society left all over the place. She was wasteful, society, so it took us no time. The hardest part was going to Safeway and cashing in.

That’s when I wished Franklin wore a shirt. Sure I was dirty with longer hair than Franklin, but at least I had a shirt.

Safeway

When Franklin and I got to Safeway with our cart full of cans and two black garbage bags full as well, Franklin was being loud like he often is, “You see, the day of the paunch is coming, then I will have to push away all the women.”

“Right, the day of the paunch,” I picked up a can that had fallen out.

“Serious.”

“Day of the beer belly,” I said.

“Day of the paunch,” Franklin corrected me and shifted the bag on his shoulder. I think the plastic bag was sticking to his skin. “Everyone will be sneaking glances at my stomach.”

“Your smell will keep the women away,” I said.

“Ha ha. And that’s your problem. You’re always negative. Women don’t go for negative men. And you’re boring.” Then he yelled, “I said you’re boring!”

“Shut up,” I said.

Franklin had scared an old woman that was recycling a bunch of two litters. It was always a gamble which machines worked and which ones were being used. Only one was available so Franklin started pushing in cans. And he sang, “I was runnin’ down the road. Tryin’ to loosen my load. I had seven women on my mind. Four that want to hold me. Two that want to stone me. One says she’s a friend of mine.“ The old lady kept an eye on Franklin.

“I’m going to McDonalds, you want anything?” I asked.

“How much money we have?”

The money was scrunched in my pocket, “Three dollars and thirty cents.”

“Just some fries.” Then Franklin started singing again. I headed off.

The Kid

His stupid tune ran through my head as I crossed the street. I had to squeeze through hedges that surrounded McDonalds. “Hey,” someone said. I kept walking. “Hey, you! Sir! Wait.” I turned and saw a tall curly haired McDonalds employee. He had a cigarette in his hand. It was lit but he wasn’t smoking it.

“What?” He didn’t say anything so I asked again, “What?”

“Listen, I…” he cut himself off. “Come over here, “ he indicated the secluded garbage area. When I hesitated he said, “I promise it’s worth your while.”

More cans, I thought, OK, more cans.

“What’s your name?” The kid was nervous. This wasn’t about cans.

“Chad. What do you want?” Damn! Why did I tell him my name?

“Do you…” The kid looked out of the garbage area and then turned back to me, “Do you want to make a whole lot of money?”

I don’t need this. The kid is playing games with me. And he was between me and the way out, so I started moving past him. “I just want to get a sandwich,” I said.

“No wait. For real. Two hundred thousand. All yours!”

I stopped. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say.

“You know the monopoly game?” He paused and I continued my silence. “The game at McDonalds with prizes. There are game pieces and you can win a PT Cruiser, a Sony surround-“

“Yeah, the monopoly game.”

“I have the one million dollar game piece. But I can’t claim the prize because I work here. And so you, you can claim it, and we split it.”

What the hell. Is this a joke? My mind was trying to figure out the joke. I looked outside the garbage area. No one was around.

“Don’t go. It’s for real. I won the…” Then he reached into his pocket. “Here. Look. But don’t touch it.”

And I looked. And the little blue game piece had red and gold and it said winner and it said one million dollars. This was no joke. “Is this a joke?” I was blown. I didn’t know what to think. I was happy and scared and suspicious.

“No. No joke.”

“Oh wow. Oh wow.” I had to steady myself on the recycling bin.

The kid looked relieved and he laughed.

When I returned to Safeway, I was late and Franklin looked pissed. But I was grinning as I approached so his attitude toward me turned toward curiosity. “What took you so long?”

I had to show Franklin the ticket before he believed me. He was ecstatic. He jumped up and down and hollered over and over that I was the luckiest son of a bitch he knew. He demanded to hold it, but I didn’t let him touch it.

The Party

We struck a deal. Franklin would receive twenty thousand dollars if he helped me claim the prize and get that McDonalds kid his share. I didn’t need the help. I just wanted the company.

Then we would find a place to live, buy a car or two, Franklin wanted a tattoo, and I wanted some new clothes. Really, we wanted much more. But we would start out with that. We had our whole lives to spend the money. I, for one, wasn’t in a rush to waste the money.

First though, that night we decided to hold the biggest party we could get. I had borrowed $300 from the McDonalds Manager by promising him $600 back. Franklin and I bought enough beer and food to choke the river. And then we hired a cab to get us to the river. We invited everyone that lived down by the river and a few that we knew from other places.

Energy soared through Franklin and me, so we cleaned up our home and set up for a party to end all parties. By nine o’clock that night we had our tent opened up and cushioned, three logs surrounding a bonfire that reached ten feet tall, three chests overflowing with beer, and our good friend Donna grilling up steaks and skewers. The sky was clear and the air was warm. Twenty people showed and we had the time of our lives.

Five beers into the party I was sitting with my back to one of the logs and watching Franklin.

“OK, I’m no poet.” He was standing by the fire in front of everyone. He was holding a candle up as if the firelight wasn’t enough. “First of all, I have no rhythm. Serious. I can’t catch a beat. And second, I hate beauty.” Everyone laughed, Angela the loudest. She sat on a log behind Franklin. I thought she looked like a cow. Franklin thought she looked like a goat and laughed like one too. “But here is a poem I wrote,” Franklin didn’t write this poem, but it was his favorite poem that he had read before he dropped out of high school. He loved to tell it. “Heavens can be made from the simplest of matters, shelter in a rain storm, good boots on a long march, even the sight of bread and water in a deep dungeon.” He pointed out past the tent, “Niel Simon found humor in the darkest of times. Edger Allen Poe saw the light in many evil punishments. Even Mark Twain.” He then leaned toward everyone, “But none of them have been to Kingman Arizona…”

While Franklin continued I found myself staring at Donna. Sixty-eight years old. As young and energetic as ever. She was a legend around Oregon: Momma Donna has been living on the land for forty-four years. Always happy, content. She was standing by the grill and watching Franklin with a smile on her face.
“…The closest you can be to the Grand Canyon, without a shuttle to the Grand Canyon…”

Donna laughed and I could see the life in her.

Now I am alive. More alive than ever. I am rich. Every five minutes or so, I reminded myself of my new fortune. It was always a rush. Maybe I can help Donna. Set her up.

“What are you going to do?” Roger was a friend of a friend. I didn’t know him very well, other than that he liked fly-fishing like myself. He sat beside me sipping a beer.

“Franklin and I are going to move together. And I’m going to buy a Porsche.” I smiled, “I’m going to clean up and live the good life.”

“Excellent. I am happy for you. Make sure that your money lasts.”

“Yes.” Everyone gave me advice on what to do with my money. Invest it. Give it away. Spend it. Bury it.

Donna said, “Have fun with it.” I sat on the log, drunk. She stood before me with a Pepsi in her hand.

“Donna, I’m gonna set you up.” I said.

She smiled at me and said, “I am set up, honey.”

I woke up the next morning next to the shoes where I had hid the game piece. Half awake and very drunk I checked for the piece. It was still there. Relief flooded me and I sat up. I decided I would stay awake until it was turned in and the money was mine.

Spending the Money

I got a tattoo: a woman’s eye on my right arm. Franklin’s was the same, but it was a dragon’s eye and the dragon spread from his shoulder to his right wrist. Tattoos were a waste of money, I thought. And I had told Franklin that. But he talked me into it. “This tattoo will represent your new life!”

We spent the first two days taking care of everything else. The piece was turned in and the kid had his money. Franklin and I had two bank accounts stocked with money, a 2004 Corvette, some new clothes, and a temporary suite in downtown Portland. We looked good, smelled good, and it was just the beginning. Now it was time to have fun.

Our slate was full. Franklin wanted to go on a weeklong vacation to New Orleans. I wanted a home of my own in a good neighborhood. Franklin wanted three women at once. I wanted an accountant that would help me invest my money. Franklin wanted a gold chain and a gold ring. I wanted a state-of-the-art computer and I wanted to learn how to use it. Franklin wanted a motorcycle and a matching leather suit.

I told Franklin that he needed to be more careful about how he spends his money.

“What do you mean?” Franklin was taking swigs of brandy on the couch.

“You only have twenty thousand dollars. That’s not going to last you that long.” I was throwing a mini basketball into a mini basketball hoop and catching it off the mini bounce. “Kachunk clunk clunk” was the sound it made, “Kachunk clunk clunk.”

“I know.” He took a drink and said, “Damn this stuff is good.”

“And you’re not going to mooch off me. Twenty thousand and that’s it.” I missed. “Kachunk cunk clunk clunk”

“Don’t worry about me.” Franklin stared at the brandy bottle for a second. Then he got up from the couch, “If I run out of money, I will never bother you again.”

“Kachink clunk-“ he caught the ball.

“But be careful, Chad.” Franklin leaned into my face. “Don’t let your head get too big.”

I stood up, “Back off.”

He didn’t, his face was still in mine, “Just because your rich doesn’t make you better than the rest of us.”

“I know. Back off. I mean it.”

Franklin backed off, “I’ve never mooched in my life. Why would I start now?” With a towel and the brandy in his hand he left the suite. He slammed the door on the way out.

That fucker doesn’t appreciate anything I’ve done for him. He doesn’t give a shit. I picked up the ball. Of course I want to take care of the money. He doesn’t understand the opportunity we have. All Franklin wants to do is go to parties. Fucker just wants to get laid. I threw the ball hard. It missed the hoop and bounced onto the couch.

Then I heard a knock on the door. Fucker forgot his keys. I opened the door and a young man stood there with a bag full of hair accessories.

“Hi, did you order a haircut?”

I smiled and ushered the man in. How could you complain about paying $1500 rent when the place came with its own local barber?

“Would you like a facial as well? Or a manicure?”

“What was that?”

Mr. Cleghorn and Mrs. Little

I woke up the next morning to someone knocking on the door. I rushed into the living room towards the front door. Franklin was asleep by the couches with some woman. No, two women. The door continued to pound, but I had to stop and count. Yep, only two. I wonder if he’s disappointed.

“Are you going to get that?” Franklin mumbled.

I ran to the door and opened it. A tall man and a short woman stood there with briefcases in their hands. The woman smiled, “Hello, are you Mr. Chad Regal?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, my name is Mrs. Little, and this is Mr. Cleghorn,” she indicated the tall man who nodded, “and we represent the McDonald’s Corporation.”

“Hello.”

“Can we come in?” Mrs. Little asked.

“Yes, just a second.” I shut the door. Franklin and the girls were already heading into his room. I got rid of a panty, put the cushions back on the couch, removed some beer bottles, and opened the door for Mrs. Little and Mr. Cleghorn.
They entered and started looking around the place. They seemed to be assessing everything they saw, “Mr. Regal, we are here to take the money back.”

“What?” My heart almost stopped.

She assessed me before she continued. “You see,” she said, “we discovered that you and Mr. Kendall conspired to unlawfully take the prize money.”

“Mr. Kendall?” I didn’t know his name.

“Mr. Kendall is employed by the McDonald’s Corporation and is thus exempt from claiming any of our prizes.”

No. I felt dizzy.

“He knows all this, Mrs. Little.” The tall man growled.

“I know,” Mrs. Little smiled at me, “But he doesn’t know what can happen to him. Not only will you have to return all the winnings. We could press charges that could cost you as much as one hundred thousand, as well as some serious jail time…”

No. I couldn’t hear what she was saying anymore. No. I sat down on the arm of the couch. I felt sick.

“You can’t do this,” Franklin said. He stood beside me, “You can’t just burst in here and demand everything.”

“Who are you?” Mr. Cleghorn growled at Franklin.

“He’s my friend.” I mumbled.

Franklin didn’t mumble at all, “You can’t take anything until you prove whatever you’re claiming in court.”

“Your right,” Mrs. Little walked to the coffee table and opened up her briefcase. She pulled out a piece of paper, “that’s why we came to make an offer.” I took the piece of paper and stared at it, “It’s simple really. You give us your share of the winnings back, you admit what you have done, and we won’t press further charges.”

I fell on the couch, then on the floor, and I passed out.

Back to the River

The plan was simpler than she stated. We lost everything. Only our tattoos remained to remind us of what we had.

Franklin seemed to shrug it off well enough. The night we returned to the river he helped everyone prepare a welcome home feast for us. The same twenty people showed along with a few others. Donna cooked fish this time, caught by Roger and some of his friends.

I found myself watching her again. Donna’s foot had been hurting so she hobbled and grumbled as she prepared the food. Still, when someone walked by her or asked her a question, she smiled and was pleasant as could be.

“So after Chad is done, it’s my turn to get a tattoo.” Franklin explained to Angela as he dumped ice into the chest, “So I pull down my pants and tell the guy, ‘Give me Larry on this cheek, Curly on this cheek, and when you’re done with that, I’ll tell you where to put Moe.’” Angela bleated.

“How you taking it?” Donna hobbled over to my tent and sat down beside me. “That must have been a bitter pill to take.”

“Yeah, pretty cruel.” I watched as Donna moved her leg out from underneath her. She groaned as she flexed it. “I can’t complain too much. At least I got a haircut and a tattoo out of the deal.”

“And now you are back with us.” She patted my knee, “So that is good.”

Is it? “What happened to your leg?“ I asked.

“Woke up on it wrong. I’m getting old, honey. There is no denying that.”

“Have you ever had money, Donna? A lot of it?”

“No, can’t say I’ve ever needed it.”

“I don’t know if I can be poor anymore.” I said, “I’m sick of it. I want to sleep in a house. I want to go to restaurants and movie theatres. I can’t do that here. I’m pigeonholed here, Donna. Every day the same thing.”

“Really.” I don’t think she knew what to say.

“Wake up. Shit in the woods. Return cans. Get drunk. Fall asleep. And then all over again! This is no life. This is nothing,” I leaned back and took a breath. “How do you do this, Donna? For so long?”

“I don’t know.” Donna was absent-mindedly rubbing her leg, “My father was a ranger. He lived at stations or off the land. I was with him a lot. So it just came naturally to me.”

“I’ve got to do something. Maybe get a job,”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. My grandmother worked at Kruger’s Nursery. Maybe I can get a job there.” I said, “But Donna, will you go with me?”

“Oh, I’m not getting a job, Chad.”

“No, I know. But you’re older now, you said so yourself. Let me take care of you.”

“Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I need to rely on someone. I have lived without money my whole life.” Donna stood up, “And you, you have lived down here for how long, Chad?”

After doing the math in my head I said, “Fifteen or sixteen years.”

“How come you can’t bear it any longer? Why the sudden change? Is it because you tasted being rich, so now you want to be rich?”

“No. Well, yes, in a way, I guess. You see, I’ve always been big on the whole freedom thing. No home, no job, no responsibilities, no worries. But now I don’t know. Is living in a tent and wearing the same clothes day in and day out freedom?” I looked up at Donna, “Money might not solve all my problems, but it sure will make life more bearable.”