the new river swing set. Josef had stripped his apartment of furniture, and destroyed the shades on his lamps. This had given him a few months of clarity. But now he felt lofted higher still, sailing over the earth’s detritus. He closed his eyes and vowed to sleep on his wooden floor, to drink only water, to let light enter through his windows unperverted by plastic shades. He would give away his money, bake bread with his hands. He would share, and help. He would be kind. “Deliverance!” he yelled, his head thrown back, his body pulling against metal rungs. The train passed over a river, and Josef looked down through the bridge ties to see its milky rush beneath him. The stacks of town rose up ahead, but this river was new to him. The landmarks were unfamiliar, and the strange houses on the bank half disappeared into thick woods. The train thunked across the bridge—a frantic, hollow beat—and Josef let himself go, falling onto a hill of scree, spraying the gravel dust with his heels. The cars passed overhead, still moving slowly, still barely moving at all. Beneath, the river was fat with rain, pounding the cement underwalls. Riprap hedged the muddy bank. Crouching, he could see beyond the bend in the trees, where the water fed the lake. He had lived in this town all his life and never seen this tributary. How had he missed it? The current made ridges in the water pregnant with runoff, ready to burst with the garbage of higher elevations. Josef felt full, himself, the airy feeling gone from his lungs. He knelt in the mud and unfolded the piece of paper from his back pocket. He had been delivered here, it was true. He counted the names, once, twice, three times. He saw his life, his loyalties, and steadied his mind. He stood, looking past the bend, decided. He would stay the course. He was right.
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