Shelter
It was an early snow, but Grace was ready for it. The firewood was stacked, the windowsills were puttied, the larder was full of canned tomatoes and peas and string beans from her garden. Burrowing in, she’d prepared the house for winter, spreading a new Hudson Bay blanket on the bed in time for the first snow. All summer she’d worked on it, quietly foreseeing winter, a blue and yellow blanket with the design of ripe orchids. There were warm clothes from the attic, rubber boots ready on mats by the door, a full tank of heating oil, potatoes in the cellar.
The snow started as a wind, then rain, then an expansive pale sky, then snow.
Perry watched it develop from his office window. It was Friday. Cheerfully detached, he watched the snow develop with the relief of knowing he would not have to anticipate winter any longer. He felt fine. The farms would be locked in, which meant that his work would end until spring, a dead-end job mercifully cut short, and the Swedes would lie low and hope for a better spring, better soil, another chance, good luck and fair weather, corn from boulders and water from granite. Sometimes he did not hate the town. Sometimes it didn’t matter one way or the other. He whistled a little tune and watched the snow. It was always a new emergency, people scurrying before his window as if they’d never seen a snowfall before, as if they’d never seen winter, drawn faces pointing to the pale sky, anxiously conferring. There was nothing more to do. He swept down the office and when he saw that the snow would be permanent he pulled down the blinds and latched the door and left early. It was early winter.
The snow melted. For a week the skies were clear. Then it snowed and the snow hardened to ice, the pines turned stiff, then it snowed again.
Harvey began talking about winter camping. Ski racing, finding a job, leaving the town, leaving the state, becoming a mercenary in Africa, writing a book, rejoining the army, going to college. Some days he spent with Perry in the office, drinking coffee and elaborating on his plans, cajoling Perry into agreement or argument, persuading him. He talked of adventure. His bad eye would seem to roll. He talked about the cross-country ski races in Grand Marais. He talked about ice fishing, the hardships of cold weather, the exhilarations of the spirit. Perry listened and nodded. He had no better ideas. Evenings, Harvey would take the car to visit Addie, or Addie would come for supper and the four of them would sit at the fire and play cards or Scrabble, and Harvey would talk about adventures, always planning and always insisting that he be taken seriously, demanding that they all play together, drawing them all in. Perry would nod and Grace would quietly disagree, but only Addie could control him, teasing him out of plain nonsense, puncturing fictions, bridling him.
“Well,” Harvey would mutter, “you can’t live in your small worlds forever.”
“What about Vietnam?” Addie would tease.
“What about it?”
“Some magnificent adventure.”
“What about it?”
Pointing to his dead eye: “That,” she would say, challenging him. “Tell us about that.”
Startled, puzzled, Harvey would reach to it. “Oh. That’s nothing. That’s part of it. You see, I’d forgotten. Taking chances, that’s all.”
Addie would keep after him. “So tell us about it! Tell us how it happened. You haven’t said a word about it. Tell us about your heroics.”
“It’s not important. It happened, that’s all.”
“Oh,” she would grin, egging him on. “Did it hurt? Did you feel great adventure when it happened?”
“Hurt? Well, yes. Sure it hurt. What do you think?”
“Was it worth getting hurt? I mean, if it hurt, you must have thought something about it. You don’t just lose your eye and forget it.”
Harvey would glare at her. “I don’t see what my eye has to do with anything. It’s not the point. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Just tell us how it happened,” Addie would laugh. “Tell us about a great adventure where the hero loses his eye. I want to hear every last gruesome detail. How did it feel, what did you think, did you cry? Do heroes ever cry? How did it feel, what did you think? Did you think you were going to die, was it worth it? Tell us this great adventure story. Tell us everything!”
It would stop him. Addie knew how to pin his ears back. She could find his soft spot and sear it and stop the nonsense.
Perry envied her. She wasn’t taken in. She was free and clear of his influence, able to ride him with ease, effortlessly swaying with him, guiding him like a matador, stopping him short, turning his plunges into wasted energy.
“Well,” Harvey would say, “I still think we all ought to take a great ski trip. Anything crazy about that idea?”
“The cold,” Perry would say.
“No spine. You don’t really have spine, do you?” Harvey would sneer.
But Addie could smooth even those moments. She was good to have around. She was young and always teasing, and her skin stayed dark even without sun. The snows frosted on the ground. The days were crusted and cold. He continued his exercises, dieting, walking into the woods around the house. He felt stronger, but it was energy without much purpose. Preparing, searching for some use for his new leanness, he counted off the push-ups and sit-ups, listened to Harvey’s talk, watched the town get ready for winter, watched Addie, dribbled from day to day in a sleepwalking, restless disgruntlement. Grace was quiet. One evening she suggested a vacation. He ignored her. She could be sweet and understanding and soft, almost infuriating, and he just ignored her. Harvey was harder to ignore. Sardonic and sententious, Harvey would lay his grand plans, playing on Perry’s feckless preparations and invoking the teachings of the forest, their common history, their father, the town, the Arrowhead, adventure. At night, lying still with Grace, Perry heard his brother roaming the upstairs hallways, sometimes with the wind in the timbers, sometimes with Addie’s voice, joint laughter. He felt alone. He felt sometimes, lying there, as if he were being hurtled headlong into a scrambled thicket, caught in Harvey’s wind.
“Don’t you like being warm?” Grace would say.
“Yes.”
He turned, lay on his side, faced the wall. Her breath was on his neck. The wall looked like a sky. Sallying, dazzling white points of light.
“Are you sleeping?”
“No.”
She was quiet. He turned again, involuntarily, wrapped around her. Now he smelled her hair. Her body seemed to sink away from him.
Harvey moved about in the upstairs bedroom. The ceiling squeaked. Perry listened and heard them talking. He heard Addie’s laughter. He wanted to listen in, creep up the stairs like a cat and put his ear against the door and listen in, find a window to peer through beclouded. He was intrigued.
“Cuddle me,” whispered Grace.
“I am.”
“Brrr.”
“I know, I know.”
“Are you happy?” she whispered. She was happy, he could feel it. Bed was her place, the warm sheltered soft center of the bed, and she wanted a child.
He heard the toilet flush. He listened, fascinated, thinking of Harvey’s blinded eye. The floor seemed to shiver. Then the house settled into quiet.
“I hate winter,” Grace said.
“It’s not winter.”
“It is. It’s here. I hate it. I think we should take a vacation. Don’t you think so?”
He rolled again, restless, turned to the wall. He smelled her flannel nightgown. The house was finally silent.
“Wouldn’t a vacation be nice?” she said. “Someplace warm. Wouldn’t you like that?”
He murmured yes, it would be nice, and in a while he heard her soft breathing. He listened to her sleep. He listened to the house, brittle timbers, a man’s house. He listened to the outside wind. It had been that way forever. He tried to reconstruct his mother’s face. Imagination played its tricks. He did not know her but he still imagined a face, like Grace, a certain feel and sensation that was entirely separate from the old man’s house. No notion of family, no blending of softness with the leaden tread of his father or the squatting bomb shelter in the backyard. Grace turned, curled to the bed center. The night thoughts crept on him. Disorganized. A new job maybe. He felt vulnerable. Grace was warm beside him. It was that water-like soft center that first attracted him. A ripe smell tantalizing his imagination, something known instinctively but never encountered, like a nerve numbed and blunted. His father hadn’t liked her much. “Looks like somebody’s mother,” he’d once muttered, his only comment. Home from college, college boy with Iowa girl. He liked her bigness. It was nothing erotic, no Addie, but the big bones had flesh that seemed to sink to the touch, down and down. He wondered what the hell she thought about.
Harvey wore his dress greens. He looked trim. A silver bar twinkled on each shoulder. Five medals were linked in two neat rows on his chest.
“I’m so excited!” Addie cried. “Doesn’t he look just like a war hero? This is a grand night. And I’m so glad I know a hero! Don’t you think Harvey looks just like a genuine war hero? I think so. Smile, Harvey. There, you see? A hero. I’m trying to persuade him to walk with a limp. Don’t you think a limp would add to the overall effect?”
“You look great, Harv,” Perry said.
Grace put napkins on the table. She pulled goulash from the oven, then hot biscuits. They ate quickly and Addie chattered on, and Harvey was quiet and sober and trim. He’d had his hair cut.
Perry drove the eight miles into town. Over the forest, the white fuzz of the football field lights glowed. Perry drove up deserted Mainstreet, turned on to Acorn Street towards the field. Harvey sat in the back seat with Addie, straight and quiet and confident. The snow was steady.
The teams were already on the field warming up.
The bleachers were crowded. They had come from all over, Two Harbors and Silver Bay and Grand Marais.
The snow blew in drifts across the field. The high-school band marched on to the field and formed two rows, and the teams ran through the marching aisle to their dressing rooms and the crowd rose to cheer them.
Harvey was dignified and erect. A few teenagers whistled at his uniform. Harvey ignored them, and they took seats near the fifty-yard line. Bishop Markham waved. He was sitting with Herb Wolff and two members of the town council. They were the core of the Sawmill Landing Boosters. They all carried red and black pennants. Bishop wound down the bleachers to shake hands.
“This is your night,” he said to Harvey. “You look great in that uniform.”
Harvey nodded. He was solemn and dignified.
“A genuine hero,” said Addie.
“I should say!” Bishop held both of Harvey’s shoulders for a moment. “The town is proud. This is a fine moment.”
Bishop went back to his friends and the band played the national anthem. The VFW honor guard carried the flag to the north end zone, hoisted it up into the snow. Then the crowd cheered again and the cheerleaders led more cheering, and on the opposite side of the field the Silver Bay rooters did the same, and the noise picked up.
Harvey stared resolutely at the snowed-in football field. The two teams returned to the field. They were jumping and exercising and the loudspeakers called out the starting lineups. Grace unfolded a blanket and draped it across everyone’s knees. The bleachers were full of people. The whole town was there. The band played the Sawmill Landing fight song and everyone stood. Perry’s glasses steamed over.
Spreading a white haze over the forest clearing, floodlights sparkled with the snow, and the teams lined up.
The Sawmill Landing boys were in red and black.
Silver Bay wore silver.
Grace passed along a Thermos of coffee, but Harvey kept his eye on the field, a grand marshal inspecting the troops, and the Sawmill Landing team booted the ball high and Silver Bay erupted, the snow drifted across the field with the sounds of sharp contact, silver and red and black and battle cries.
It was a bad first quarter, fumbles and intercepted passes, and neither team came close to a score. Harvey watched intently. Addie kept chattering but he paid no attention. In the second quarter, the snow began whipping the field, piled into drifts, and both teams abandoned their passing games and stuck to the ground. It was a battle of endurance. A big Silver Bay fullback plowed relentlessly into the left side of the Sawmill Landing line, battering and hitting for five yards a crack. The snow got fierce. Grace was shivering. The Silver Bay fullback continued slashing into the line. Leaning forward with each play, Harvey pressed back, never taking his eye from the game, and Perry watched the crowd and snow and cheerleaders and Addie.
With a minute left in the half, the Silver Bay fullback broke through and ran head down into the Sawmill Landing end zone. Harvey shook his head.
“Ha!” cried Addie. “Now there’s a disaster. You would have stopped that brute,” she said.
Harvey shrugged. “I like his style.”
“But wouldn’t you have stopped him?”
“Maybe,” he nodded. “I guess I would have tried.”
The half ended with another Sawmill Landing fumble. Familial blood was high and the crowd hooted.
A gun was shot off.
“Parade time!” Addie said.
Harvey climbed out of the bleachers and walked to the south end of the field.
After a time, the band marched on to the field with drums rolling and bugles and trombones. Addie leaned on the iron railing. She was grinning. Grace shivered in her blanket. The band fanned into a formation resembling an arrowhead. Seven baton twirlers then walked bare-legged into the snowstorm, flashing their silver instruments, all seven of them blonde and smiling, and the snow kept falling.
The band played marching songs and a microphone was carried to the center of the field.
Grace shivered and snuggled close to Perry. Addie leaned over the railing for a better view. “I hope he remembers to walk with a limp. I told him he had to pretend a limp, it would make him look so gallant.”
Partly masked by the snow, Harvey’s float emerged from under the goalposts. He sat on a crepe paper throne. The band broke into “Stars and Stripes Forever.” Decorated to look like an American flag, the float flowed soundlessly through the snow, through the end zone and on to the field, into the white lights. The crowd applauded. It was very cold and the snow was blowing and it was hard for Perry to see.
“I can’t see his face,” Addie moaned. “He has his own parade and, will you believe it, I can’t even see his face.”
The float rolled to midfield. There it stopped, the wind lashing at the crepe paper and colored streamers. For a time Harvey simply sat there as though abandoned, but then four men walked through the snow to the microphone, all in parkas with hoods drawn up. Harvey sat still, looking vaguely towards the bleachers.
One of the hooded men stepped to the microphone, Jud Harmor’s old singsong voice. His formal political voice. The loudspeakers crackled and the storm picked up. Harvey sat very still on his float. “… honor and service … a hero in a war without … Sawmill Landing, where he … whose father for fifty-seven years served the town and the church, a man … a hero, badly wounded, yet coming …” The images were whipped like fluid in the snow, the words jumbled past with present, and old Jud mixed Perry with Harvey with their father, but Harvey sat still as Jud talked against the storm. The microphone gleamed in the floodlights. When Jud finished, Harvey climbed down from the float, back straight, and walked like a king to the microphone. The four hooded men shook his hand. Jud held up Harvey’s arm. The wind lashed again, for a moment obscuring both of them in a blur of snow, and Perry strained to see.
“It’s marvelous!” Addie said. “Don’t you think so? Just look at him.”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t he some hero?”
“He is,” Perry said.
“I think it’s silly,” she said. “What do you think?”
“I guess it is.”
“Maybe so. He did all right.”
The loudspeakers crackled and Harvey was talking.
“What’s he saying?”
“The wind, I can’t hear.”
“The pirate!”
Three cheerleaders ran to the field. One of them gave him a large glittering key and each of them kissed him.
“The cad! A typical pirate, rape and plunder.”
Then the band played again. The air was frosted and the horns and drums played a martial tune.
“Just look at him,” said Addie. “He’s loving it, every silly second.”
In slow motion, a grim forest mirage, Harvey marched to his float, mounted it, stood at the crepe throne with an arm hoisted high, spine straight, the band playing, the snow drifting across the field, the crowd’s frosted breath, the coming winter. “Just look at him,” said Addie.
The float maneuvered through a slow turn and circled the field. It departed through the north goalposts. Harvey waved.
“Touchdown!” Addie said.
Perry’s glasses were steamed. A cold embarrassed blur. Instantly, the two teams dashed on to the playing field and the cheerleaders leapt towards the field lights and Harvey’s float was fogged in the driving snow.
Grace was shivering. “I think we should go home,” she murmured.
“What’s the matter?”
“Can’t we just go home?”
Perry looked at her. Her eyes were white.
“Are you sick?”
“No. It was awful. Let’s just go home.”
Perry wrapped her in the blanket. The wind picked up and the game resumed. Silver Bay took the kickoff and the big fullback charged into the belly of the Sawmill Landing line. There was no stopping him. He wrapped his arms around the ball, tucked his head in, and bulled ahead.
The odds twinkled by the billions in the winter sky.
Short days, and it was time for a change.
Harvey was sick. Grace called the doctor in, a young fellow with freckles and blue eyes, and he went to Harvey’s room and spent a long time and came down smiling. “Mild,” he said dreamily.
“Mild?” Grace said.
“Yes, mild.”
“Mild what?”
“Oh,” he said, closing his bag, putting on a nylon parka. “Mild whooping cough. Mild bronchitis. But it’s mild enough, it doesn’t matter. Bed and orange juice will do it. Natural stuff.”
“Jesus,” Perry said when he’d left.
“He seemed nice.”
“Mild, my butt.”
Harvey lapsed into a child’s ways. Coughing himself to sleep, casting willowing searches for sympathy, moping about. Grace mothered him, but the sickness dragged on through two snowfalls and the rasping cough seemed to entrench in his lungs. He got sallow and thin. The doctor laughed it off. Harvey insisted he was seriously ill.
“Pneumonia for sure,” he muttered. “I know pneumonia. The old man had it and now I have it. You remember? Remember when Dad caught it and almost died, it was the same as this. The old man told me it runs in the family and here’s the proof, right here in my lungs.”
“Know it all, don’t you?” Harvey sneered.
It went on. Confined to the house, Harvey stalked the rooms like a wolf. He would stand at the windows without speaking and his bad eye would shine and he would peer out towards the woods. He refused to shave or bathe. He came to meals in his robe, sometimes refused to eat. When he spoke it was without inflection, tight little syllables. Some days he did not talk at all, choosing to spend his time alone in the upstairs bedroom. He insisted on keeping his room hot, and with the windows closed the sickroom assumed an odor of decay. The room began to stink and the odour spread like an infection. He would not let Grace change his bedclothes. The stink spilled into the hallways, seeping downstairs to infect the whole house like oil into timber. A cycle, Perry thought cynically, the same diseased smell in the air. He remembered it from the old man’s last sickness. Infecting the spirit, a confrontation with the biology of doom. He had no compassion.
During Harvey’s sickness, spurred by it, Perry continued his exercises. He was catching up. He liked creeping secretly into the bathroom, shutting the door, stripping down to weigh himself. He felt strong. He could do the push-ups without thinking. His weight was down to 142.
One evening he pulled out his skis and rubbed wax into them.
“You’re all right?” Grace asked.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m worried,” she said. “You’re always going to the bathroom.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“You should eat better, then. I hope you haven’t caught Harvey’s disease or something. Really, you should eat better.”
In the morning he skied the eight miles into town. It was a dull day and the pines were stiff along the road. Pushing with short jerky strides, he tried to keep the pace even, remembering vaguely how it was done, push and glide. It was exhausting work. Halfway into town he wished he hadn’t tried it, but he kept going and eventually caught the right rhythm. The trick was in the glide, letting the skis flow with the land and not fighting them.
He was tired, but when the road descended past the junkyard and he was able simply to ride the skis, it felt good, and he pushed hard and came fast down Mainstreet. Two boys were shoveling snow and they stopped to watch him. He felt proud. He stacked the skis outside his office door, made coffee and spent a dreamy day, feet up, reading and pottering about, and in the late afternoon Grace picked him up to go home.
While Harvey sulked and recuperated, Perry got into the routine: ski the eight miles into town, exercise, remember the feel of the skis, preparing. He slept better. The night thoughts, if they were still there, were lost in thick good sleep. The northern way, it felt good. He stuck to his rigors: chopped wood, walked about the woods, practised skiing. The snows fell in layers, climbing the trunks of the birch and pine. The town was stockaded for winter. Red flags dangled from auto antennae, the basketball season, ice hockey, TV football, hot turkey, small-town pastimes, shovels and monochrome nights, the Big Dipper blazing in fireplaces.
In the bathroom mirror he looked strong. He liked weighing himself, seeing the needle stop short and shudder and rest just at 142. He was in training, working himself up.
He was learning.
“Brute,” he smiled into the mirror.
Downstairs, Harvey was in his robe. He sat on the sofa, feet up. He cradled a beer on his belly. The television was on, Monday night football. Grace was ironing clothes with her back to the television.
“Hello, you bull,” Perry said. He was in good humor. He sat in a rocking chair. “You’re looking better, Harv.”
Harvey gave a surly dispassionate shrug. His beard was growing out. He coughed and spat into a Kleenex.
“Good game?”
“Ten-ten,” Harvey said.
“Sounds good. How you feeling?”
“Dog dung.”
“That’s nice.”
At half time, Addie came. She brought a box of doughnuts. Grace made hot chocolate and they sat at the kitchen table.
“These are some rotten doughnuts,” said Harvey.
“Cheerful, isn’t he?” Addie was in good humor, too. She was wearing a large hat, a broad-brimmed felt hat that turned up at the back. She kept the hat on while she ate her doughnuts.
“I think we should all go into town tonight,” she said.
“We can go to Franz’s and dance. How would you all like that?” Nobody spoke. “It’s settled then,” said Addie. “We have to get Harvey into clean clothes and get that beard off and so on. Who’s going to help me?”
The parking lot at Franz’s was nearly empty. Inside, Harvey’s young waitress took their orders, steering clear of them otherwise. The jukebox was silent. Nobody felt like dancing anyway. Perry felt they had all been together too long.
It was dead winter. Two men in overalls came in. They sat at the bar. The younger of them turned to stare at Addie. In her felt hat and dark skin she looked good. Perry stared at her, too. Under the table, Grace had his hand. The booths were hardwood. The tabletops were formica.
The conversation was clipped, eliding, drifting along the surface like snow, filling in the same old holes and crevices.
They finished their beers and Harvey had an extra, then they paid and left. Addie’s Olds was cold. The starter turned and squeaked. Grace huddled against Perry in the back seat.
“Where to now?” Addie said. “Look at the lovebirds back there.”
“Home,” said Grace.
“What’s home? There’s nothing home. Let’s go to the junkyard and shine our headlights. Maybe we’ll catch a bear.”
“That’s dangerous. Let’s go home.”
“Oh, it’s not dangerous. Let’s just see if we can catch a bear.”
Addie drove up Mainstreet, honking at friends. She was well known. She drove fast past the pasteboard buildings, knowing the streets and turns, across the railroad tracks and up Route 18, swinging right on to the snowed-over gravel road to the junkyard. It was a popular pastime, stopping just short of the heaps of trash, then holding quiet awhile, then blazing headlights into the piled-up garbage. Perry closed his eyes. They had all been together too long. An old scene, nothing better to do. Shine headlights into the trash? Catch a rat in forage? Watch his eyes sparkle at the inexplicable new sun? Catch a bear? Catch a starving moose in small-town garbage?
The car’s heater was weak, blowing out musty, oil-smelling air, and Grace huddled against him. At the end of the road Addie stopped the car, turned off the engine, and they sat in silence. Everything was black. The junkyard was a great sprawling silhouette. The smell was frozen. Addie laughed. “We have to wait now. Everybody be quiet.” Perry always had the feeling she was talking directly at him.
Harvey lit a cigarette, cupping the red glow in his palm.
They sat quietly. A small-town junkyard. Perry grinned. It seemed fitting. Waiting in Addie’s Olds, shivering, waiting for that moment when she would hit the headlights and the junkyard and forest would blaze in fierce light. It was one of those things he would remember. He already remembered it.
They waited in perfect silence. Shining, it was called. It had a name. There was shining and ambushing, other games, too. Most of the games were played from cars. Little kids played forest games dangerously, on foot, stalking wild Indians. They’d done that, too. The insight lit up, Harvey on ambush. It was all more complicated than simple-minded adventure, that was sure. The red glow of Harvey’s cigarette seemed to shake. Lying in wait, prey or hunter, the great beam of light erupting, star flash, the great beast caught in the sudden blaze, the great terror.
“I’m freezing,” whispered Grace.
Perry put an arm around her, and they sat and waited. Harvey coughed and snuffed out his cigarette. Addie was perfectly still. There were noises in the junkyard. Perry couldn’t be sure. Animals possibly. Or just winter sounds, ice forming on rusted typewriters, cracks in the frost.
They lay in ambush at the junkyard.
“How long do we wait?” Grace said.
“Shhhh,” said Addie.
“Why don’t we just go home?”
“Excitement,” Addie hissed. “Now be quiet. Everybody be quiet. You have to play the game or it never works.”
“I wish we had a beer,” Harvey said. “A beer would make it better.”
“Hush up. Everybody play the game.”
“Can’t we turn on the heater?”
“Shhhh.”
“A beer would be enough for me,” Harvey said.
Again they sat in silence. Perry watched Addie’s breath steam against the windshield. It was very dark. He imagined the old days. Swedes dumping their rusted broken plows, then the Finns and Germans, layers of accumulated junk piled in a vertical graveyard like the strata of some ancient civilization, the town’s history now being rummaged by night creatures sniffing at ghosts. It was an ambush, all right. Lanterns and midnight voices. He grinned at the thought. They’d all been together too long. Waiting in a small-town junkyard. He remembered carting truck loads of his father’s trash to the junkyard after the October funeral. Open graves.
“I’m freezing,” Grace whispered.
Harvey coughed and lit a fresh cigarette. Somewhere he’d learned the trick of cupping the glow in his palm. The old soldier, Perry thought with a grin.
“All right,” Addie said.
“Now?”
“Everyone ready?”
Perry sat up for a good look. The junkyard was dark. He smelled Addie’s hair.
“Is everyone ready?”
“I’m cold,” Grace said.
“Shhhh! Here we go.”
Addie reached for the dash and pulled the knob. In an instant, like a match igniting, the junkyard exploded under the headlights.
“Hooray!” Addie shouted.
Harvey coughed violently.
“No bears!” cried Addie. “What a bore.”
A washing machine gleamed under the lights. Lumps of frozen snow, two automobiles rusting on their sides. The junkyard was shadowed and still. The headlights flowed through the trash like a white river.
“There,” Grace said. “Now we can go home.”
“See the rat?”
“Where?”
Perry saw only the eyes.
“There!” Addie said. “We got him!”
The eyes glittered under the white lights. Paralyzed and still, the rat crouched with its snout high.
“Success!” Addie said. “Isn’t he ugly? Much, much better than a bear.”
“Let’s go home.”
“A miserable rat. We should kill it.”
“Addie!”
“A miserable rat,” Addie said.
“This is awful. I want to go home.”
“It’s a game,” Addie laughed. “We all love games, don’t we? What a perfectly ugly creature.”
The eyes glittered in the lights. Behind the rat was an old mattress and a sewing machine. The rat’s teeth were bared but it did not move. The headlights were merciless.
“Paul, go out and kill that miserable thing. Hurry.”
“No,” Grace whispered.
“I’ll kill it,” said Harvey.
“No. I want Paul to kill it.”
Addie laughed and partly turned. “It’s exciting. Isn’t it exciting?”
“I’ll kill the damn thing,” Harvey said.
The rat’s eyes glittered red.
“Okay,” Perry said. He slipped out of Grace’s grasp. “Why not? I’ll kill it.” He watched the rat. The eyes turned back, still glittering. “I’ll kill it.”
“Excitement!” Addie squealed. “Hooray for Paul! Hip-hip! Everybody cheer for him.”
“Are you afraid to kill it?” Harvey said softly. “I’ll do it if you’re afraid.”
“No.”
“Hurry!”
“I’ll kill it,” Perry said. “I’ll kill it.”
Like his father, in a mystical devolution, he opened his door and got out. Harvey was standing with him. “Very quiet now.” Harvey said. The rat was paralyzed. Only the eyes moved. It was a medium-sized rat. The snout was long and came to a point below the whiskers. The tail was coiled. It crouched in profile. The headlights were merciless. Perry smelled the frozen junkyard.
“Go on then,” Harvey ordered. “See if you can do it.”
Perry took a step forward, staying in the light. His own shadow startled him. The rat watched but did not move. Perry pictured raw meat. Blood and tissue and lungs and what else. He was in the headlights. The eyes sparkled like black diamonds, and he took another long step, watching the shining eyes. Frightened, he was thinking for a moment about rabies, remembering horrid stories about people raving like animals with the disease. Harvey was breathing quietly behind him.
“Go on now,” Harvey said softly.
“Won’t it run?”
“Can’t. Go on now. We’ve got it blinded. Smells us but it can’t run. Be steady and just walk up on it.”
“Jesus.”
“Go ahead. You want me to do it?”
Perry stepped forward. The rat seemed to shift, just a hair, an instant breathless cocking motion, and he knew the rat smelled him or saw him or heard him coming.
“You’ve got it now,” Harvey said softly.
“Got it?”
“Kill it.”
The eyes glittered. The rat seemed to coil into a ball.
“Kill it?”
“Smash it. Here.” Harvey handed him something, a long board. “Just bash the bastard on the head.”
“This is insane.”
“This is crazy.”
“Here, Jesus Christ, then I’ll do it. Give it to me and I’ll do it.”
The paralyzed rat shuddered. Perry lifted the board and held it over the rat and closed his eyes and crashed down. The sound was soft and sweet. The board sprang back and dropped again. Perry imagined crushed tomatoes.
The rat squirmed.
“Hit it!” Harvey yelled.
The rat’s eyes were wide open. Slowly, Perry raised the board, hypnotized himself, paralyzed in the headlights as the rat squirmed and rushed at him, between his legs.
“Kill it, for Christ sake!” Harvey hollered.
“What do you think …”
“Smash it!”
“Jesus,” Perry moaned.
The rat brushed against his ankle and Perry smashed down and the rat vanished under the mattress.
“Lord,” he moaned. His eyes were closed tight. All around him the headlights were hot and dizzy.
“How the devil could you miss?”
“Miss?”
“By a bloody mile.”
The headlights were blinking, and Addie was leaning on the horn.
“Smashed it to a greasy pulp,” Perry grinned.
Harvey laughed bitterly. “Some killer. Eyes closed. A real killer, all right.” Harvey went to the car and climbed in and slammed the door.
Perry stood still. The headlights were flashing. He dropped the board. He was grinning, and the grin tore at his face like a scar.
“Good show!” Addie cried. “Come on now. Gallant try!”
He went to the car and got in. He was still grinning.
“Good show,” Addie said.
Grace huddled in a corner. She was deep in the back seat.
“Guess I missed,” he said. He was dizzy. He tried to laugh.
“Ha!”
“I want to go home,” Grace whispered.
Perry slept well. He did not dream about the rat, and in the morning Grace did not mention it. Harvey and Addie were still upstairs. Grace was very quiet. She watched him muddle through breakfast. It was a sparkling winter morning.
“Okay,” he finally said. “I’m sorry. It was stupid, wasn’t it?”
She shrugged.
“All right? I’m sorry. Pretty dumb, wasn’t it?” He smiled at her but she wasn’t looking. She set up her ironing board and went to work on a pile of shirts. “At least I missed. Some great white hunter, right? At least I didn’t kill the damn thing.”
“You scared me.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to listen to them.”
“What?”
“Harvey. And Addie.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to listen to them.”
Perry kissed her cheek. “Back for lunch,” he said gently.
“Fine. Have a wonderful time.”
Outside, he held the skis while Addie stepped into them. He adjusted the toe binding and tied the safety straps around her ankles.
“Not so tight. She doesn’t mind then?”
“No. Why would she mind?” He pulled on his mittens and started off. At the end of the lane he stopped to wait for her. “Push and glide,” he called. “Pretend you’re skating.” Soon she had the hang of it.
With the wind behind them, they skied along the road until it made its gradual loop into town. Then they left the road, skied off through a narrow channel that took them on to the ice of Elbow Lake. Four good-sized pined islands cut off the view of the far side.
“Shall we cross?” Perry said.
“Don’t be silly, of course we’ll cross. Let me catch a breath.”
“You aren’t tired? We have to go back, you know.”
She grinned. “We can make a campfire on one of those islands. Build a snow fort snug and comfy.”
When she was ready, they skied on to the lake and started across. It took twenty minutes of hard skiing to reach the first island. Distances were distorted. They rested against their poles then pushed off again, going slower. The exercising had paid off; he was strong, he could ski all day. He felt good. The air felt good. It was a fine day. Everything was fine.
Beyond the second island, they came on a gray-shingled ice-fishing house. Black smoke rose from the chimney and Perry stopped and rapped on the door with one of his poles. A young boy came out. He couldn’t have been more than ten. He was bundled in an Eskimo parka and wore thick glasses that magnified his eyes. The ice-house smelled of kerosene. “Hi ya,” Perry said. The boy raised his hand. “How’s the fishing?” The boy shrugged and stepped inside and brought out a string of three large walleyes. “Pretty good,” Perry said. The boy shrugged again. His thick glasses were steamed over. Addie skied up and inspected the fish and grinned at the boy, “Those are three good-looking fish,” she said.
“I’ve caught a lot of bigger ones.”
“I’ll bet you have.”
The boy took off his glasses and put them in his pocket. “You want to come in?”
“Sure,” Addie said.
They stacked their skis against the house and went inside. Perry was surprised at the warmth. The boy had three lines going, each tied to his wrist. The hole was very small, four or five inches in diameter, bored through a half foot of solid lake ice. The water was oil colored.
“You want to sit down?” the boy said. He gave Addie his stool. Perry took her mittens and laid them with his on the stove.
“This is my pa’s house,” the boy said. “I helped make it.”
“Well, I say it’s a pretty good house,” Addie said. “Keeps the cold out, I guess.”
“You can take your coats off.”
“That’s all right. We’ll just warm up.”
Perry recognized the boy from somewhere. Probably one of Grace’s students.
When they were warm, they went outside and put their skis on. The boy watched carefully. “You know where you’re goin’?” he finally said.
“We’re not going anywhere,” smiled Addie. She leaned down and kissed the boy’s cheek. “Don’t fall in that hole,” she said.
“Reckon it’s too small for falling into.”
“Be careful.”
They skied away and stopped and looked back, saw the black kerosene smoke moving to the sky like the first early fires. “That’s a nice kid,” Addie said.
It was fine flat skiing and they moved fast. Addie learned to lean forward to get body weight over the ski tips. They passed the third island without stopping. When it was behind them, Perry pushed in and skied very hard. He reached the last island and kicked off his skis and sat to watch Addie come up. She might have been a photograph. She moved slowly, taking her time. Sunglasses covered the top half of her face. She could be nice looking, all right, the high cheekbones and brown skin. Watching her, he felt a little lonely.
“Had enough?” she laughed. She shook her hair out.
“Enough for today.”
She stepped out of her skis, left them on the lake and sat with him. “It’s awfully nice, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
The day was bright but he couldn’t find the sun. It would be at a low angle beyond the trees. He remembered Grace at her ironing board. It was a bad thing to think about.
Addie took off her sunglasses.
“Paul?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I was terrible last night.”
“Sort of.” He grinned without looking at her. She was looking at him and he liked it.
“I knew it all along but I couldn’t stop. You know how I am, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“I’m just a silly … I don’t know what. Poor Grace. Poor me. Really, I can’t blame her a bit. I’m obnoxious.” She laughed in a high voice. “Anyhow.” She was still looking at him.
“You must have minded terribly when I took up with Harvey.”
“No.”
“Very well,” she smiled. “In that case … I have to stop teasing.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Do? Do. Yes, do. I want to do.” She laughed. Sometimes, Paul, you can be absolutely loony, can’t you? I don’t know what I want to do. What to do with you? Do. Isn’t it a funny song? Do, do.”
“I mean, what about school or something?”
“You mean career!” she said, sounding the word out slowly: ca-reeeer.
“No. Not that exactly.” He tried to think of a better word.
“You mean life! What do I do with my life?”
“You’re teasing.”
She clapped her mouth, then giggled. “I can’t help it. Pauly, Paul, Paul-Paul, I can’t. I don’t know. Write Indian poems, I guess. And, gee. I don’t know. I draw. Books and movies and dancing and sex. I got an A in sixth-grade math. My aunt said I might make a fine poker player. I got a C in effort, a B-minus in health, a D in hygiene, an A in human relations.”
“All right,” Perry said.
“You want more?”
“That’s enough.”
“Is that all?”
“That’s it, Addie.”
“I’ve failed,” she sighed.
“Let’s go.”
“Listen,” she said suddenly, stopping him. “I have a theory. Are you interested?”
“No.”
“Just listen.” She sat cross-legged, Indian fashion in the snow. “Are you listening? Good. Now, you know how we’re always going into postures? Do you like my posture? Of course you like it, don’t be silly. We’re all competing for you, and do you know why? Let me tell you my theory. Harvey. Now there’s a pirate for you. Do you think he’s really a pirate? Really? No. He’s not a pirate. It’s his crazy posture. You see? Grace has her way, and I have mine. Indian, do you think I’m some loony Indian? You see? It’s terribly difficult to say, but do you see? Do you like my theory? It doesn’t sound so wonderful when I say it. I have to be witty now. What are you staring at?”
“Nothing, Addie.”
“Ha!” She took an elastic band from her hair and twirled it around her index finger. Then quickly she stretched it to its full length and shot it at him.
“Addie …”
“Don’t you see? You’re the wishy-washy man in the middle, and we’re all vying for you, winner takes all, you see? Grace offers you supper, I offer the badlands and Indian adventure and my lovely personality, quite a lot actually.” She took another elastic band from her hair. “So you see that it’s actually quite a fine theory. Harvey told me you wanted to be a minister. He says that you’re … I don’t know if he said it exactly that way. No, he didn’t. I deduced that. Deduced! You see, I know some big words. Anyhow, he says you wanted to be a minister, so I deduced that this minister business is awfully important, so now you have to tell me all about it. Bare your breast, so to speak.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Ah.” She fingered the elastic band. “Harvey says you used to dress up in minister clothes.” She smiled a little, examining the elastic.
“He’s crazy.”
“He swears to it. Fits rather neatly into the theory, actually. I deduced … See? I deduced that you’re basically a moral transvestite, dressing up in minister clothes and so on. Got defrocked before you got frocked. There’s a nice sound to that, in fact. I rather like it. Musical, don’t you think-defrocked before frocked. I told Harvey, I said, the best thing would be a good frock for ol’ Peeping-Paul, that’s what I said. Get frocked.”
“Don’t tell me I’m teasing. I’m not. I can’t help grinning, I grin all the time. Part of my pose—remember the theory now. It’s a great theory. What do you think?”
“It’s wrong,” he said slowly.
She shrugged. “Well, then. I had my say, didn’t I?”
He put on his skis. Lightheaded, he started back across the lake. She shot the elastic band at him. “Pow!” she shouted.
Jud Harmor hustled down Mainstreet. Hands thrust far into his hip pockets, the old mayor was in a hurry, passing the drugstore without a nod, crossing the street diagonally, his chin pointed straight at Perry’s window. The old man seemed alarmed. His mouth was opening and closing, talking either to himself or some unseen companion, rushing across the street without looking for traffic. Watching him come, Perry saw something unnatural and erratic in the old man’s stride. Jud threw open the door and crashed in: “Ha! And what the hell do you think you’re doing? Selling!”
“Hey, Jud.”
“Hey, yourself. Stop that grinnin’. Don’t hey me.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” The old man spat. “You tell me what’s wrong, son.” He cocked at the waist in some personal condemnation, leaning forward and still breathing hard: “I’d like to know what’s wrong. Selling! Shit! Thought I knew you better, son. Who’s mayor here? That’s what. Selling that old house like it ain’t been yours ever. Not tellin’ me. Think you can just run out? Shit.” Jud jabbed a finger at him.
“Jud, we’ve been through this before. What …?”
“Don’t what me. Just tell me.”
The old man’s eyes were fierce red. He was angry and trembling.
“Jud, go slow. Selling? What is this?”
“Selling!” the old man bellowed. “What happens when everybody sells? Tell me that? The fuckin’ trees come in, the whole town goes under. Think you’re a tourist? You think that? You think you can’t stick it out?”
“Jud, take it easy. There. Sit down. I’m not selling a thing, believe me. Where’d you hear it?”
“Sources,” the old man said sullenly. “A notion.” Jud shook his head. For the first time, Perry noticed the sickness. Jud’s throat bobbed. He trembled. Then with an oracular shudder, he quickly straightened and put a hand on Perry’s shoulder: “Think about it, son.”
“Jud. I’m not selling. You got me mixed up with somebody. Think about it. You got me mixed up again.”
“This here’s a good town,” the old mayor said. His mouth quivered, opening and closing.
“Jud. You better sit down.”
“Selling,” the old man cackled. He wheeled and crashed out of the office.
“Jud’s sick,” said Perry, leaning into the stove with a flashlight.
“What was he saying about selling?”
“I don’t know. Hand me the pliers. Top drawer under the sink. I don’t know. He went crazy. He came banging in like a crazy man, screaming about selling. The house, I guess. I don’t know where the devil he got it, but he was bananas. He’s sick. You should have seen him. You know how the old man got? Same way, shouting about selling the house. I don’t know … He thought I was somebody else. Ranting like a crazy man.”
“He’s just old. Is it the pilot light? Yesterday it was fine. Poor Jud.”
“Ought to retire, that’s what. Selling. Can you believe that?” Perry leaned into the stove. “Gas connection … I don’t know where he got all that crap about selling. You don’t think Harvey’s talking about it?”
“What?”
“Selling.”
“No. Harvey’s barely been out of the house. He’s talked some about getting a job, that’s all. And I don’t believe that.”
“What job?”
Grace was whimsical. “Oh. A job. He was just talking. You know how Harvey talks. Something silly—running for city council or something. I don’t know what, something dumb like Harvey. You know how he is. But I hope he does find something. Don’t you? I told him maybe he’d have to go down to Duluth. I mean, if he wants a job …”
Perry twisted the gas connection tight. He pulled out of the stove and blinked. “There.” He tested the flame.
“Paul?”
“Yeah.”
“Paul, do you think maybe Harvey should go down to Duluth for a job?”
“Tired of him?”
“Paul! Of course not. I was just thinking.”
“Oh.”
“I was thinking that … Oh, I don’t know.” Deftly, she took the pliers and kissed him. “I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too.”
“I know it.”
“We ought to take a ski trip,” said Harvey. “I’ve been thinking, and I think that would be good. I’m getting better. See?”
“Just you and me. What do you say?”
“I say you’re still looking sick.”
Christmas decorations were already on the lampposts. They walked up the lighted street. A sputtering tractor, chained tires and lost, came down Broken Axle Road and turned past them, leaving a trail of black smoke. It was almost dark. The snow was hard and permanent. A loudspeaker was playing Christmas music.
“What do you think?” Harvey said.
“About what?”
“What? About taking a ski trip. We could get out together, you and me. I was thinking we could all go up to Grand Marais for the races—you and me and Addie and Grace—then we, just you and me, we could come back by ski.”
“You’re nuts.”
“No. Look. I’m fine now. See? It’d be good for us, both of us. What do you think?”
The town was dreary. The tractor, a car and two pickups were the only vehicles moving. There were no people. The car went by with its chained tires biting desperately for traction. Banks of crusted snow blocked the curbs.
“What do you think?” Harvey said. “Doesn’t it sound good?”
“It’s something nice to think about,” Perry said.
The winter days were nights. Outside his office window, the days were neither portentous nor dismal. Merely the same. He had nothing to do. To make it bearable he told himself he could bear it: “I guess I can bear it,” he would murmur. He hung a red Christmas wreath in the window, plugged in the electric candle and admired his handiwork. His sober, slow cast of mind was numbed to a standstill. The window was a kind of magic theatre of holiday bustlings, hailed greetings, and he was a captive one-man audience, listening to the bells of Damascus Lutheran and the music playing from loudspeakers over the bank, a dull and constant saturation of Christmas spirit. He saw on the streets a savage and resolute celebration. “Hark the herald angels sing,” sang the loudspeakers in defiant repetition, and he found himself whistling along, caught up in the hypnotic spell of each note and clang of the bells. “Got to get out of here,” he told himself aloud, sitting still, unable to move. Some days he did not go to work at all. Other days he came in, watched the window shadows and listened to the monotonous peal of his own uneasiness. Other days Harvey or Addie would stop by and they would sit together. And one day before Christmas: Harvey hurried in, slamming the door, pounding his boots on the floor, spreading snow, excited.
“Well!” he said. “I got ’em! Four reservations. Last two rooms they had, so you can bet we were plenty lucky.” Harvey was healthy. “Are you ready for this? Perk up, brother. Now listen: the races actually start on New Year’s Day, but we should be there the night before. Don’t you think? I wouldn’t put it past that hotel creep to give our rooms to somebody else and take a fiver under the counter. Now. I’ve got us into the first-flight races, that’s all they had open. Doesn’t matter. If somebody scratches then I’ll go for the championship flight.” Overnight, in the space of a single sleep, Harvey was recovered and clear-eyed and erect again. “Now, it’ll cost us twenty bucks each, not including rooms or meals or anything. I guess we can swing that, can’t we? Cost us just as much for a weekend here, darn close anyway. Now … they’ll give us starting times the day of the race. The hotel creep said they’ve got a lot of people entering, all the way down past Duluth, but most of ’em are clowns, so anyway it looks like they’ll have to do the races in heats, you know, six or seven at a time and they’ll time us with stopwatches and then have the fastest times compete in the final race.” Harvey paused for a fast breath. “So. We can all get out of this burg and have a good time. Right? Addie and Grace can watch the races and ski if they want, or ice skate or whatever, and they have some sort of a fashion show, winter fashions, for the women, they can do that, and at night they have parties and movies, it’s all part of the deal. After the races, we can just take our skis back here. You know? We can ski back. Addie and Grace can drive the car down and we’ll come back on our skis. We can take our time and see the forest. How does that sound? It’s wild as the dickens between here and there, but it’s not all that far really, fifty or sixty miles maybe, something like that. Probably take us three days going slow. Bring the sleeping bags and the nylon tarp, that’s all we’d really need. Races, a good time, then come back on our skis. What do you think, brother?”
Jud Harmor was waiting outside his office, holding the mail out for him.
“Was lying here in the snow,” Jud said. “I’m gonna have to have myself a sit-down talk with that mailman, what’s his name?”
“Elroy Stjern.”
“Yep, him. Leavin’ the mail out here like this.”
“Thanks, Jud.” Perry stacked his skis against the door. Jud handed him the mail.
“I’ll talk to that mailman Stjern.”
Grace listened softly. “I half expected it,” Perry explained, “and I don’t feel all that bad about it. It was there in the mail. Xeroxed, not even signed by anyone. I guess they have them ready in the back room someplace in St Paul. I half expected it for a long time.”
“What exactly does it mean?” Grace was listening and reading the neatly typed and Xeroxed letter. She could take bad news as though it were someone else’s, making the adjustments and calculating the changes.
“I guess it means pretty much what it says. In a way I’m relieved, hon. Honestly. I thought it was pretty bad at first but not now.”
She nodded. “But it says you still have your job. Right here.”
“Yes. That’s right. They’re being polite. You see? I mean, nobody was fooling anyone about the situation around here. Seventeen farms in the whole blessed county, the whole county, and half of them not more than ninety-five acres and the other half going plain broke.”
“That’s what all these numbers are?”
“That’s right. They’re not stupid. So plain and simple it means what it says—they’re merging my office with the one in St. Louis County and the whole operation will be run out of Duluth. What it says, politely, is that the office here is inefficient and a waste of taxpayers’ money and plain crazy, and they’re absolutely right. They’re getting rid of it.”
“What about this part about finding you new employment and working in Duluth if you want? Right here.”
Perry smiled.
“Well, doesn’t it say that?”
“Yes,” he smiled. “It says that.”
“Well, then?”
“Well, I’ll finally be out of it, won’t I?”
She frowned and bit her lip. Big wrinkle marks formed on her forehead.
“I’m happy, hon,” said Perry. “It’s a good thing. Honestly. We have to celebrate.”
Grace studied the piece of paper as though searching for something just out of reach. “All right then,” she smiled. “I’m sure you know what it’s all about. I’m glad I’m not so smart.”
“You’re brilliant,” he said.
“What you’re saying,” said Bishop Markham as they drove home, two Christmas trees in the boot, “what you’re really telling me is that the Federal Government, the nation’s most unsophisticated and gratuitous employer, you’re telling me that they fired you. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“That’s hitting it on the nose, Bishop.”
“You must have been some real stink bomb, kid.”
“I guess so,” Perry smiled. He heard the Christmas trees jostling in the boot. Bishop drove with both hands on the wheel, slowing for each turn, hitting his turn signal, checking the rearview mirror, the perfect driver. It was a year-old Buick. The tire chains ground the snow into fine powder and sent it flying into the ditches.
“So what will you do when all this happens?”
“I’ll guess I’ll start a farm.”
Bishop shot a red-eyed look at him. “You kidding, buddy?”
“Yes.”
Bishop looked again. “Seriously. Are you kidding?”
“I’m kidding. Sure. I don’t know though. That’s about all I was ever trained for, ag science, and it’d be kind of nice to give it a real try. Just dreaming though. Why, you have a job for me?”
Bishop paused too long to be real. “Tell you what, I’ll look around. I guess if anybody can find you something it’s me, buddy. I’ll have a snoop here and there.”
“Can’t promise anything,” Bishop said. “But I’ll snoop around. Here we are, kid,” He turned the big car into the lane, circled in front of the house. Perry pulled out the Christmas tree and stood it in a bank of snow where it might have been growing on its own. Bishop flashed his taillights driving away.
“I love you,” said Grace in their bed.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“You don’t know everything then.”
“I guess not.”
“Are you glad we’re taking a vacation? I am. It’ll be nice up there.”
“I guess it will be.”
“Listen. Harvey’s moving around upstairs.”
“I hear it every night.”
“Poor boy.”
They listened. Grace finally sighed. “Oh, it’ll be a nice vacation, I know it. I like holidays. Did you like decorating the Christmas tree? We really should do those things together all the time, don’t you think?” The ceiling creaked as Harvey moved. “Poor boy. Maybe he’ll get a job in Minneapolis. I hope so. He was talking about it again tonight. I hope so. Do you want a rub?”
He rolled on to his stomach, kicked away the sheets.
“There,” she whispered. “Isn’t that better.” She sat up to rub him. “Poor boy. I hope you don’t worry about that stupid job. You won’t, will you? Really, I don’t think it’s so terrible, now that I’ve thought about it. And if … I don’t know. It’s not so terrible, is it?” Everything was whispered interrogatory, gently probing. “Stupid job, anyway. There, there. And going on the trip up to the Winter Carnival, we’ll get to be alone for a while and maybe take some walks, won’t we? Don’t you think?”
“Mmmmm,” he said.
“Harvey’s moving again. I wish … He told me he’s thinking, I shouldn’t say. I promised I wouldn’t. He said he’s thinking about marrying Addie. Wouldn’t that be nice?” She stopped rubbing him, poising for response, letting it linger. Then she probed at his neck muscles. “You can’t tell when he’s serious, of course. I think he should find a decent job first, don’t you? I suppose he has money saved from the army, though. That’s what he says. He seems to have enough money, I suppose. He talked tonight about maybe going to Minneapolis for a job. Does that feel good? Good. Am I talking too much?”
“No. Rub a little lower.”
“Anyway. It would be nice to have the house alone, wouldn’t it? I was just thinking. I liked it while we were all alone. Wasn’t it nice that way? She moved down, rubbing his butt and then his thighs and then his calves. “I suppose that’s being spoiled, isn’t it? It’s Harvey’s house as much as ours, yours. But I still liked it being alone. I don’t know. I guess I’m spoiled. But I liked it tonight putting the decorations on the Christmas tree. I can’t help it, but I do enjoy that, don’t you? Harvey’s feelings can get hurt, too. He isn’t so … such a great hero as he pretends. I don’t think for a minute he fools Addie, do you? I think she’s good for him and I know, I know he likes her a lot because he told me. He talks to me more than you think. Sometimes he surprises me. I think it would be very good for him. Marrying Addie or someone, and it would be good to have this house alone. I was just thinking, we ought to paint it next summer. The wood needs a good paint, don’t you think? And … I’ve been thinking. I don’t mind about the closing down of the office, not anymore. At first it kind of bothered me, mainly because I thought it would make you unhappy, more unhappy, I mean. But now I think it’s all right because … because, well, you don’t seem to mind and it would be something new, wouldn’t it? So don’t worry about it, and I’ll keep on teaching, of course. I like teaching, I like kids. I was just thinking. Someday, I don’t mean right away or anything, someday don’t you think it would be nice to have kids? I guess it’s just the mothering instinct, but I can’t help that, but it would be kind of nice, don’t you think? Certainly, certainly there’s plenty enough room for one or two kids in this big old house and I think it would be kind of neat and all. Addie told me she wants to have kids too someday, but not right away. I asked her how many and she said a litter, can you believe that? A litter! She was joking, I’ll bet. Isn’t she always joking? Does that feel good? Oh … the tree looked good. I thought we did a good job on it. Tomorrow after school I’m going to buy some new bulbs for it, I know just what I want, just what that tree needs. I saw them at Woolworth’s, great big giant green ones. I wish Harvey would have helped us decorate. The way he just sat and watched like he wanted to help but was embarrassed or something. And I still wish he’d go to a doctor about his eye, it’s looking so bad. Anyway. Oh, did I tell you? Paul? At the church they’re having the Christmas pageant early this year, next Tuesday. I forgot to tell you. You don’t have to go. I know you don’t like going, but almost all the children, all except for the little baby they’ve got to be Jesus, all the rest are in my class this year and I really ought to go. You don’t have to go if you don’t want. It would be nice. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? If you don’t go it’s all right. Don’t worry about it. It just would be kind of nice. Maybe after our vacation to Grand Marais you’ll feel better. I hope so. Does that feel good? My hands are getting a little tired. We never get to just talk to each other, do we? I mean, nobody around here just talks and says everything they think, do they? Have you noticed that? We all ought to just talk and say exactly what we think, that’s what I think. You’ll hate me, but I think Harvey ought to move out of this house and leave us be. Sometimes he just gives me the willies, I can’t help it. I can’t help feeling the way I do. Sometimes he can be very nice. I know that. But I don’t for a minute … Oh, did you know that Bishop Markham’s little boy’s going to be Joseph in the pageant? It’s true! And his name is Joseph, I mean that’s his real name. I like it when we talk, Paul. Do you remember … when Joey Markham was just a toddler, he couldn’t have been more than five years old, and we were at the church picnic and he came up to me, I guess he thought I was his mother, I don’t know why, and he wrapped around my leg and just held it and bawled and bawled. That was so sweet. I felt so good. He thought I was his mother. Can you imagine that? He was … really, he thought that. He was crying mommy, mommy and holding on to my leg. I tell you, I think Karen Markham was upset by it. She never said anything, she’s sweet herself, but I think so, I think so. I remember that. It was like the time down in Ames, in college, when you thought I was somebody else, I can’t remember who, and you were calling for me and I answered the phone, remember, and you said is Grace there and I said no, but my name is Rhonda and you started talking, all different, such charm you were putting on. You were so embarrassed when you found out. I don’t know … wouldn’t it be nice? I don’t want a litter like Addie—I’m sure she’s only joking anyway—but I think it would be neat to have a child. Really, there’s plenty enough room here, we could paint the room Harvey’s staying in, of course he’ll have to move out first, and we could use some of the old furniture you stored away. Well. It’s something nice that I think about. You don’t know everything I think about, you know. Sometimes I’m thinking about things and you don’t even know I’m thinking at all. But I like Addie. I do like her. She talks to me sometimes, too. She’s very different, an entirely different person when you talk to her without lots of people around, she’s kind and isn’t always joking. Sometimes. She talks to me more than you think … Of course I’ll keep Harvey’s secret about Addie, getting married to her. I hope it works out, you can never tell, can you? Oh, Addie is nice. She talks to me more than … She told me something. You know how pretty she is, don’t you? She’s certainly very pretty, but she told me, she told me she’s always been upset because she didn’t have bigger boobs … breasts. I don’t know why she said that, and she might have been joking. She said she used to cry about it, can you believe that? I didn’t know what to say. I told her I used to feel funny having such large breasts, and she thought that was very funny. I didn’t tell her everything, of course. She never asks about you so I guess she knows some things are private. I told her that in college everybody used to call me Boob because of … and she thought that was very funny, but I told her that at the time it made me upset, thinking I was a mutant or something. I hope she doesn’t tell Harvey. Harvey will start calling me Boob again, I’m sure of it. I’m glad you never called me Boob. It sounds like a dummy’s name, doesn’t it? Boob-Head or something. I don’t know. My arms are tired. Is that enough? Does that feel good? I hope you can sleep now. Everything’s so changing. When you hit that poor rat I was so mad. It really wasn’t like you, Paul. I don’t know why you did it. Why did you do it? It was just a poor little rat and I’ve never known you before to … But I guess it’s all right. I shouldn’t say anything because I set traps in the basement and catch mice and don’t think a thing about it. I love you. I’m sure our vacation to Grand Marais will be such fun and we’ll be alone together and have some time. Next year I hope we can go down to Iowa, though. I know you don’t like to go but I think it would be okay. My family is really pretty nice if you get to know them. But … I hope you don’t take that dumb ski trip back to Sawmill Landing. Can’t it be dangerous? Harvey sometimes plans the most stupid and dangerous things. And Addie! They can both be so nice sometimes and other times they can be … I guess they’re made for each other. I talked to Jud Harmor after school last week and he was saying that they’re made for each other, then he laughed like he knew something special I didn’t know, but he said to be careful of Harvey and then just laughed again. I guess Harvey’s war … experiences … you know, he never talks about them. Yesterday he was talking about his training but he never talked about the war. I think it would be good for him to just talk about it. Don’t you ever wonder if he killed anyone? Does that feel good there? I wonder about that. But I’m sure if he did kill somebody then he just had to do it. I wish he’d see a doctor about that eye, it sometimes looks awful. He never talks about that either. Nobody ever talks about anything really. I can never talk about anything either. Oh. I’ve got to stop now, I’m tired. I’ll put some Ben-Gay on your neck but then I have to stop. Doesn’t that smell good? I love the smell of it. I wonder what they put in it. It feels so warm and tingly. Hmmm. It seems so good, I wonder if it really does anything for the muscles, I don’t know. I guess it’s psychological mostly because it smells like it should feel good and help the muscles relax. Are you tired now? I’ve got to stop. There, is that good? Are you asleep? I love you.”