Northern Lights

by Tim O'Brien

  “It’s a pack of lies,” said Harvey.

  “It says you’re a hero. See here?”

  “True, true enough,” he said. “But it’s still a pack of lies. I’m gonna sue and retire to Tibet. I’ve always wanted to retire to Tibet. You two can visit me. How does that sound? I’ll have you flown out. I’ll sue them for every penny.”

  “It calls you a hero,” Grace said. “Look at that. You’re a hero.”

  “That’s the only truth in the whole article.”

  “It says you’re fondly remembered by everyone in town. Look, it’s got Herb Wolff saying what a fine fellow you are. And Bishop Markham and the mayor. It says the mayor’s going to give you a parade.”

  “Should hope so. My God. How many heroes does one town need before they fork over a few parades? I should hope so. Maybe I won’t sue if they fork over a nice parade. Does it say the hero lost his eye?”

  “No,” Grace said. “It says you were badly wounded and that you served your community and country and everything.”

  Harvey had his stocking feet near the fire. He was lying on the floor, head on a pillow. “I don’t know,” he said. “This is some ticklish decision. I’ll have to get myself a crooked lawyer. I don’t know. Suing is always ticklish, you know. Maybe I’ll just accept the parade and sordid apologies. A tough decision. What do you think? Tibet sounds awfully good, doesn’t it? Or maybe Africa. A hundred thousand could take us a long way. A trip to Africa, small enough price for a pack of lies. Let’s have a beer. Let’s drink to Jud’s parade, what do you say?”

  Harvey’s face was red by the fire. It was relaxing time, after-supper time, and they drank beer and played Scrabble.

  In a while, Harvey got up and went outside. Perry knew where he was going. An hour later, Harvey was still in the bomb shelter.

  Through July, they stayed close to the house. Harvey settled himself into the upstairs bedroom, sleeping late, sometimes walking alone into the woods.

  There was no rain.

  They stayed close to the house, but with Harvey there was a new sense of motion, energy that seemed to bundle and gather. At night Perry sometimes heard him through the old timbers, pacing upstairs, moving things, flushing the toilet, going out to sit in the bomb shelter. They stayed close to the house and surrounding woods. Perry would drive in to work, roll up the blinds, daydream, drive home. He didn’t see anything of Addie. She was awfully young anyway.

  Harvey talked about Africa and Nassau, talked on and on. He talked about fishing and the woods and the old days with their father. He talked about buying a sailboat and sailing the Mediterranean with a locker full of food and drink, getting a tan, getting healthy, enjoying things, having some adventures. He talked about buying a house in Alaska. Or Boston or Miami or Las Vegas or Berlin or Australia, jumbling them all together sometimes, getting red and eager.

  “We’ve got to get out and really see these woods,” he said one Saturday. “Seriously. Do you realize these woods are the best left in the entire country? Seriously. Lord knows how long they’ll last. You’ve got to get deep into them. None of this piddling around on the outskirts, you’ve got to get right in. When you start to think about it, there just isn’t a lot of forest left anymore. We ought to go, you and me.”

  “Not me, Harv. Mosquitoes and all that. You know how I hate mosquitoes.”

  Harvey made a face. “Some day it’s going to be maggots. Think about old Jud. All he’s got to look forward to is worms and maggots. Seriously. We could go deep into the woods. Bring backpacks and make a trip out of it. I can show you some of the places the old man took me.” He picked up steam. “I mean, seriously. You can’t believe how wild it is once you get a way in. Nothing but trees and lakes. Wild is the wrong word. What’s the word?”

  “Nasty.”

  “Wild.”

  “Bugs.”

  “Then we’ll go this winter. How’s that? You won’t find mosquitoes in the winter. I’ll guarantee it.”

  “Snow.”

  “You don’t like snow? What the devil’s wrong with some snow? God’s own stuff. Clean and pretty and white. Beautiful stuff. God’s own stuff.”

  “Snow, cold, freeze. They go together. They give me the creeps. Why don’t we go down to Iowa for a nice vacation? That sounds better. We can visit Grace’s folks and have a fine time.”

  “Iowa,” Harvey said with scorn. “Some adventure. What we need is a good adventure.”

  “I have an adventure,” Perry said. “I’m a pioneer in this town. Scratching for a living, married, trying to help a bunch of crazy farmers grow corn in the woods, living in my father’s house. That’s an adventure.”

  “Curses to you.”

  “Ha.”

  “Damns and darns.”

  “Sorry.”

  “We’ll go to Africa then,” Harvey said. “Off to Africa. Do you have a problem with Africa?”

  “I suppose not. More bugs. Tigers and lions and cannibals. Minor stuff. Do you know anything about Africa, Harv?”

  “I’ll learn. I learned about My Khe. I can learn about Africa.”

  “My Khe. Is that in Africa?”

  “My Khe is a place in Asia,” Harvey said. “Asia, Africa, Australia, Alaska. The big A’s. Adventure, the big A.”

  “You’ll forget yourself, Harv. Let’s go see about Grace’s supper.”

  “Grace is such a good sort.”

  “Come on.”

  “And the Arrowhead, another big A. You have to think about all this stuff. When you think about it, it’s awfully interesting. You have to think about all the adventurous places that go back to the first letter of our alphabet. Think of Afghanistan. Think of Algiers and Atlantis and Allentown. Aruba and Athens. Athens, Lordy. I’d love to go to Athens. We ought to go. Just pull out of this burg and go.”

  Grace came to the porch.

  “You’re really an extraordinary sort,” Harvey said. “You must be American.”

  “Through and through,” she laughed. “Come have supper.”

  “Full-breasted American, I like that. You don’t see many full-breasted Americans in Africa. Will you go to Africa with us?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ll start saving for it.”

  “You have to start talking my brother into it. Paul is very down on Africa. Paul is actually very down on the big A, you know. He didn’t pay attention as a kid. Didn’t listen to the old man, and look where it’s got him. Doesn’t respect the big A! Grace, you’ll have to persuade him to join us. Otherwise, well, we’ll run off together, how’s that? We’ll capture inchworms. Have ’em stuffed and mounted on the walls. Brother Paul loves stuffed inchworms and all other of God’s bugs. Don’t you? Sure. Brother Paul is actually quite religious. Learned it from the old man, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Just like you loved the old man, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s eat,” Grace said.

  She guided them inside, lit candles and snapped out the lights. She served supper.

  “Inchworms!” said Harvey. “My God, how did you know? My favorite.”

  Afterwards Harvey wanted to go into town. Grace stayed home, Perry drove. Harvey was already tight, drinking beer from an aluminium can. It was a clear night, and the sky was high and the headlights lit a narrow tunnel through the woods. Along the road there were crickets and mosquitoes.

  “I’m home,” Harvey said.

  “Sure.”

  “I am. I’m really home.”

  The town was small, a few quiet campfires in the fog, and the forest grew everywhere, to the edge of town, into the vacant lots, on to lawns, brush and high pine. Perry drove around the sawmill hub and out to Franz’s Glen. Cars and pickup trucks filled the parking lot. “I’m home, all right,” Harvey said. “Make me behave.”

  “I will.”

  “What the hell do I say?”

  “Tell them you’re a hero.”

  “Perfect!” Harvey grinned and mashed the aluminium can in his hands. “Jus
t like the old days.”

  “Sure.”

  “Everything’s the same, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  The tavern was crowded. Addie was there. She was with a group of young people, young to Perry. On the floors there was red sawdust and spilt beer.

  Addie saw them and waved.

  “Same place,” said Harvey.

  “Never changes.”

  A Hamms sign revolved behind the bar. In the corner a jukebox was playing loud music, and Addie was dancing with a stupid-looking boy. She was barefoot. Everyone was happy. The old men sat at the bar in brown cotton pants and flannel shirts buttoned at the wrists, and the kids were all at Addie’s table, and others sat at the tables and booths, a middle group of married people, the in-betweens and stalwarts. The jukebox was very loud.

  “It’s the same,” Harvey grinned. “This is a very lecherous place. Don’t ever let your kids come here.”

  “Right.” Perry watched Addie dance. She was a fine dancer. She smiled while she danced and he liked that. He didn’t care much for the fellow she danced with. No matter, though. Addie waved again and Perry grinned and waved back, and a young waitress with a beehive hairdo brought them tall bottles of beer. Harvey took her hand and told her she had a lot of class.

  “Perfectly exquisite,” Harvey said when she left. “Very tightassed and exquisite. Someday she’ll be a virgin, I’m sure.” His face was turning red.

  “Awfully young, Harv.”

  “I’m young. Who says I’m not young?”

  Addie was dancing with a new partner. The place was noisy, Saturday night. She held her sandals while she danced. Bishop Markham and Herb Wolff and another fellow were playing pinball machines under a giant walleye that hung on a wall.

  Harvey asked the waitress to sit down.

  “We’re having a great homecoming party,” he said, “and you have to join us. Really. You’re a very classy girl, you know. Exquisite and quite classy.”

  She was very young. She had no expression. She was somebody’s daughter. “I seen your picture in the papers,” she said, staring at his bad eye.

  “Ah, and very observant, too. Classy and observant.”

  “I seen your picture,” she said. “Who are you anyhow?”

  “A dentist,” Harvey smiled. “This is my assistant Dr. Watson. We pull teeth. I might add that we do a very classy job of it, cut rate. Two for a buck. You might have seen our ads in the paper.”

  “Prob’ly,” the waitress said.

  “So,” Harvey smiled. “Why don’t you just sit with us awhile and tell us your life history. I’m sure it’s classy.”

  “Can’t,” she said. She gave his bad eye a last look and wiggled towards the bar.

  They sat and drank the beers and watched the groups move about. Perry cleaned his glasses. The jukebox kept playing and the place was loud with bottles and music.

  “Hey, it’s Harvey! Hey, Harvey, for Christ sake!”

  It was Bishop Markham. Herb Wolff trailed after him, both of them grinning. They shook Harvey’s hand, and Bishop beamed and ordered beers all around.

  “Where the blazes you been hiding, boy?”

  “Here and there and nowhere.”

  “Sonofagun! Well, let me say we’re proud of you,” said Bishop, holding up his glass. “Really proud. Really. You’ve heard it before and you’ll hear it again, we’re proud.” Bishop wore a bow tie and crew cut. “You really made it, Harvey. And you look like a million bucks. Seriously. Doesn’t he look good?”

  Wolff nodded fiercely. “He looks terrific. You look absolutely terrific, Harv. By God, I’d say you look like a million bucks.”

  Addie was still dancing, a slow number. Her new partner had red hair. Her face was in his red hair.

  “Crummy war,” Bishop was saying, “but you did yourself proud, Harvey. I mean it. A goddamn war hero! I remember …” and he talked about Harvey’s football days. Bishop was a classmate of Perry’s. Now he sold life insurance and real estate and sat on the Chamber of Commerce and the draft board and chaired the Kiwanis Club. He loved to talk.

  Perry went outside for air. When he returned, Bishop Markham and Wolff and the others were playing the pinball game. Harvey was with the young waitress. The place was frantic and loud. Addie was still with her crowd, they were all dancing. He stood alone until the music ended and Addie came up.

  “Hey,” she said. Her face was brown and wet. “Not awfully fond of dancing, are you?”

  “No. Where did you get all those jolly young friends?”

  “Oh, them. They’re all right. The whole lot is from Silver Bay and they love to dance. Franz is going to play his accordion and we’re all going to dance polkas.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Sure.”

  “I saw you at the lake,” he said.

  “Ah,” she smiled. “Yes. I waved. Did you see my wave?”

  “I saw.”

  “You were playing a peeping tom, weren’t you? You were out there spying.”

  “I happened along.”

  Addie took his arm.

  “How’s the dancing?”

  “It’s okay. You haven’t been in the library. You’re going to go illiterate. I’ve been saving all these books for you.”

  “I haven’t felt much like reading. I don’t know.”

  She leaned against him. “I’ve been drinking, Paul. I have to go to my friends. I’ll make an excuse and come to your table.” She turned, jerked a thumb towards Harvey. “Is that your brother the war hero? He looks like some fine war hero.”

  “That’s him.”

  “He must be a pirate. He looks like a pirate.”

  “I guess he does.”

  “All right,” she said. “You hang tight. I’ll make my excuses and come to your table. But you can’t feel my legs and you have to promise to dance the polkas. You promise?” She released his arm and it felt red where she’d been holding it. The tavern was thumping. “And you must stop spying,” she said.

  “Oh, it’s not …”

  “Promise?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll hurry over.”

  Harvey was wooing his young waitress. He was getting drunk and the girl watched him carefully.

  “Hey, Paul! You met my classy friend, Linda?”

  “Lorna.”

  “Lorna, Linda, no matter. Have I told anyone how classy you are? Imagine finding a classy person such as yourself in such an unclassy part of the world. Imagine that. I’m boggled by it. Paul, aren’t you boggled by all the classy people you meet in unclassy places?”

  “Always.” Addie was still talking with her young friends. She had her hands on her hips, palms in. It was her odd way of standing, her pelvis forward and her eyes black and bright. Sometimes her eyes looked Indian, sometimes Asian, and she wore a white scarf on her hair. She wore sandals and white shorts.

  “This is Linda,” Harvey said. “Linda’s going to get us more beer.”

  “Lorna,” she whined. Her brown hair was strung in a great nest towards the rafters.

  “Linda, Lorna. Something like that. Am I close?”

  “Lorna.”

  “Yes, that’s it. And this is my brother. Together we’re a classy group, don’t you think? My brother is my assistant, you know. He thinks I don’t behave sometimes. He keeps me reined in, so to speak. Isn’t that right, brother? I’m a quite famous and reputable dentist.”

  “I hate dentists,” the girl said.

  Her mouth snapped shut. She snuffed out a cigarette.

  Harvey kept after her. “Don’t take it wrong now. You’re classy. It’s just the teeth. Here, open up.” He touched her lips with a finger. “Come on, honey, open up. That’s it.”

  Tentatively, the girl’s mouth opened. Harvey touched her front teeth. Her eyes rolled down. She held an unlit cigarette in one hand.

  “Not so classy in here,” said Harvey. “We’ll need some time. Atta girl, hold still now. See here, Paul? Cap this baby. Build a bridge
here.”

  “Stop it,” Lorna grunted. She spoke between her teeth, holding them bared, but Harvey had her by the neck, craning over and pivoting.

  “Easy does it,” Harvey purred. “Ack! These things. Have to yank ’em, no question. Then drill a nice hole right … here … and do a canal job on the nerve, no problem. Open up now. What do you think, doctor?”

  Harvey kept after the girl. She had a great red mouth.

  “Infected,” Harvey said solemnly. “Right here. Does this hurt?” The girl squealed and her cigarette rolled to the floor. “Ha! Infected, all right. No doubt about it. A very infectious young lady. Hoof and mouth, I suspect.”

  “Take it easy,” Perry said.

  “And these molars, my Lord! Look at ’em. All rotten and infected. Open up now.”

  “That’s enough,” Perry said.

  “Ha.” Harvey held her mouth open. “I must have a beer. Will you get me a beer, young lady?”

  The girl fiercely nodded.

  “All right then. And will you stop by on Tuesday? Make an appointment with my assistant here?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Very well then. Very well. Just bring me my beer.” He released her and the girl went for the bar.

  “She loves me,” Harvey grinned.

  “You were a little rough.”

  “She loves me. You see?” He waved and the girl waved back. “You see?”

  “All right.”

  “You see?”

  Someone unplugged the juke box.