by Tim O'Brien
“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.”
“Just smash it.”
“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.
“Is that comfortable?”
“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 th
eir 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.”
“Addie.”
“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 …”