A Hard Case

by Ron Hess

  The plane jolted and I jerked awake, eyes wide and ready. A small body of water down below winked at me and I instinctively jerked my head. Nam again.

  “You okay?”

  I looked at the pilot with what I hoped was a complacent look.

  “Sure, just coming awake.”

  He nodded. But I wasn’t off the hook yet.

  “So, how’s village life?”

  Now what kind of a question was that? Was there a hidden meaning? I decided to play it straight.

  “Oh, okay. A little boring at times. I think I could like the place if I were semi-retired or twenty years older. It’s pretty quiet.”

  The pilot studied his instruments.

  “Uh huh.”

  Obviously, he thought I must be some kind of nut to want to spend my life sitting in an out-of-way spot like the village. I’m not sure that was the answer he was looking for, but he made no more comments since we were only a few miles out from the village airport and it was time to start the descent.

  After we landed, I was gratified to see the old pick-up sitting at the end of the runway. My two-person staff was standing in the rear, apparently ready to work. As soon as the pilot killed the motor, I hopped out of my seat onto the wing and then onto the ground. I made an effort to be friendly.

  “Good morning, ladies!”

  “Good morning,” they answered in unison.

  Well, at least they were polite. I opened the plane’s cargo door.

  “Everything going okay at the office?”

  The twins gave each other a look. My gut started to tighten. Jeanette spoke.

  “The boss called. He wanted to know where you were. I told him you took off on the plane last Friday. He said for you to call him—when you showed up.”

  I gave her a brief smile and a nod. Great. Just great. Now I would have to think up an excuse. My brain started its whirling as I handed the packages over. Finally, we were done off loading. Situation normal, except for one thing. My box, my special box of happiness was not there. Crap! Now what? I gave my R.O.N. kit lying there on the wing with its two necessary bottles, a special caring look. Evidently, Mark had let me down. Did he take my case of whiskey home for himself or was it sitting on some postal inspector’s desk? I’m sure I had a lost look on my face, because the next thing I knew, the pilot was nudging me with his clipboard.

  “You want to sign this?”

  I nodded, barely aware of where I was. Without another word, I grabbed my R.O.N. kit off the wing, gently laid it in back, and hopped into the driver’s seat of the old pick-up. I started it up and pulled slowly away from the plane. It wasn’t long before I noticed a slight pressure on my thigh. I looked over to see Jeanette sitting next to me, with her sister Jean sitting next to the passenger window.

  “Did you have good time in Anchorage?” Jeanette asked.

  “Yes, no . . . I . . .”

  At least the women were talking. They must have decided giving me the silent treatment wasn’t in their best interest. I turned to see Jeanette looking up at me, a pleasant expression on her face. Even Jean was showing interest.

  “I . . . saw some old friends and caught up on some personal stuff.”

  I didn’t have to tell them the personal stuff consisted of doing my laundry. That would have sounded trivial and maybe next to a lie.

  “It was very quiet here, too.” Jean chimed in.

  I nodded and smiled. I had to get my mind off the immediate problem of having no booze, otherwise they’d know something wasn’t right. I had to put out the attitude everything was right with the world. The pressure remained on my thigh. I decided I was definitely back in the twins’ good graces.

  We unloaded the pick-up at the side door of the post office and then I went over to the phone. The women were up front and hopefully out of earshot. I took a deep breath and punched the numbers.

  “Bronski!”

  I held the phone away from my ear. There were times, when I wondered if the boss could have yelled at me all the way from Anchorage.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Where in hell have you been?”

  “Anchorage,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I think there are elements there that have to do with this case.”

  “That so?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I think so.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, I think alcohol and drugs, to be blunt. I don’t know if Justus was involved with peddling it or if he discovered what was going on. But my hunches tell me he was involved in pushing one way or another.”

  “Bronski, are you getting in over your head?

  “Maybe. I’m not sure who’s involved. But the longer I stay here, the more I learn.”

  “You gonna have it learned in a month?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Bronski.” The boss was speaking softer now. Maybe like to an errant son.

  “You know how they talk about alcoholics, about how they find excuses and cover up things?”

  I didn’t reply. The line fell dead quiet.

  “Bronski, I have a case of booze behind my desk. Mark tried to cover for you, but his job was on the line. He had to tell whom it was for. It’s been suggested that I fire you or at least get you into an AA program. Bronski, I’ve put up with your problems for a long time. But that time is drawing to a close. You need help and I don’t know if you’re in the right place for it. I’m going to leave you out there for the time being, but if you can’t handle it without the booze, let me know. You see, Bronski, I was once in your shoes. I know what you’re going through when it comes to your addiction. Few people can break it on their own.”

  There was another pause. I gulped a few times and cursed silently.

  “So, Bronski, think you can handle it?”

  I took another deep breath. “Yeah, I can handle it.”

  “That’s what I told them, Bronski. I told them you were made of the right stuff.”

  There was another pause.

  “Good-bye, Bronski. Good luck.”

  The line went dead, leaving me standing there with an unanswered “good-bye” on my lips.

  I gently put the phone down. No need to let the girls see a reaction. Now, it was official. I was a drunk as far as the post office was concerned. Tears stung my eyes. Who was I kidding? I was a drunk, had been for a long time. Could I go without booze for a time? I didn’t see how. Maybe I ought to call the boss up and tell him to get me out of here.

  “Leo?” A soft voice at my elbow. “You want to sign this?”

  I looked down at Jeanette. Clipboard at the ready. Well, the post office couldn’t wait on a drunk.

  “Sure.” I scribbled my name on the bottom of the form.

  “Everything okay, Leo?”

  “Yeah, you know the boss, always has something to nit-pick about on my paperwork.”

  She nodded—situation normal. I handed her the clipboard.

  “Look, Jeanette, you and Jean go ahead with your work. I’m going back to my room. It was an early morning for me, and . . . quite frankly, I’m bushed.”

  “Okay, Leo,” she said. “We can finish up here, no problem.”

  With a smile on her face, she went back to work. I practically raced back to my room. I needed time to think how I was going to get through my ordeal of not having any booze. Once I was in my room, I dug furiously through my R.O.N. bag for the two bottles. Thank heaven they were all right. With trembling fingers I opened one and carefully measured out a shot. I downed it and screwed the lid back on the bottle. Mustn’t let any fumes escape, or else there would be less to drink.

  I put the two bottles high on a shelf and then lay down to regard them. They stood there, sentinels and witnesses to my addiction. Were they accusing me of something? I couldn’t say, only that they were full of life, my kind of life. Could I stick it out for a couple more weeks? I turned away from them. I didn’t need a drink, but I wanted one. What a hell of a place to go on the wago
n. Son-of-a-bitch! I hit my pillow with my fist in frustration.

  Enough of this! I closed my eyes and let my brain whirl for a while, trying to put things in order. Like, who killed the postmaster? I wasn’t any closer now than when I walked in the door the first day. And Mary, dear sweet Mary, who reminded me so much of a certain woman in Nam it was downright incredible. But my brick wall stood firm for a change. It had to. I didn’t have enough whiskey to rebuild it. To hell with it, I thought. And somehow, somehow, I fell asleep.

  It was evening when I awoke, still tired from an early day. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and my stomach was doing flip-flops. After tidying up, I wandered out onto the main floor. The empty mail sacks were stacked, ready for tomorrow; everything looked in order. Relieved there had been no calamities, I decided dinner was in order. After a last look at the sentinels on the shelf and a resolution not to touch them until I got back, I was out the door, headed up Main Street to the cafe.

  The sun’s shadows were longer now than two weeks before. Things happen fast in the Arctic. It’s summer one day, fall the next. I walked slowly. Would Helen be there, ready with her knee under the table? I half-wanted her to be, but I wasn’t sure if I could go through with the charade of making her think everything was okay.

  With a lump in my throat, I opened the door. There was only one person sitting there. But of all people, why did it have to be him? As if he were reading my thoughts, Ivan turned his cold steel gray eyes on me.

  “Gussik, you aren’t welcome here.”

  To emphasize this he spit on the floor and held up his middle finger. I stopped in mid-stride and held his gaze until I counted five. This was part of the ritual I had established long ago in the army. You don’t back down, not ever. Not even when you know there’s no chance for yourself and unless Ivan was all show, I wouldn’t last long. He was probably younger and whip-sharp fast. In my time I could hold my own, but that was before that time in Nam when she . . .

  “That your age or IQ?”

  It was an old school boy reply, but it was the only thing I could think of at that moment. He slowly stood up, a small twitch of his lips on his face that I guessed to be a smile.

  “You gonna die, Gussik.”

  I turned slowly in place, presenting my left shoulder to him. If nothing else, I was going down swinging.

  “Nobody is going to die here tonight, Ivan.”

  I couldn’t see her, but I knew that voice. It was still contralto, but it had a different ring. If Ivan’s eyes were made of steel, then Helen’s eyes at that moment were made of cold blue diamonds. I saw this as she circled around to the front of me.

  “No one, Ivan. No one.”

  “You take the part of this . . . this . . . drunken piece of garbage?”

  I must have twitched, because she laid her hand on my arm.

  “No, Ivan. I’m showing good sense. You remember what father said—if you hurt him—you hurt the village. There would be more white men and this time . . .”

  She let the sentence hang. It was enough, but just barely. Ivan stood another full minute, ignoring her, measuring me, no doubt wondering if I was as soft as I looked. Then, his decision made, he carefully made his way around my backside, with me turning slowly to keep him in view. If I was going to get hit, I at least wanted to see it coming. To my relief he kept on going. When the cafe’s door shut, I started trembling—much to my chagrin. Here I was in front of my ladylove, showing fewer qualities of manhood than I would like. I shook my head and sat down, staring up at her.

  “Thanks for saving me from an embarrassing situation.”

  She walked over and laid a hand on my shoulder.

  “I did it for a number of reasons. One was for you and another was for the village. Ivan has such a short temper. He blames the white man for all sorts of problems.”

  She moved away from me and pulled out an adjoining chair from the table. Her face became brighter.

  “I’m starving! Let’s eat!”

  On cue, the waitress appeared from the rear kitchen as if nothing had occurred. Surely, she heard Ivan talking. I wondered whose side she was on, and what she would tell the village. She sighed and yawned as she came to our table, like we were customer number thirty for the day. I ordered my favorite; a hamburger, fries and a Coke. “And leave off the onions, please.” Helen smiled and ordered the same thing. The waitress sighed and yawned again. Obviously, despite the near fight, this was a boring night. I looked at Helen and winked as the waitress wandered off to the kitchen.

  “What’s with little Miss Goody-two-shoes?” I asked.

  “I hear she’s has a boyfriend. She’s been disappearing late in the evenings, according to village gossip.”

  Helen’s knee touched mine. Current passed between us. Despite my fears and knowledge of her, the old feelings were still there. I still wanted her. Throwing caution to the winds, I moved my hand under the tablecloth. It moved up her thigh of its own free will. Helen’s face turned red and she gently held my hand, moving it away from the area of my intent. Was this the same woman who had nuzzled an old man’s hairy ears? I found it hard to believe.

  “So how was Anchorage?” I asked.

  She shrugged, her hands and mine back on top of the table.

  “Okay. The usual stop and go stuff of life. I’m trying to find a market in Anchorage for some of the carvers around here. It’s a tough and competitive place. I’m thinking I’ll need to give San Francisco a try. It might be a better year round market.”

  Now that was a different wrinkle. In all the visits she made, was she simply trying to find a place for modern day artwork? My hope for our relationship went up a notch. She reached over and squeezed my hand.

  “What did you do over the weekend?”

  I decided to be honest. If that in fact was her nuzzling that old man, I wanted her to know I saw her.

  “Well, I went to Anchorage myself on a spur of the moment. For some reason I had to get away from the village and its gossip mill. So . . . I went to Anchorage and hit my old haunts, I’m afraid. I’m especially partial to the Old Timer’s Bar on Fourth Avenue.”

  As I said this I watched her face, thinking her eyes would register some surprise. But they didn’t. They remained as still as a millpond. Not one iota of movement in those wells of the human soul. She was either damn good at hiding surprises or else I was totally wrong. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, the waitress returned with our food.

  “Here you are . . . sir.”

  The dish with its contents hit the table so hard the buns on the burger quivered. Helen’s dish of food suffered the same treatment. I gave the waitress a look.

  “The dishes too heavy for you?”

  Miss Goody-two-shoes gave me a smile that would melt cheese. A smile that faded into a hard look from gray eyes.

  “No, sir.”

  I thought she was going to say more, but then she turned and walked quickly to the kitchen again. Deciding, I guessed, that an encounter wasn’t worth it. I looked at Helen.

  “Better check the hamburger to make sure it’s done all the way through. She might be trying to poison us.”

  Helen laughed.

  “No, I don’t think so. She doesn’t approve of our relationship. Whether it’s me she doesn’t like, or you, I’m not sure.”

  I nodded and remembered the other night when she confessed the townspeople didn’t like her. But why?

  “A penny for your thoughts?” she asked.

  I lied a little.

  “Oh, I was just thinking about the other night and how good it was.”

  She put her hamburger down and primly wiped her mouth before squeezing my arm.

  “It was a good night, Leo, and not one of those one-night-stand kind of nights. It was more.”

  Her eyes brimmed and she looked away. For a while there was silence. Then a speaker on the wall came alive with the local radio station and the words, “dancing to the music . . .”

  My throat tightened up
while Helen dug in her pocket for a tissue. Tears were flowing down her face. She gave me a smile with her sniffles. And took my heart.

  “Damned old song,” she said. They play it all the time. I think it ties in with another song: “The Lord of the Dance.” You ever heard it?”

  I shook my head and wiped my hands on a napkin.

  “I’m not sure I have. What’s it about?”

  “It’s about the dance of life and who controls it.”

  “Who controls it?” I asked.

  She finished wiping her eyes.

  “God and sometimes the devil, if you let him.”

  I nodded in agreement, uneasy, because I wasn’t sure who controlled mine. “Look, shall we get out of here?”

  “Sure, see you later tonight?”

  “Oh, God, yes.” I murmured.

  * * *

  Back in my room I paced the floor. The two sentinels stood in their place on the shelf—waiting. Two or three times I walked close to the shelf, wanting, no, needing a shot or two to quell my jitters. Maybe when Helen came, then I could have one, but not before. Time crept by. I stopped my pacing and undressed. Maybe I needed to go to bed and save my energy. Helen was not a piece of minced-meat pie, easy to chew, easy to forget. Nope, she was the whole pie. Forgetting a whole pie was not easy. It was impossible.

  I lay down, dressed only in my skivvies. When she came I would be ready. To keep my desire down to a low simmer, I thought about what I saw in Anchorage. I tried to remember the mannerisms of the woman I saw in the bar. Were they like Helen’s? Did she have a twin? Was it that simple?

  A quiet knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I bounded out of bed and opened the door a crack. It was Helen. Now my thoughts centered on her and the Anchorage episode faded. I wanted her. Call me selfish—call me greedy. It didn’t matter. I wanted her and she gave to me—willingly.

  Chapter 15