A Hard Case

by Ron Hess

  “But why? Was he in on the local drug scene?”

  All I got for an answer was a short harsh laugh and a directive.

  “Move up the hill.”

  There was a trace of a path that branched off the main path, and so I turned onto it. My pace was slower now as the going became harder with berry bushes and tree limbs to contend with. I checked my watch and was surprised to see it was only 6:00 p.m. I debated trying to run, but with that rifle pointed at my back it was just plumb dumb to even think about. I didn’t mind dying, but the thought of dying in the wilderness still pissed me off. Another minute went by. My migraine was definitely on the wane. If I was going to do something, it had to be now. I pushed back a promising branch, thinking I would try the old branch-in-the-face trick, when he spoke.

  “Stop here, white man.”

  I let go of the branch. So much for that thought. Like a robot, I stood there, hands at my side, awaiting my next command, a command that never came. Instead, I thought I heard a slight movement of air, but it didn’t matter, because it was lights out all over again.

  When I came to, I was sitting on the ground with my back to the tree. My tormenter was just finishing tying my hands on the other side of the small trunk. Sheets of red alternating with stabs of lightening flashed through my brain. I attempted to loosen my bonds.

  “Don’t even try, white man.”

  It was the voice again, the voice of doom overriding the fireworks in my brain. By now he had moved around to my front and was peering at me through the branches. I tried to keep my eyes open and on his, but nothing was working very well. He stood there, rifle crooked in his arms, with a pleasant expression on his face now that the deed was done.

  “You should have run, white man. You see, I couldn’t shoot you; couldn’t leave bullet holes. That would have meant more federals around here, not to mention the local cops. This way you became lost and a bear got you. Too bad. They probably never will find all of you, just enough to know it was you.”

  He laughed. The perfect crime was being committed and I was the perfect victim.

  I tried to speak but all that came out of my mouth was a loud stage whisper. “I’ll get you, one way or another, you bastard!” It wasn’t much, but it would do.

  Ivan shook his head. “You’re whipped, white man, and you are too dumb to see what’s real.”

  With that he turned on his heel and walked back down the path—whistling a nameless tune. His work was over, so now he could let nature take its course. And that’s what I was afraid of.

  Chapter 19

  Keep calm, I kept telling myself. Keep your mind active. Think, Bronski, think!

  I had given up working on my bonds around my wrist. Ivan had been clever. He hadn’t used a rope to tie me because a rope would leave burns on my wrists. Nope, he was smarter than that. First he wrapped cloth around my wrists, then used a plastic tie-wrap. I couldn’t budge the tie-wrap an inch. I was tied up, but good. And uncomfortable as hell, with my arms feeling like they could be pulled out of their respective sockets without too much trouble.

  My voice had come back and so after what I judged to be a half-hour of counting to myself, I let out a yell as loud as I could. It wasn’t much, but it had to do. Anything to keep me busy. That was okay for a while, but then my thoughts began to drift. First, I would be in Nam thinking about some good times in a hooch somewhere with a pretty piece of woman-hood drinking my favorite beer. Never mind that it was hot with flies buzzing all around, it was a place to forget the war for a while.

  Then I was into my marriage, which was a mistake with the war still fresh on my mind. But that’s what you did in those days after Vietnam. You came back home and married the girl next door, only it wasn’t what either one of you expected it to be. There was already too much baggage in my short life. Yes, there was the war, but there was also the girl that was left “over there” in Nam, the one you swore you would return to, but you hadn’t and never would. Back in there somewhere behind that brick wall she still waited. She was the one still alive. Forget about the one that was killed by a helicopter gunner who thought she was a Vietcong rushing your way. She was the one who looked your way on your daily patrols through the village. It was my eyes she searched for, no one else’s. Those eyes, uncertain, asking the question, “Are you my savior?” If I was, there was promise of more than just a smile to come. Then came the day the village was declared to be Vietcong, and the wop-wop of the choppers making their awful noise disturbed the peaceful patrol and my daily vision of the girl. For it was she who had come running toward me, me with my arms outstretched, her savior. Only I wasn’t, I was her death knell.

  That was the hard one, and I voiced the frustration in a loud animal scream. Tears flowed down my face and I desperately wished for a drink. My brick wall was coming down brick by brick, row by row, and I was going to die sober, tied to a tree. What a shitty way to go. Yelling every half hour or so in the wilderness would also be fruitless, but yet, I had to try something. I would not give up.

  Then a wolf, black as night, stopped by, no doubt attracted by the yelling. I tensed as I watched him sit back on his haunches from about ten feet away with his tongue hanging out. He regarded me much as I regarded a hamburger still cooking on a stove. There was great anticipation but one had to wait until the meat was fully cooked. Evidently, I still showed too much life. After a few minutes he perked up his ears and looked down the path. He then gave a final slurp of his tongue, turned and walked up the path with a last longing look.

  If I thought salvation was at hand, I was sadly mistaken. Another wolf, white as snow came into view. This one stopped on the path and regarded me with what I thought was a puzzled look. He moved to within a foot of my face, examining me, like for a meal? I wasn’t sure. His big head moved to within tongue-licking distance of my face, but I felt no fear as I stared back into his eyes. What was he? Where was I, for that matter? Then he turned and ran off in the same direction as the black wolf.

  The birds started singing again and I let out a sigh of relief. Had I been dreaming? If not, how do you tell a wolf you’d rather not be on his dinner plate? The day progressed with me shouting occasionally in between my thoughts of other times and other places. Once a bull moose passed by but it did not deign to acknowledge my existence. The shadows lengthened and deepened. Twilight descended and the day became night. But even at this time of early fall, night was still only four hours long and for that I was grateful. If I was going to be eaten by something, I at least wanted to know what it was.

  I came to when the birds started chirping. My throat was parched and I coughed a few times in the early morning chill. Luckily, I had a jacket on and it wasn’t raining. A few drops of dew dropped down from the tree limbs above me. I held out my tongue and felt a few precious drops fall on it, but not nearly enough to stop my thirst. Actually, I was surprised to be alive. Perhaps the word had yet to get around the neighborhood that I was tied to a tree. Maybe the wolf thought I was bait for a new kind of trap. You could never tell with these humans. I almost smiled at myself for trying to think like a wolf. I let out a yell, but this ended with me coughing. Pneumonia was on the agenda if I didn’t get out of this predicament. My arms no longer felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets. That’s because they were numb from the shoulders on down. Of course, Mother Nature would not be denied and so I sat in my own wet and stink.

  The day drifted slowly by, and my thoughts started from somewhere and ended nowhere, with old guilt and alcohol in between. At times, I tried thinking logically about the drug problems and the death of the Justus, but I had trouble staying focused, sometimes coming to when my falling head jerked me awake.

  Then I heard some familiar words echoing in the forest. I wanted to believe I was going to be rescued, but the words I heard made me know better. For it was Mary, dead and gone sweet Mary, who came skipping up the path. She was singing her song. Softly at first, then louder as she drew closer.

  “Song
, song, hung, hung.

  John, John,

  Mean old man is dead and gone.

  Damned old man is dead and gone.”

  Was this a hallucination or was this her spirit sent to let me know about troubled souls? She looked as real as when she was living. Then she saw me and my open mouth. She abruptly stopped skipping and singing when she drew even and slowly walked to within a few feet of me. She clasped her hands in front of her and coyly turned from side to side, like a seven-year old with a secret to tell.

  “Hi, Mr. Postmaster! Wanna see my breasts? John liked my breasts. Mean old man. He made Charlie mad!”

  Without further ado, she pulled her sweater up exposing her beautiful breasts. I stared in open-mouthed fascination at what I was seeing. Smiling shyly, she lowed her sweater. I could only shake my head, wondering where I was and why she was there. Was I in some never-never land and if so, was this what the old man would call real? Was this the world he was referring to on the river dock? What or who would I see next? Her next words were, “bye, Mr. Postmaster.” I watched as she stepped away from me back onto the path. Then in glorious abandonment she swung her arms and continued skipping down the path singing her song. I wondered if centuries from now, if she would still be skipping and singing, perhaps caught in a never-never land only she could know.

  My head slammed against the tree as I came fully awake again, blinking in the bright light. I wondered if I should be frightened about what I had just seen. Was I losing my mind?

  My thoughts slid downward toward evening and I wondered if God was crucifying me for past sins. I made a vow to myself and Him, that I would stop using alcohol as a crutch to keep me from thinking about the deaths I caused. I prayed, asking for deliverance from the pain, even if it meant death. Maybe a visit from a bear would be the best. Death would come quickly after a swipe or two from massive claws.

  But then death was the easy way, and I had a hunch I was going to wait another day or two or three. I tried yelling but without much success as I was very hoarse now, down to harsh rasps that sawed on my throat. While it was still light the black wolf stopped by. We eyed each other for a full minute with me determined to keep full eye contact. Finally, he turned away and padded on up the trail, convinced, I guessed, that it was too soon to make a meal of me.

  It was a morale booster. Somehow, I would last the night. There was a full moon and a night wind, enough to make the tree limbs sway and the bushes move, which made the shadows indistinct, but more real in my mind. In the evening chill, I tried moving my legs up and down to help me stay warm. Then, in the distance, just like in the movies, a lone wolf howl sounded. That howl, terrible to hear, was joined by another. Soon a chorus started. It was obvious why they were singing. It was because of me. Me, with my soft, tender, white meat. I tried to make a joke of it, but it wouldn’t jell and I remained stone-rock sober, with my resolve to last the night dropping to zero. After a time the bloodcurdling howls stopped.

  Now the shadows from the trees and bushes became suspect. Every time one moved, I thought a wolf was moving. The howling started again, only it was closer. My breathing increased and my heart started pounding. My head swiveled from side to side, trying to see my certain death. Finally, I gave up. When death came, it came, and there wasn’t much I could do about it. The howling stopped again. Were they on the move? Coming toward me? My eyes strained to see in the shaky shadows.

  They came. Not slinking out of the shadows, but simply padding up the trail. Five of them, the black wolf in the lead. I tried to slow my breathing and heart rate. I would not show fear. Let them see I was a man and would die like a man. I prayed. I prayed simply, asking for a quick death as I watched them circle and weave like a ballet in front of me. A ballet all in sync and mesmerizing with its beauty. A courting dance to a kill. I wondered when they would move around in back of the tree and start gnawing on my arms. I waited and watched, trying to keep still as possible.

  After a time, they stopped their moving and stood stock still, their heads turned not toward me, but down the trail, ears cocked forward like radar antennas. In seconds, they turned as one and walked quickly back in the direction they had come from. Now what? I wondered. Another visit from never-never land? Or maybe it was time for the big player, the bear, to come to have a look. Now I felt like a man sitting in an electric chair, waiting for the switch to be thrown. I waited and waited, aware of my stink and smelly sweat, an easy mark for a hungry bear. Only it wasn’t a bear, it was the white wolf, who again stopped and came close as before. He looked into my eyes and nodded. Then he backed away and howled. My eyes drooped and against my best wishes I drifted into sleep.

  * * *

  The chirping of birds again brought me out of my stupor. I remembered enough to know it was the morning of the third day. Was today the day I would rise up and go to heaven or hell? Something was different, though, because I was lying on my side, my breath occasionally jiggling a lone spruce needle in front of my nose. Fascinated by this, I watched it quiver back and forth. Something that I dared not hope for, kept trying to get to my upper conscious level. What was it trying to tell me? That I was no longer tied? I must be in a dream. Maybe this happens on your way to heaven or even hell for that matter.

  I rolled on to my back. Pain! Much pain from my arms. Were they still attached? Ignoring the pain, I struggled up onto my left elbow. Oh, God, it hurt. If this was part of heaven I didn’t want it, but then maybe I wasn’t in heaven. Maybe I was already in hell. I focused my eyes down the length of my legs and then over the ends of my feet.

  Well, crap, I wasn’t in heaven or hell, I was back on earth with a grinning white wolf not ten feet away! “Shoo! Get away from here!” I tried to say. But my throat was too closed up. All the sound that came out was a change of air. The wolf still sat on his haunches, grinning. I found I could lift my right arm a little. Praise be. I struggled to a sitting position still under the tree. The wolf’s head jerked back as if he were surprised. Looking down, I spied a small foot-long stick. I reached for it with pinpricks of feeling arcing up and down my right arm. Would my fingers work? Yes! They slowly curled around the stick.

  Now, wolf, just you try something. I looked up, expecting to see that silly grin, but he was gone. Gone back to his world, wherever that was. Immediately, I forgot the wolf and the one most important word etched itself in red lettering in my brain. Water!! You need water! Right now!

  Could I walk? “You have to crawl first!” some old memory said. Sure I did. I made several attempts to roll over onto my hands and knees. At last, I succeeded. I heaved a sigh of relief. How sweet it was to be moving under my own power. My bonds. I had to see those pieces of plastic strips. Had they been chewed on or had a knife sliced them? My arms hurt like hell, but I made them move me over to behind the tree. To my surprise the plastic strips were gone, taken by whoever had cut them. Ah . . . well, perhaps it had been a waste of energy working my way around the tree, but I had to look for evidence, anything to let me know who or what had let me go. After searching on the ground for tracks and finding none, I gave up the idea of learning who it was. The real question was, why hadn’t they stuck around? Why cut me loose and then go? Was Ivan still in the neighborhood, waiting on me to die? I very much hoped not.

  I crawled from beneath the spruce tree, my arms still giving me pain. What I wouldn’t have given for some good old Advil. Now for the big test, could I stand up? I had to get to the river while I still had my brain and before I zonked out completely. It took a number of tries, but by using the branches of the spruce tree, I finally managed to stand. True, I was wobbly, but I hoped I would last until I got to the river. My only worry was there wouldn’t be enough water in the river to satisfy my thirst!

  I tottered along the path intent on one thing, water. As I intersected the main river path, I did notice one footprint from a tennis shoe. I careened on downhill toward the river. Before I had gone five steps, I knew whom that small footprint belonged to. It was Jimmy’s. That li
ttle turd. It was because of him I had gotten into this mess. In a way he had paid me back, if he was the one who had cut my bonds. Why hadn’t he stayed around? The only answer, of course, was Ivan. I chose to forget him for the time being. Revenge would come later.

  I moved on, faster now since I was going downhill. Soon I was into the brush that lined the river’s edge. Water! Oh, God in heaven, precious water. Then I was up to my knees in it, scooping my hands into it, trying to get some up to my mouth. I was not getting water to my mouth fast enough. What the hell! I thought. And I allowed myself to fall forward into the river in amongst the willows. Yeah, I would catch a cold, but at least I would have water going into my system. At first my throat resisted, but it soon opened, and I drank in great gulps of the stuff probably filled with all kinds of moose microbes, but who cared. I would live.

  With my thirst temporarily satisfied, I crawled out of the willows and immediately began to shiver. After some effort I stood and began to slowly climb the river’s bank. Now what? Head along the path to the village or go down the path to the cabin? Since the cabin was much closer, I headed for it.

  Chapter 20

  It was evening when I awoke in the cabin. It took a while, though, to determine where I was and why. This was supposed to be Jimmy’s aunt’s cabin. Getting here after I crawled out of the river hadn’t been all that hard. I don’t think time-wise, it had taken a half hour from my drinking spot. Thank goodness, there hadn’t been a lock on the door. I tried to remember if I had even knocked. It came to me that I had simply walked in and seen the bed. After that, it was eight hours of solid sleep. The only reason I was awake now was that my bladder was screaming at me to get up and obey my natural needs.

  I sat up on the edge of the old squeaky bed and with my brain whirling staggered toward the door. After Mother Nature was attended to, I jerkily walked back into the cabin. Now it was food. I needed food to stop the dizzy feelings I was having and with little effort, I found some cans of soup on a shelf. My hands shook so much I wondered if I could open a can. Finally, after locating a can opener, I was able to get the contents down into my stomach. Forget the niceties of adding water or heating it to make it more enjoyable. Nope, I sat on the edge of the bed and simply tipped the whole glutinous mess of chicken noodle from the can into my mouth, letting it slide down my throat, still raw from all the yelling. I have to say it had the most satisfying effect on my stomach. I belched and sighed, then heaved the can toward a garbage can. Bulls-eye! Bronski, you are one mean son-of-a-bitch.