It was Thursday and Ariana schools had spring parents’ conferences that afternoon and evening and a teachers’ conference the next day. Jason and Marty Matters had been released at 1:00 p.m. Neither had any homework. The day was one of those wonderful spring days of vivid blue sky and calm, windless, cool air. All that each needed to be warm was the unzipped sweatshirt he wore.
Jason carried the terrarium to the edge of the stream. Marty tagged along to watch and to say whatever goodbyes there were to be said as Rocky slithered away. Jason removed the top screen and angled the terrarium to suggest a direction for Rocky to take. The snake raised its head higher, hesitated but a moment, and then sped off across the rocks and down a crevice without even so much as a backward glance. Marty wanted to check out the size of the tadpoles in the stream, so Jason joined him for a bit. Then Jason returned to the terrarium, stood the screen at an angle within it, and grabbed it by one of its glass sides for transport. Together he and Marty headed back for the house.
Once inside, Jason poured himself a cold glass of milk and Marty ran himself a drink of water from the tap, then buttered a slice of whole wheat bread with some peanut butter and jelly, slapped a second slice on top of it and cut it crosswise, giving half to Jason.
“Thanks.”
The boys stood silently, eating and drinking and looking at each other. They rinsed their glasses under the faucet, shoved them upside down in the dishwasher, and headed for the cellar, Jason in the lead. Marty had never really liked the dark, dry atmosphere of the cellar, but with his brother there ahead of him it seemed less spooky. Once down there, they headed for the bikes, which were stored inside the windowless center room once used for storing wood for the old fireplace in the living room. When their parents bought the house, his mom and dad had mentioned a number of times that the wood room would be a great room in case there ever was a need to “hunker down,” as his dad called it. At first Marty had thought his dad meant squatting with knees bent, but as time passed, he came to understand it was for use in case of certain emergencies. Like a hurricane, they had noted. Or in case of fallout. The explanation of the room’s importance left Marty more confused than ever. He had never heard of a hurricane happening around here. And if any of them were to have a fight and fall out, why any one of them would want to use a windowless room as a “time out” was beyond him.
Over the past winter, the boys’ mom and dad had some shelves built in the room on which they stored all kinds of first aid supplies, canned foods, bottles of water, a bucket with a box of plastic bags in it, sweat pants and sweatshirts for each of them, along with flip-flops and dad’s dosimeter. His dad said they always needed them at work to measure the radiation levels. Marty figured his dad didn’t take this one to work because they gave him one to use free when he was there, which probably saved on batteries. He knew, too, that Jason understood how it worked because he had gotten up to go to the bathroom one night and his dad was explaining it to Jason at the kitchen table. There also was a box of what his dad said was KI. Marty had opened it. What was in it looked like a batch of white pills resembling aspirin. He decided that when and if they ever got around to having the fight, which would really have to be a big one—although over what he could not guess—that they would probably all need to take aspirin and that was why the batch was so big.
Before the boys could leave for their bike ride, Jason had to tighten his chain, and as both bikes had sat over the winter, the chains were dusty and needed greasing. The boys pulled their bikes out into the middle of the north side of the cellar where dad kept his tools on a work bench. The bench stood against the north wall of the wood room, as everyone in the family referred to the room to be used in case of emergencies as a shelter and in case of major differences or, as the younger boy believed, as a time out. Why it remained the wood room when its use no longer had anything to do with fuel was something of a mystery to Marty.
Marty wandered about waiting for instruction from Jason. He perused the wood room.
He was convinced that grownups were a special bunch, always throwing in one word or another to get you mixed up. They should have called it the store room. Look at this. Four sleeping bags, no less. Never even taken out of their cases. He bounced one that was still in its plastic case against the wall. He picked up the box of travel games that no one was allowed to remove from the room. Last spring he had wanted to take it to Chicago when they drove there for Easter. NO WAY! He never could figure out what that was all about!
Dad once said that the wood room could well be considered the most important room in the house.
Figure that. Dad. What a joker.
It took quite a while to decide which would be the best tools to use for removing and replacing the chains. So as to not leave his younger brother out of the process, as Jason searched, he talked about what he was doing.
“Let’s see, now. A-1. No.” Jason replaced the flattened can with the pointed nose back on the shelf.
He should have asked his dad which oil or grease to use.
“What are you doing in there? Come on, Marty. Help.”
Marty exited the wood room and joined Jason in front of his dad’s work table.
Jason inspected the cans on the shelf, pulling them out one at a time, and then quickly replacing them. “Wasps and bees. No. Good on Wood. Nope. Axle grease. Yup. Pay dirt.” He opened a tightly closed tin can in which some kind of grease that looked like dark Vaseline was to be found. He held it down for Marty to inspect. He stuck his finger in it, held it to his nose, smelled it. “Yup. Axle grease.”
He swiped it beneath Marty’s nose and Marty followed suit. “Yup. Axle grease.”
“Now, where did dad put those plastic gloves?”
“Here they are!”
Suddenly, the floor shook beneath them. The cans on the shelf rattled as did the tools. Some fell to the floor. The lights went out. The boys froze. Stock-still in the dim light of the cellar, they sought each other’s eyes.
“Stay with me. Come on.” Jason led the way up the stairs and Marty followed closely behind. Jason went to the south side living room window. Marty crowded in beside him to get a look, too. What the boys saw was pretty incredible. The whole southern sky was glowing like red hot coals. Jason was unable to estimate how far away the glow was but giving a good guess, if it were the Magdum Heights Plant, it was thirty miles south or so. And if it were not, then it was just a large fire only a few miles from where they stood. In either case, they were not particularly well situated. Jason’s thought went to his mother and father. What went through his mind filled him with dread and a sickening, sinking feeling. His brother brought him back.
“Jason. Holy Moley!”
Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day…Mary settled into her daily weekday jaunt to Aesopolis. The forty-minute ride there and back did have its positive aspects. Lou and she had talked about her dream of the advancing green slime following which Lou had reassured her that any meltdown would immediately halt the reactor and that her fears were exaggerated. She had noted how he was careful to avoid mentioning the risks associated with the cooling towers for spent fuel becoming overheated. But then he knew she knew about them. Mary rubbed her left forefinger and thumb together rapidly as she steered with the remaining three fingers and her right hand. She continued to mull over what she knew about the risks. “Shit!” She hit the brakes just in time to prevent running the light.
According to Lou, chances were that even with The Plant-based worst case scenario, they would not have to evacuate due to the distance of their house from The Plant. She reiterated to herself that was because such a chain reaction would not produce fallout as it would not produce a plume. So, as ever, the key would be to stay calm and adhere to their previously developed emergency contingency plans.
“Calm down,” she admonished herself. “Focus.” But the train of thought would not dissipate: It might explode, but it would not detonate like a nuclear bomb. And even if The Plant were to e
xplode, the chain reactions would continue somewhat as a controlled process with no plume. Even if The Plant were hit by terrorists, the worst that would occur would be a release of radioactive material that would irradiate The Plant and the nearby area. But no matter. From where they were, how could they know? And if Lou were at work—if any decisions were to be made because of it—she would not to wait for him to determine whether she and the boys should stay or evacuate. Knowing there was a nuclear event and not knowing whether or not it was controlled, she would assume there was a plume.
The plan for the boys was that if they were home alone, as long as they could leave within fifteen minutes of the event, under the leadership of Jason they were to head out of town, hitchhike due north, and call home from a distance of one hundred miles for further instructions. In preparing to evacuate they were to call no one and ask no one for advice. They were to just go.
And if it was more than fifteen minutes before they heard of the event, they were to hunker down in the safe room in the basement and wait seventy-two hours before leaving and not to be frustrated if the phones did not work. For news and instructions, they were to listen to the radio, and when the time was right, they were to travel one hundred miles north and try calling from there.
Mary was sometimes beside herself worrying about Lou, like the time there was the leak and the blue light reaction had seriously irradiated a number of his fellow workers and caused a part of The Plant to be cordoned-off as a hot zone. Lou, however, had a different take on the risks of their being irradiated. What worried Lou was the risk of Dirty Bombs dispersed by terrorists or vengeful environmentalists or vengeful and demented disgruntled employees. Or worse yet, the coming together of more than one of these groups; even if the areas directly radioactive were small, the resulting pandemonium and overcrowding of hospitals would prevent those most in need of being adequately treated.
Regarding their more distant future, Lou was working to lessen Mary’s need for concern. Already he had two interviews pending and he hoped it would not be long before they would be leaving the area. He was hoping to make the move in the summer, soon after school closed in June. It seemed to make sense.
Where the James had reappeared in the distance, a tug with a freighter in tow passed Mary’s view. The tug moved smoothly. It pulled a low-riding freighter upstream, away from Aesopolis. She could only speculate as to what it carried, but the distraction helped her to relax.
As happened often, Mary found her thoughts turning to her sons. She could not have asked for nicer boys. And it wasn’t only a mother’s bias; their teachers professed to love them too. Parent-teacher conferences were a pleasurable night out, not a cause for concern. Mary smiled to herself. She would skip out a bit early today, right after the last child had been returned to his classroom. She felt so fortunate to be able to entrust Marty to Jason until she got home from work. In her mind’s eye Mary could see them snacking and then heading out to enjoy the spring day. Either bike-riding or exploring along the stream or pulling together some of the neighborhood boys for some soccer.
Over the hump, Mary thought happily. Tomorrow would be Friday. What with parent-teacher conferences, the boys would probably have no homework tonight. That was good. It would give her some time to pretty up before dinner so Lou and she could head out right after they finished eating. They could see Marty’s teacher first, then head over to make the rounds of Jason’s teachers.
Soon she would be at the school where she would be doing therapy this morning. Steering with her left hand she worked the dials and buttons on the radio until she had pulled up some classical music. The violins of Vivaldi’s The Seasons caught her mood just right. She sat back and enjoyed. The last ten minutes of the ride were often the best.
14. Dody
Before Magdum Heights went down, Dody’s appearances at Martha’s house were somewhat cameo performances. Martha had found them entertaining, and although his work-related visits still involved something of an entrance, performance, and exit, now the focus was different. Then it would have been on either his personal health, the difficulty of getting people to work for him or how the government had yet to come through with payments for HUD contract work and the likes. Now the issues were more essential to the community’s well being. She recalled opening the door to greet him one day before The Plant went down.
“Dang!” he exclaimed, dancing in past her. “Dang, bang, blasted kids!” Martha was not aware of it, but Dody always tempered his choice of words around Martha.
“Nothing I hate more than lazy, good-for-nothins. Can’t trust ‘em to even clean a brush after you specifically tell ‘em if they don’t clean ‘em good they’re as good as no good. And now with Neville off on vacation…” And then with some-what of a mix of incredulity and indignation and despair, “Even left town…and his wife, too, so I can’t even get ‘em on the phone…never gonna get your work done for ya…and I can’t find anybody to replace ‘em…I don’t know what I am gonna do!”
No hello. No “Nice to see you” or “How are you?” And Martha found herself sympathetically consoling the distraught Dody when it was really she who needed consolation. Wasn’t it she, not Dody, who has been waiting since January for a job that was to have been done first by April 15, then by May 30? And now it was mid-July and she still didn’t have a door on her downstairs bath…although the tiling was done (Neville’s work) and the toilet worked…But given the absence of the bathroom door, to use it she still had to hide behind the shower wall near the toilet so the neighbors couldn’t watch her when she stood to pull up her pants.
One of Dody’s more memorable entrances was on the visit before this last. Martha had called him to say the shut off in the toilet he had installed was not working.
When Martha opened the door to him, Dody had more or less pirouetted in, one hand over his ear and jumping when he wasn’t turning. “Dang. God dang.” As usual he had tempered his choice of words for Martha. Just something he did. Like making that kooky entry.
“Off, “ Martha commanded. “Marlena. Off!”
“I hate your dog! Dang blast it! Ouch!”
“Dody, what is it?”
“Bee bite.” He lowered his hand to expose to her his swollen and red ear.
“Take anything for it?”
“Owey. Oh! No. Why?”
Once again they had fallen into a kind of bulletin like rapid fire verbal exchange. Martha sometimes marveled at the funny way she would fall into this telegraphic communication pattern with Dody anytime he was upset and on a roll. “Benedryl, Dody. Benedryl. Ask the druggist.”
“Oh, you and your medicines. I bet you…”
“Benedryl, Dody. You should keep some in your truck at all times. Some people get terrible reactions to bee bites. Ask your druggist what he recommends. But I think Benedryl.”
“Benedryl. Make me jumpy. I’m jumpy enough.”
“No, Dody. It makes you sleepy. Calms you down. Benedryl. When you leave here go to the drugstore and ask the druggist for some and take it. It’s important.”
There were new red oak hardwood floors in the kitchen and the sun room (Dody’s work…and done with pride and excellence!) and new countertops and sink in the kitchen and all that ratty old green and orange shag carpeting was gone from all the rooms…and it had been in all of ‘em. Dody and crew had done that first thing, right off…despite the dirt and dust of the job…and Neville had worked several days pulling it up and they had taken at least five truck loads to the dump. So, although it had not all been done for free, Martha could not help but be grateful.
Martha laughed to herself remembering how Dody had helped fill the void, so unselfconsciously entertaining her with his antics and personal style. She doubted he would ever guess what a character he was, although character or not he certainly added game and light to the life she led as she had struggled back just a couple of years ago to bring this old rambling country house to some semblance of order. Now it was difficult to remember what her life
had been like before Magdum Heights went down.
Even telephoning Dody’s home could be entertaining. “Hello, Mrs. Wamp?” She heard a reply in assent. “It’s Martha, Mrs. Wamp. Is Dody there?” She heard Mrs. Wamp whisper his name.
Dody came on the phone. “Hul-looo.” His voice was low and his melody suggested the lugubriousness of Winnie-the-Pooh’s Eeyore.
“Dody, you sound terrible.”
“I have summthinn la-ik the flu. Feel terrrrible.”
“Oh, Dody. I’m so sorry. I wanted to find out when you were going to finish the house. Especially the living room. Call me back when you feel better.”
Suddenly Dody was sounding much more chipper. “Look, I don’t know when I’m going to be able to get over there to paint. These HUD houses are really taking my time and I’ve got a September deadline.”
“Yeah. You’d mentioned them. Well, I’ve been thinking. I need my living room painted so I can get some furniture in it. I may have to find someone else. And no sense in talkin’ about a roof when I can’t even live in the house. Just call me when you’re better.”
Soon thereafter Marlena kicked up a fuss outside so Martha went to check the cause. She spied Dody coming around the corner of the house. He sidestepped Marlena without a word and moved up onto the back porch. Martha grabbed Marlena by her choke chain and held her back from the carpenter, who stood flattened against the porch railing holding his hands near his shoulders, palms opened, fingers pointing upward. “Why don’t you just go in, Dody.”
Dody entered the house. Still wordless. Martha followed him. He headed toward the living room.
“Dody, I thought you were sick.”
“Am. Feel awful. Got this dang cold sore.”
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