South of Main Street

by Robert Gately

  * * *

  HENRY STROLLED OUT of the shed with a victorious smile on his face and a backpack in his hand. He yelled with John Wayne sound-a-like intonation, “Gotta pick up those rocks before the snow covers the ground.” But the impersonation was wasted, he figured, since Danny probably had no idea who John Wayne was.

  “We gotta pick up the loose rocks,” Henry said, motioning Danny to come over. “They’re a damn nuisance if you know what I mean.” Henry loosened a rock that was embedded in the ground. He picked it up and put it into his backpack. He motioned again for Danny to come over and help.

  Sadness overcame Henry at the prospect of a new season that would arrive without the vegetables and annuals in the back yard. He wondered whether he would take up his wife’s passion for gardening this spring and rework the pumpkin patch and re-seed for tomatoes and green beans. A fitting tribute, he thought, to commemorate his wife’s life, a gift to his soul mate. Yes, that’s what he would do, become a tiller of the land.

  * * *

  DANNY HOPPED the fence and helped in the inspection of his neighbor’s back yard. There seemed to be more rocks than patches of grass. He remembered a time when the lawn was all green before Mrs. Wolff got sick. She took care of the lawn, loved gardening especially, and always seemed to be out in the yard working, singing. Danny helped her pull the weeds on occasion. Got paid eight bucks an hour, he remembered, including the time taken for the ice tea breaks. She was generous that way. And they would talk, too.

  “You can learn a lot about living through gardening,” she told Danny one time while she was fertilizing and watering the plants. “People are a lot like flowers. Got to eat right. Don’t let the weeds creep in.” Danny remembered her analogies and for the first time he missed Mary Wolff. He missed the talks especially.

  He noticed the two large patches of dormant thistles where strawberries once grew. It’s sad, Danny thought, to see the garden get run down like this when Mrs. Wolff had put so much work into it. He visualized the area where the pumpkins had grown - big, orange pumpkins. Mrs. Wolff always gave Danny one, except for this year. No pumpkin seeds were planted this year. Danny scouted the area where the tomatoes and other vegetables once flourished. Only hard dirt and rocks now.

  Henry scouted the lawn with Danny. “Not what it used to be,” Henry said. “Gotta get these rocks up, Danny. Need to clear the ground for the grass when the spring comes along. Do some planting, maybe.”

  Danny glanced back at his house and spotted his father peering out at him through the window with dark, commanding eyes. He knew his father didn’t like Henry and, at this moment, he didn’t care if his father watched.

  Henry strapped the backpack on Danny. “Too tight?” he asked.

  “No.”

  Besides, Danny actually liked Henry. His crazy, senseless behavior fit into the boy’s meaningless, pointless world. Henry didn’t talk down to him like other adults and, the truth be told, the young Petzinger always liked Henry, even before the eulogy at church. Danny sensed vulnerability about his neighbor, not that he understood Henry very much at all.

  “How are you doing, Danny?”

  “I don’t know. Fine, I guess.” Danny wanted to say he wasn’t doing well, but then he’d have to explain why. And that would be difficult to do. His confusion and pain were so obscurely hidden inside his soul, too far hidden to be fodder for his rational thought processes.

  “Voices whisper to me,” Danny said as he picked up a rock and put it into his backpack.

  “Really? Voices?” Henry picked up a rock and also put it into Danny’s pack. “What do they say to you?”

  “They say I don’t belong in this senseless world.”

  “Ooo. That’s heavy.”

  As they talked, they picked up rocks, and instead of Henry putting the rocks into his own backpack, he continued to deposit them into Danny’s.

  “I think God committed an error when He made me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I’m not like other kids. You’re like that too, aren’t you Henry? I sense you and I are alike in that way. I mean, no offense, but you don’t exactly fit in with adults. And I don’t fit in with kids. Sort of the same, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, I see. We’re like these rocks struggling to find a place in the world.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good way to put it.”

  Danny didn’t know how to put it into words, and Henry kind of did it for him. Danny was content, for the time being, that someone else could understand him.

  “We’re not well-equipped to cope in a world which doesn’t cater to sensitive men, Danny.” Again, another boulder in Danny’s pack. “Real men don’t well-up with emotion at the sight of a beautiful sunrise. Real men don’t get all choked up when a movie or a book perfectly expresses what they’re feeling. If they do, then something’s wrong with them. I suppose you feel something is wrong with you in that sense?”

  “Yeah. Sort of,” Danny agreed. Danny took another look at his house and saw his father was still watching.

  “Come on,” Henry said, “More rocks.”

  Danny picked up another rock and put it into his backpack.

  Henry picked up a rock and put it into Danny’s pack. “Well, I got some trivia that might brighten your day,” Henry said. “Do you know that rubber bands last longer when you store them in a refrigerator?”

  “No.”

  “Do you care?”

  “No.”

  Henry laughed while bending down. Another rock into Danny’s backpack. “Well, it’s true nevertheless, and peanuts are one of the ingredients of dynamite.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes and there are two hundred and ninety-three ways to make change for a dollar.”

  “No way,” Danny said and then chuckled.

  “Yes way.” Henry said. “And a secretary’s left hand does fifty-six percent of the typing on the average. All this is true. It’s on the Internet.”

  “Mr. Wolff. Will you please stop putting rocks in my backpack? Put them in your own.”

  Henry picked up another rock and motioned to put it in Danny’s pack, but he jerked away. Henry slipped it into his.

  “Life shouldn’t suck at your age, Danny. You should be out having fun.”

  “There’s nothing out there to do that’s fun. I have no friends. Haven’t you been listening to me?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been listening. But there’re things out there that are fun.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like … mooning a funeral procession. That has magical properties.”

  Danny’s eyes bugged out. What a crazy thing to say, he thought. But it was funny and he chuckled.

  “See. Even the thought of it makes you laugh. How are you doing in school?”

  “Some guys at school pick on me. I don’t like going to school anymore.”

  “Pity,” Henry replied. He waited a beat, and then said, “Witty! Ha! I’m a poet and don’t know it.”

  Danny shook his head. “What’s the matter with you, Mr. Wolff?”

  “Henry. Call me Henry. And what do you mean?”

  “My dad says you are … I mean, some people say you have that war disease and that’s why you don’t have a job and can’t work.”

  “Oh. I see. Well, I can work, if I want to. In fact, I’m going to get a job soon.” Henry deposited another rock in Danny’s backpack, as if he were now doling out a punishment.

  “Hey, will you stop that, Henry? You got a backpack on your shoulders. You see. You do dumb things like that, and people think you’re weird. What’s the matter with you?”

  * * *

  DIXIE APPEARED from the street. She could see Henry and Danny talking. She felt a little awkward about interrupting them since they seemed to be in a personal conversation. She didn’t know Danny that well, anyway. She had seen him around town every once in a while, and they exchanged wise cracks a couple of times, but that was about it. So, instead of approaching them, she turned u
p the volume of her CD player, sat curbside and watched them.

  * * *

  HENRY TOOK a panoramic view of the sky. “Look at those clouds. Look over there. I see a bullfighter with his cape.”

  Danny looked up. “They’re just clouds.”

  Henry held his rake across his chest as if it were a sword. “I am a conquistador. I am a lover. I am a poet, an artist. I can be whatever I want to be.”

  Henry took another look at the sky. It looked pretty nasty, and snow was coming down heavy now. Henry did some more raking. “We better hurry up here.”

  Danny redistributed the weight of the stones across his back. “I wish I was rich,” Danny confided. “I’d run away. Are you rich?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m very rich.”

  “How much money do you have?”

  “I’m not rich because I have money. In fact, I only get twenty dollars a day.”

  “Then why did you say you’re rich?”

  “A rich person is not someone who has the most money. He’s someone who needs it the least.”

  “You mean, if you have a lot of money, you can buy anything you want, and then you don’t need more money.”

  “Not exactly.” Henry picked up another rock and held it, as if he were talking to it. “How about if you don’t have a lot of wants or desires then you don’t need a lot of money. It’s that kind of thing.”

  “Oh.” Danny bent down and picked up a rock and put it in his backpack. Henry put his rock in Danny’s backpack as well.

  “Hey, will you PLEASE stop that, Mr. Wolff? My backpack’s starting to get heavy. Put it in your own damn pack for crying out loud.”

  Henry bent down, picked up another rock and deposited it in Danny’s pack.

  “That’s it.” Danny took off his backpack and threw it to the ground.

  * * *

  DIXIE SAW Danny throw his pack down and was just about ready to get up and go over there to see what the fuss was about when she saw Petzinger sneak around his back property and along the north fence. She watched him creep into Henry’s yard like a prowler and positioning himself behind Henry’s shed while Henry and Danny were in a heated discussion. They didn’t notice Mr. Petzinger behind them. And then Henry laughed which seemed to provoke Danny. She watched the boy pick up a large boulder from the ground and rammed it into Henry’s backpack. “There. Put that where the sun don’t shine.” She heard him yell. He seemed very upset.

  Henry bent down on one knee and was talking to Danny in a friendly way. She could Henry had a fix on him, eye-to-eye, and whatever he was saying seemed to calm the boy.

  Dixie watched Mr. Petzinger closely. He clenched his fists, crouched like a tiger ready to pounce. She took off her headset and whispered, “Watch out, Henry,” and then she stood, expecting the worst.

  She looked up at the sky; the snow was coming down so hard now she couldn’t see across the street very clearly anymore. She could see Mr. Petzinger rolling up his sleeves, however, as if he were preparing to fight. So, she ran across the street with her CD player tucked under her jacket. She opened Henry’s mailbox and stuffed the player inside. She removed several CDs from her pockets and stuffed them in there as well. She closed the lid and then headed over to the backyard. She had to warn him. “Henry,” she yelled as loud as she could.

  As she approached, she noticed Petzinger was gone. She looked all around and she caught a glimpse of him going back into his house.

  “Is that you, Dixie?” Henry asked. He stood and motioned to her to come over.

  He looked down at Danny and, “Are you okay, now?”

  Danny wiped away his tears and nodded.

  “Danny, you know Dixie?”

  Danny turned and gave a half-wave to her. “Yeah, of course I know her. She was over here the other day.”

  “I’ve been watching you guys from the street,” Dixie said. “Everyone seems very intense, Henry.” She started to say something about Mr. Petzinger, but it seemed irrelevant now since he was gone.

  The snow was teaming down on them. It was coming down so hard, in fact, the ground was already covered.

  “My Lord,” Henry said. “Would you look at this?” The snow had covered them as well.

  Danny spun around like a top with his arms outstretched. He spun until he fell over his own feet. And the snow mesmerized Dixie. She looked up as the flakes zoomed down on her like legions of white locust. She stuck out her tongue, temporarily lost in the sensual moment, feeling the icy crystals dissolving against her warm, moist skin. Magic. Surreal.

  * * *

  HENRY INHALED deeply, and the cold air stung his nostrils and lit up his lungs with a vigorous, youthful potion.

  “Come on. Let’s go to the park,” he yelled. Excitement and adventure filled his soul, and he wanted his call to the park to be an incentive to sweep away all fears and all worries. All three bolted for the street.

  “Where the heck is your CD player?” Henry asked Dixie. “You never leave home without it.”

  “I brought it. But I put it in your mailbox because it was snowing so hard. Nobody will steal it, will they?”

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be safe in there.”

  The three of them pranced down the street, seduced by the white tempest. After a moment, the cares of the world vanished. Danny seemed to forget his hardships. Dixie danced like nobody was watching. Henry felt like a child witnessing his first snowstorm. He opened an imaginary secret door and stepped through into a pearly, magic-land where real-life conundrums did not exist, and where their rollicking adventures would soon bind them for life.

  “Come with me, my fellow voyagers,” Henry bellowed. “Let’s travel through the secret door and go into la-la land. Little do we know where this sojourn will take us. But do we care?”

  “Hell no,” Danny said.

  “Careful, my boy. If we are to be knights, we must watch our speech.”

  “Sorry, Sir … Lancelot.”

  “At the moment,” Henry continued, “we have no demons in the world. No anxieties. It is just three of us prancing down a white-brick road, three quixotic wanderers off to discover … ourselves. We are on a sizeable expedition where unknown adventures lie ahead.”

  “Maybe there is a ring to be found,” Danny said.

  “Exactly, my friend,” Henry shouted.

  “Or a sword to be pulled from a stone,” Danny added.

  “Yes. Yes. There are unknown dangers to be faced, damsels to be rescued on their journey to this faraway land …”

  “We’re just going to the park,” Dixie chimed in.

  “It’s not just the ‘the park’,” Henry said. “Haven’t you been listening? When we reach this land, we most surely will have to do battle with a sizeable evil force.”

  “Why don’t we just build a snowman,” Dixie offered.

  Henry swipes her with his imaginary sword and the three figures marched into la-la land. Before long they disappeared into a bleached canvas, a glitzy wall of white and gray.

  Chapter 9

  CHARLES PETZINGER PACED back and forth in the kitchen leaving a track of dirt on the floor from his muddy boots. He hovered over the counter and looked out the window for Danny and Henry. They were gone. Charles ran through the hallway to the living room window and peered out and saw three figures blurred by white speckles, like noise on a TV screen. They disappeared into the thick, poltergeist mist. Petzinger went back into the kitchen and aimlessly walked around the room. Finally, his body collapsed into a kitchen chair. His elbows hit the tabletop like daggers and he rested his chin in his hands. His eyes filled with tears. The encounter with Henry outside had shaken him plenty and he didn’t know what to think or feel or do. It was hard to tell why he felt so scared, and of what or whom he didn’t even know. It was an aimless feeling inside. It had to be the guilt, or maybe it was just that neurotic feeling from drinking too much. Whatever the reason, it was no excuse for his recent behavior which was defining him as a father. He didn’t like the kind of father h
e was becoming. Of course he loved Danny, so why had he been behaving so brutishly towards him, like he didn’t love his son?

  Charles hated his wife for leaving with another man. But he began thinking about what it was that drove her away. Could it have been that he didn’t want her to go to college? Her dream was to become a nurse and maybe she felt he stood in her way. Or … could it have been the affair he had early on in their marriage. But Stephanie forgave him. At least, she said she did. And he never did anything like that again, because he loved her. Time proved that, didn’t it?

  These feelings were almost unbearable. Oh, how he hated that woman! ‘Oh, God. How I hate ME!’

  No … no, I must stop thinking about all this, he told himself as he pounded the table. I must … I must … I must.

  He began to pace again. These conflicting thoughts were driving Charles mad. What did he do wrong? Remorse. Guilt. Why did she leave? Anger. Hate. Will she ever come back? Absolution. Hope.

  Charles spotted an abandoned carafe in the kitchen sink. It had an ounce or two of sangria punch, which Charles made the night before. He lunged for it and held the carafe to his mouth. The smell of the booze and his hands shaking and his stomach twisting all had him thinking the word he had avoided for months. Ridiculous, he thought. Too much on my shoulders, that’s all. I can’t be an … alcoholic.

  Slowly, thoughtfully, he put the carafe down. He felt an overwhelming flush of anxiety. He felt like a total failure. Charles would rather have his arm cut off than continue with these horrible feelings of depression.

  “Damn you, Henry Wolff,” Charles whispered. “Why couldn’t you leave us alone?

  * * *

  HENRY SCUFFLED his way to the park with his swashbuckling friends through the teeming snow. He had passed this way a thousand times before by himself, but this was the first time he trekked along this path with a purpose, and with an army. It felt like a holy pilgrimage, a journey taken for the first time. At least to Henry it did.

  The snow had let up a little, but they still couldn’t see further than a football field. “I haven’t seen snow like this in a long time,” Henry said trying to grab one of the flakes. “They’re bigger than fifty-cent pieces.”