by Ike Hamill
Alan picked up his pace. He had miles to cover still. He cursed himself for not going back through the carpenter’s back yard to the trail.
X • X • X • X • X
“You look stiff tonight,” Liz said.
“I had a long walk today,” Alan said. “Too long, I guess.”
“Maybe you should get back into running.”
“Is that your subtle way of saying I’m getting fat?” Alan asked. He tried on a smile. He sat on the edge of the bed. He’d actually sat down to take off his socks—that’s how sore he was.
“Never,” she said. “You know I like my men with a little bit of a belly.”
Alan pulled on his pajama bottoms and slapped both hands to his stomach. He wasn’t fat, but he was carrying at least ten pounds more than he liked. Liz, in comparison, was tiny.
“What about a generator?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“When I was taking my shower this morning—after my walk—the power shut off right when I was washing my hair. That’s the worst. The water cuts off immediately because of the well. The heat turns off. Everything here depends on electricity.”
“I don’t know,” Liz said. “Where would we put it?”
“They’re tiny,” Alan said. “They’re like the size of a big cooler or something. We’ll put it behind that bush on the driveway side of the house. You won’t even be able to see it.”
“That seems like a lot to change. Can we wait until…” she began.
Alan cut her off. “Damn it, Elizabeth, if you say wait until next year again I’m going to lose my mind. We can’t put in a generator in the middle of winter and that’s when we’ll need it most. What are we supposed to do if the power goes out for two weeks in January. Didn’t you say that happened one time.”
“Nineteen ninety-eight,” she said. Her lips were pursed to the side.
“So we’re going to make a fire and melt snow on the hearth for water? We’re isolated out here.”
“But what would you use for fuel? Are you going to have to keep pouring gas into it all the time?”
Alan stood and walked his clothes to the hamper.
“No, Liz, the Colonel had the good sense to install those two giant propane tanks on the north side of the house. We’ll get it hooked up to those. They have enough juice to run the stove for about twenty years. I think the Colonel was planning to install a generator himself. Maybe he just didn’t get around to it.”
“Okay,” Liz said. “I mean, you don’t need my permission. Why don’t you?”
“I’ll shop for them tomorrow. They might be too expensive. I know what the units cost, but I don’t know how much it will cost to get it wired in right. We want it to automatically switch over, and that might be pricey.”
“Okay,” Liz said.
“If anything, this will help when your relatives show up. Didn’t you say it was a disaster that one year when the power went out right in the middle of the visit?”
“I said okay, Alan,” Liz said.
“Don’t you think it will be nice to not have to worry about power during their visit?”
“It was fun, Alan,” Liz said. “We lived like settlers for a couple of days and everyone had a good time. The only problem was that we couldn’t cook the turkey indoors and the grill burned it up, but that’s why the Colonel took out the electric oven and put in gas.”
“How about we break all the lightbulbs before your family comes? How about that?”
“You’d really push my buttons if I didn’t love you so much,” Liz said.
Alan lowered his shoulders and smiled.
“I wish you didn’t have such a long commute,” Alan said.
“I think you’re just lonely. Let’s be honest—my commute is actually shorter most of the time now that I’m not dealing with city traffic and the subway. When we first moved here, you had the whole summer with Joe and I was on vacation for a lot of it. Now you’re alone in this big house? Maybe you need to meet some new people.”
Alan scratched the side of his face and then slipped between the covers.
“You’re right,” he said. “You’re always right.” He smiled to let her know he wasn’t poking fun at her. “I’ll start with jogging. That always makes me happy.”
X • X • X • X • X
SEPTEMBER 3 - SEPTEMBER 11
ALAN LACED his shoes as Joe finished breakfast. He stayed in the driveway and stretched until he heard Joe’s bus turn around down the road. Alan set off at a medium pace. Before he’d gone a mile, his legs had slowed to a slog. He turned left on the Mill Road. About halfway down the big flat section, Alan decided to head back. His feet hurt, his form was atrocious, and his thighs felt like they’d been dipped in concrete. By the time he got home, he was barely lifting his shoes from the road.
The second day treated him better. Alan did the same three-mile out and back, but he felt like the cobwebs were lifting from his tired muscles. Fatigue hit him in the afternoon. He took the third day off. The plumber from the gas company was coming out to install the necessary lines for the new generator. The dispatcher told Alan to expect him between eight and noon. The man came at eleven-thirty and ate his lunch in his truck before he started working. By the time he left, Alan didn’t have the energy to run.
On the fourth day of his new exercise regime, Alan achieved his unspoken goal. He saw the carpenter. Alan was jogging east on the Mill Road, in the direction of Location Road when he saw him. The carpenter was coming towards him. Alan cleaned up his stride and quickened his pace a little as they approached each other.
Alan always jogged on the left side of the road. He wore headphones and didn’t like the idea of being surprised by traffic from behind. The carpenter jogged on the right. They were on a collision course.
Alan waved at the last second. The carpenter gave a nod.
Alan ran until he got to the place where the stream came close to the side of the road. It was farther than he intended to run. He turned and saw the carpenter off in the distance. At Alan’s casual pace, the carpenter pulled steadily away. By the time Alan turned back onto Durham Road, the carpenter was already lost over the hills. Alan sprinted to try to draw within sight again, but he failed. Back at home, Alan stretched in the driveway for twenty minutes, thinking that the carpenter would turn around and run by again. He never did.
With the gas installed, Alan turned his attention to getting the unit delivered. He was learning the delicate dance of generator installation as he went. With the propane lines run, the unit could be placed. Only then could you call the propane company to come back again to hook up the lines. It was important to tell the dispatcher that your service was interrupted. If they knew you were hooking up a new service, you might get an appointment for next week. If they thought you were replacing or repairing a service, you could expect the technician that same day. Alan learned this through trial and error.
He got the unit delivered by a local appliance company. Three men moved dirt, placed paving stones, and ensured everything was level and ready. With the exception of lifting the big machine, Alan could have done the whole thing himself, but it was nice to have experienced people do the job. By the time they were through, Alan thought Liz couldn’t possibly object. Their work looked very professional.
Alan didn’t mention it to Liz and she didn’t even notice the new unit until the propane guy came out to hook it up. He arrived during dinner.
“Oh my god, that’s the generator?” Liz asked. The propane guy pulled up, waved, and went right to work.
“Like it?”
“It looks like it’s always been there. What a great job you did.”
“I didn’t do much of it,” Alan said. He had planted a few extra flowers in front of the gray box, but it was already pretty well camouflaged against the granite foundation.
“I saw it when I came home,” Joe said.
They sat in the Cook House while the plumber completed his work.
“How come he
’s here so late?” Liz asked.
“He lives up the road. He said he’d come by on his way home,” Alan said.
“Well I couldn’t be more pleased. I’m so glad you did that,” Liz said.
“I still have to get the power hooked up to it,” Alan said. “One more step.”
It turned out to be the hardest step of the process. The next day he called eight electricians. He left messages on seven answering machines and with one wife. By the next morning, he’d had no replies. He called again. In the city, service businesses had people who answered the phone. They had office staff. Out here, everyone seemed to work for themselves, making their own hours and, apparently, their own rules about how to deal with customers.
That afternoon, Alan received a few callbacks. Two of the electricians told Alan that he lived outside their normal range, the third call promised to come by later that week. Alan called the store that had delivered the generator. They seemed responsive and professional during that process. They gave him the number of Skip Strand—an electrician he hadn’t found in the phone book.
“Hello?” a man’s voice answered when Alan called.
“Hi, I’m looking for Skip Strand?”
“Speaking.”
“Hi, I’m trying to get a generator installed.”
“Where do you live?”
Alan prepared himself for rejection. He ended up pleasantly surprised. Skip said he had an appointment nearby that afternoon and would stop in, if that suited. Alan waited in the driveway for his company.
Skip pulled up in a shiny new van, emblazoned with his name. He pulled over to the right, parking where he wouldn’t be blocking the barn door. Alan wore a big smile as he shook the man’s hand.
“Great to meet you, Skip. Thanks for coming,” Alan said.
“Of course,” Skip said. Alan heard the edge of an accent there, and it wasn’t local.
“You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get someone to come out here. I’m just glad it wasn’t an emergency.”
“Oh, I’m sure if it was an emergency, you would have found help.”
“I’m not so sure. Let me show you the generator.”
Alan demonstrated the unit and explained what he was after.
“Not many people put in those automatic cutover switches for the whole house, but I understand what you’re getting at. I’ll have to order heavy-duty parts.”
“No problem, Skip,” Alan said. “As long as we can do it this month.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Skip worked up an estimate and left Alan with preliminary paperwork. He promised to not even charge for the initial visit. Alan sat at the kitchen table and spun the paper Skip had left. He couldn’t wait for Liz to get home so he could tell her of his success. After a few short minutes of happiness, Alan’s smile faded.
“I used to do things,” he said to the empty kitchen.
The clock ticked.
Alan pushed away from the table and stormed out the door. He grabbed the broom and headed for the barn. Just to the right of the big door, the barn had a hall that ran the length of the front face. It had a bank of windows that looked out onto the driveway. The windows drew flies. The flies drew spiders. In this, their perfect spider habitat, they grew enormous. The hall was hung from end to end with thick, ropy webs.
“Say goodnight, girls,” Alan said. He swung the broom above his head and took out a couple of mammoth webs. Bulbous spiders scrambled for safety. Alan shuddered as he knocked one of the beasts to the plank floor. These spiders were mottled tan and brown. They almost looked translucent and moved with surprising speed. Alan beat at one on the floor. It had legs that would span his palm and a disgusting round abdomen the size of a robin’s egg. It burst when Alan stomped on it. He worked his way down the gallery.
“I guess the cousins are going to have to find another hobby this year. Spider-gazing is out,” Alan said.
His broom clogged with webs. Alan retreated to the barn door to beat the broom against the frame. When it was clear, he returned to the spider slaughter. Alan paused at the end of the hall and surveyed his work. Dust swirled around in the long light streaming through the window. He doubled-back to touch up a few spots, but it looked good. He opened the door to the cow room.
Some long-ago hands had hung weights from ropes and mounted pulleys to make all these doors close automatically. As Alan opened the door, the pulleys squeaked a little song. Alan dropped his broom and ran for the shop. He banged through the screen door, snagged the oilcan, and ran back for the barn. He oiled the pulley and the connectors where the rope attached to the door and weight. He worked the door open and closed until it moved with silent ease. Somewhere in the back of his head Liz’s disappointed visage floated. Alan swept it away with the next batch of cobwebs.
At some point in the distant past, this room had housed cows down its length. A wooden manger built into the wall would have held their feed. Alan walked down the center, where their manure would have collected in the trough. Someone, presumably the Colonel had cleaned this room of all the animal evidence until it was suitable for storage. Now it housed trunks and castoff furniture. Alan walked the length to survey his new task.
He walked back to the shed and returned with a big red shop vacuum. Alan strung extension cords to get power and fired up the old machine. It’s noise enveloped Alan in a pleasant bubble. He moved trunks and slid around furniture. He sucked up dust, and cobwebs, and strips of paper balled together to form nests for rodents. He kept moving—sweating and cursing as he banged his fingers—until the machine clogged.
He shut it down.
“Dad?” Joe asked.
Alan spun so fast that he tripped and crashed into a dressmaker’s dummy.
“Jesus, Joe,” Alan said. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry. What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m just cleaning up.”
“Oh.”
“Someone has to, Joe. This place is a mess.”
“Okay.”
“Look in there,” Alan said.
He had to point again until Joe figured out what he meant. Joe was still wearing his backpack. He climbed up the little step to the door built into the wall. It was about the size of a medicine chest. It was positioned on the outside wall, between two rippled windows.
Joe flipped the latch and opened the little door.
The little cabinet housed a collection of small wasps nests. The wasps had found their way in through chinks in the barn’s siding and made their home in the small space.
Joe gasped and shut the door.
“It’s okay,” Alan said. “I think they’re all abandoned.”
“I saw a wasp,” Joe said.
“Just your imagination,” Alan said.
“Did you find anything else?” Joe asked.
“Yeah, I did,” Alan said. Joe was too young for one of the things he’d found. In one trunk, Alan had found a little hand-cranked movie viewer that you held up to your eye. It contained a tiny loop of film that showed a dancing stripper. She never showed any nudity, but it was still too overtly sexual for a child. Of course, Joe could see things a million times more sexual on TV every night, but Alan decided not to show it to him. “Look in that trunk.”
Joe lifted the lid carefully, perhaps expecting more wasps.
He pulled his hand back and regarded the contents of the trunk.
Alan joined him at his side.
“What is it?” Joe asked.
“It’s just a doll,” Alan said. He knew why Joe paused—the thing looked like it had been born in a nightmare. The doll’s porcelain head was at least a hundred years old. It lay on its back with one delicate hand near its head, as if it had swooned. The other chipped hand was draped over its belly. The head was slightly turned away from Alan and Joe. The body was hand-stitched cloth, stuffed with raw cotton that you could see through the rotting fabric. The dress was torn and chewed away. It hung to the side. The legs f
ormed a wide V, with the feet tipped to the sides. The eyes were closed.
“Pick it up,” Alan said.
“No way,” Joe said. “I’m not touching it.”
“It’s just a doll, Joe. Go ahead.”
“Nope.”
“Come on.”
“You pick it up,” Joe said. He angled himself for a better look at the doll’s face. “Why is it all by itself in this trunk anyway.”
“Under that tray there’s a bunch of clothes. I picked it up earlier. It probably belonged to your great grandmother. It’s a part of history.”
“Uh huh,” Joe said.
Alan smiled. Joe looked like he was about to run.
“You want to put it in one of your mother’s drawers to scare her?”
Joe’s face lit up with a smile. Then he frowned and shook his head. “No. She’ll get mad if we move anything out here. This stuff belongs to the family.”
“Joe, this stuff belongs to us. We’re family,” Alan said. He tried to soften his anger, but he heard it right behind his words. “We bought all of this from the rest of Mom’s relatives, and they named their price. That means that we don’t owe them anything. If we wanted to, we could clear out everything and put cows back in here.”
“No, Dad,” Joe said. “It’s history. We don’t want to ruin history.”
“I know, Joe. I just don’t want you thinking that anything around here is sacrosanct, or whatever.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means pick up the doll,” Alan said. “Come on. It’s cool, I promise.”
Joe looked Alan in the eye for a couple of seconds before he moved. He wiped his hands down the front of his shirt and then reached forward carefully. He pinched the doll’s body carefully under the armpits. Joe held his breath and lifted the doll until its head was upright. Alan watched with a wide smile as the doll’s eyes rolled up to show deep crystal irises.