by Neil Plakcy
Paul didn’t realize how much time had passed until he walked in the door one night, after a long day. Dennis was standing on the coffee table with a big white box strapped around his middle. The box had been painted white, with different numbers of black dots on each side. “How do you like it, Dad?” Dennis asked. “I’m dice.”
“Actually you’re a die,” Elaine said. “Dice is plural.”
“Don’t tell me it’s Halloween already?” Paul asked. How could he have missed the date?
“Tomorrow night,” Elaine said. “But the costume contest is tonight at the community center. I’m glad you’re home early. You can come with us.” She stapled the bottom corner of the costume. “By the way, Sandy Lord called you. He said it’s important you call him tonight.”
“All right.” He walked up to Dennis. “So tell me, if I tossed you, do you think you’d roll?”
“Daddy.” Dennis made a face.
“You can get down now,” Elaine said. “Take your costume off and put it away carefully, and then come down for dinner. When you pass her room, please ask Etta to come downstairs.”
On his way up to take his tie off, Paul passed Etta coming out of her room. “Hello, Etta,” he said.
“Evening, Mister Warner,” Etta said. “Dinner be ready in a few minutes.”
“That’s fine.” From the bedroom phone, Paul called Sandy. They were meeting at the hardware store at midnight, Sandy said. “You bringing Dennis?”
“Shit, I haven’t even told him yet,” Paul said. “You bringing Tommy?”
“I couldn’t avoid it if I tried,” Sandy said. “See you at midnight.”
“Yeah.” Dinner was on the table when Paul came downstairs. Etta had retired to her room while the Warners ate, ready to come out afterwards and clean up.
Paul sat down at the table and Elaine said, “I spoke to Charley Woodruff today.”
Paul looked at her. Did she know, he wondered, about the Outhouse Gang? Otherwise, why would she mention Charley that night, only hours before the Gang was to meet? “Really.”
Elaine started to eat. “He’s closing on that farmhouse on Thursday. You remember, I told you.”
“He’s starting a farm?”
“You never listen to me.”
“You’re always talking. How do I know when to listen and when not to?”
Elaine did not answer. Instead, she looked at Dennis, who was pushing around his mashed potatoes with his fork. “Don’t play with your food,” she said. After a pause, she said to Paul, “Charley is opening his own cabinetry shop, so he and Connie are buying an old farmhouse on Edgewood Road. He’s going to set up his business in the barn.”
“Good for him,” Paul said. “Next time I see him I’ll have to congratulate him.”
“That shouldn’t be very soon,” Elaine said tartly. “Considering how frequently you see us.”
“Are you coming to the costume contest tonight, Daddy?” Dennis asked.
“I’m tired, Dennis,” Paul said. “I don’t think so.”
“Please, Daddy?” Dennis asked. “Maybe I’ll win a prize.”
Paul looked at Elaine, who seemed to be keeping her face a mask. “All right.” He hoped that he’d have a chance to talk to Dennis after dinner, to tell him about the Outhouse Gang, but as soon as they were finished Elaine rushed them into the car. Then at the contest, he never could get a moment alone with his son. There was registration, and then Dennis had to line up with the other kids and Paul and Elaine went into the audience.
Nick Miller was standing by the stage, tapping his foot anxiously. “You haven’t seen Sandy Lord, have you?” he asked.
“Hello, Nick.” Paul turned to Elaine. “You get a seat, honey, and I’ll be with you in a minute.”
As soon as his wife was out of earshot, Paul turned to Nick. “Do you want to spoil everything? Don’t say anything in front of Elaine.”
Nick looked blank for a minute. “Sandy’s supposed to help me judge this goddamned contest,” he said. “He’s late.”
Paul exhaled. “Sorry. I thought you were talking about later.”
“There won’t be any later if I don’t get this show on the road.” Nick’s insurance agency was sponsoring the contest, part of its “Have a Safe Halloween” campaign. “Sandy’s late, we’ve got at least twenty more kids than we expected, and to top it off, Carol insisted on letting Freddy sign up for the contest. What if we give him the prize by accident? How’s that going to look? If my own kid wins?”
“You don’t know what his costume is?”
“Carol wouldn’t tell me. And frankly, I didn’t pay much attention before tonight, when she announced she was bringing him here. ‘All his little friends will be there. You can’t deny him.’ Christ. Maybe if we denied the kid a few more things he’d behave better.”
Paul looked toward the door. “Here comes Sandy. I’ll see you later.”
He walked up the aisle and slipped into his seat next to Elaine. “What did Nick want?” she asked.
“Freddy’s in the contest and Nick doesn’t know what he’s wearing,” he said. “He’s afraid Freddy will win by accident.”
“He doesn’t know what his own son’s costume looks like? Poor Carol.”
“Ssh,” Paul said. “They’re starting.” Accompanied by spooky organ music, each of the kids paraded down across the stage at the front of the room. Each kid had a number; Dennis was 23. When he walked across the stage, Paul and Elaine clapped. “Yeah, like it’s really anonymous,” he whispered.
Fred Miller wore a pirate costume, and though his face had been smudged with charcoal, he was clearly recognizable. Like most of the kids, he received a bag of candy corn, an apple, and a selection of candy bars. The grand prize winner was a harlequin in diamond-patterned costume; runners-up were a dragon and a fairy princess. They won life insurance policies and bags of candy.
Paul was eager to get home, where he figured he could get Dennis alone for a few minutes and tell him about the Outhouse Gang. But as soon as they pulled into their driveway, Elaine said, “Tomorrow is garbage day.”
“I’ll put the cans out later,” Paul said.
“Oh, Paul, don’t give me an argument. Dennis, go in and get ready for bed.” When the boy had gone into the house, she said, “Just put the cans out, please?”
In the glare of the corner lights, Paul packed the heavy metal cans, hunted around for the lids, and then dragged them to the curbside. He stopped to tidy the garage a bit, and it was a few minutes before he went inside. Elaine was in the kitchen.
“Where’s Dennis?” he asked.
“Asleep.” Etta had cleaned up after dinner. Elaine had her briefcase open on the kitchen table and was sorting through some papers.
“He’s asleep? Already?” Paul asked.
“He has an eight-thirty bedtime,” Elaine said. “After all, tomorrow’s a school day.”
“Yeah, right.” He yawned. “I’m going to watch TV.”
Paul and Elaine went to bed at eleven. He waited until she was asleep, then crept out of bed, gathering his clothes. He dressed in the hallway and then walked into Dennis’ room.
The giant dice cube glowed in the corner of the room. His son lay in a shaft of moonlight, curled up on Wizard of Oz sheets. “Dennis? Wake up.”
“Dad?” Dennis rubbed his eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Paul said. “How’d you like to come out with me tonight?”
Dennis sat up. Without his glasses on, he looked just like Paul’s father. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost midnight. Come on, I’ll get your clothes out.”
He pulled out a t-shirt and jeans for the boy, and a quilted jacket. “Where are we going?” Dennis asked as he got dressed.
“Ssh. I’ll tell you in the car. We don’t want to wake up your mother.”
When they were in the car, Paul asked, “Do you know what an outhouse is?”
“Like some kind of old toilet, right?” Dennis said. “G
randpa used to tell a story about having bees in the outhouse.”
“I remember. How’d you like to see one of those old outhouses?”
“You mean tonight?”
Paul nodded. “A couple of my friends and I, we’re going out to see one tonight.” Saying it like that, it sounded pretty stupid.
“You’re the Outhouse Gang? This is so cool! It was in the paper today and everything. They said the whole town is waiting to see where the outhouse will end up.”
They pulled up at the hardware store. There were already a couple of cars there, Sandy’s among them. “You’ve just got to promise to keep quiet,” Paul said.
“This is so cool,” Dennis repeated. “My dad is in the Outhouse Gang.”
“And you can’t tell anybody,” Paul said. “It’s a secret. Can I trust you?”
“Scout’s honor.” Dennis scrambled out of the car.
“You’re not a boy scout.”
“Yeah, but everybody says it. Come on, Dad.” He was already halfway up the driveway.
The rest of the guys were in the parking lot behind the store. Harry Mosca and his son Terry, who was sixteen. Sandy and Tommy Lord. Chuck Ritter and Bruce, his fourteen-year-old. And Tom Laroquette and Charley Woodruff, whose sons were still too young. Nick Miller pulled up behind the Warners, with his son Fred, who was in the same grade as Dennis, though not the same class.
“Jesus, we’re making this into a convention,” Chuck said. “You think we can all fit in the truck?”
There was a low murmur of assent. The men scrambled in, giving hands up to the boys. Chuck and Charley sat in the cab. Paul was squeezed between Dennis and Fred Miller.
They rode on the highway for a while, and then turned down Taylor’s Mill Road. As they got close to the farm, Chuck switched the headlights off and shifted into neutral.
They coasted to a stop under a spreading oak tree at one edge of the property. There was a small stream just ahead of them. Everybody climbed out. “It’s down there.” Chuck pointed along the stream.
It was so dark that the night seemed to have a texture, like fine silk. The air smelled like dirt, sweet and musky, with a hint of new-mown grass. They circled the outhouse, tied ropes around it, then lifted it and carried it toward the truck. The boys trailed around the men, trying to get their hands in to touch and getting shooed away. The wind rustled in the trees and the stream gurgled. Somewhere in the distance a dog howled.
Chuck let down the tailgate when they reached the truck. Just then the dog appeared out of the darkness, barking madly. “Jesus Christ!” Sandy said.
“Quick! Get it in the truck!” Chuck said.
The dog, a big black mutt, danced around between the men, barking. Lights came on in the farmhouse and they heard a man’s voice. “Buster? What you got there?”
There wasn’t time for everyone to get in the truck. Chuck took off with the tailgate down and the rest of the men ran off in different directions. Paul grabbed Dennis by the hand and they ran down Taylor’s Mill Road.
Behind them, the dog was still barking madly. The truck had disappeared and so had the rest of the men and boys. Paul and Dennis ran until they rounded a corner and could stop, breathing hard.
“This is so cool,” Dennis said after a while. “You know, you can see all the stars.”
Paul stood up straight and looked up. More stars than he had ever seen before twinkled overhead. He wished he knew the names of all the constellations, so he could teach them to his son. It was so quiet he could hear trucks on the distant highway.
“So what’s the plan, Dad?” Dennis said.
That’s the wonder of children, Paul thought. You could do something so totally screwed up, bringing your kid out to the middle of nowhere to steal an outhouse, end up on a country road miles from home, one o’clock in the morning, and your kid has faith in you, that you’ve got a plan.
They couldn’t walk all the way back home. That was fifteen miles or more. He supposed they could find another house, wake someone up and call Elaine.
“You think they’ll wait for us someplace?” Dennis asked. “This road comes out on the highway up ahead. It’s like a big circle.”
“How’d you know that?”
“If you stay late at school for a club or something, you have to take the late bus,” Dennis said. “It goes all over. You get to know your way around.”
“So if we go this way we’ll get to the highway?” Paul asked.
“Yup.” Dennis started walking.
“I don’t know, maybe the other guys won’t know where to go.”
“Everybody takes the late bus sometime, Dad.”
As they walked, Paul held Dennis’ hand, which was small and sweaty in his grasp. Whenever they heard a spooky noise, like wind whistling through the trees, or some small animal crashing through the brush, Dennis squeezed hard. Paul pointed out the stars he knew, asked the boy about school, made him promise again not to tell his mother. He realized after all that this was what he’d wanted, just to spend some time with his son.
A half-hour later, they came out at the top of a rise. Just ahead of them, backed into a grove of trees, they saw Chuck’s truck. “I told you,” Dennis said.
Paul stopped. “You’re a good kid, you know that? I may not get a chance to tell you much, but I really love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.” Dennis started to run ahead. “This is great. Now we get to put the outhouse out in town.”
Harry Mosca and his son were the last ones to arrive, a little while after the Warners. “This calls for a song,” Charley Woodruff said. He was the leader of the local boy scout troop. He sang, “A hundred bottles of beer on the wall, a hundred bottles of beer.”
It was a silly song, Paul thought, but he looked at Dennis, who was waiting to see what his father would do. Paul joined in at the chorus. “If one of those bottles should happen to fall, ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall.”
They sang until they were ready to exit the highway. “All right, everybody, be quiet,” Sandy said. “This is the tricky part.”
“You just be sure and stick close to me,” Paul said to Dennis. “If this gets any trickier we’ll be in big trouble.”
But the unloading was simple. They left the outhouse in front of the library and returned to Chuck’s house. As Paul drove home, he said, “Bet you’re tired.”
Dennis slumped against the door. He yawned. “Not me. I’m wide awake.” But in minutes he was sound asleep.
Paul carried him in the house, undressed him, put his pajamas on and slipped him into bed. He leaned down and kissed the top of his son’s head.
He didn’t go back to bed. Instead he went downstairs again, took a beer from the refrigerator, and sat in the darkened living room, staring out the window at the stars. He remembered the story his father had told. When Paul was a boy, they’d gone to the country to visit relatives who had an outhouse. His mother had gone out to use it, and run from it screaming, chased by bees. His father had chased the bees away, taken his mother in his arms and comforted her.
He’d felt so secure then, knowing his father could protect them from anything. He wanted to do that for his son, give him that feeling. But how could he? Every day, hundreds of detonators rolled off the floor at his factory. Half a world away, boys not much older than Dennis were killed by the dozens, Americans, Vietnamese. There had been riots in the city in the spring, violence and fire and death. How could he save Dennis from all that? Out there in the country, he hadn’t even known what to do. Dennis had been the one who knew how to get out.
“Daddy?”
Paul turned around. Dennis was standing on the stairs in his pajamas. “Did I have a dream tonight?”
Paul got up and walked over to him. “No, Denny, it was real.”
“I’m glad.”
“But tomorrow is still a school day, so you’d better get your little butt back in bed.” Paul yawned. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Can we do it again next year? Maybe w
e could steal something different, instead of an outhouse.”
“God, I’m raising a little criminal.” Paul picked Dennis up in his arms. “You’re so big,” he said. By the time they made it to his room, Dennis was asleep again.
Harry: 1969
“Damn!” Jane said.
Harry Mosca looked up in alarm at his wife. They had been married for four years by then, in that spring of 1954, and he had rarely heard her say anything she wouldn’t want the priest to hear. “What’s the matter, babe?”
She was standing in front of the vanity next to the bathroom, unpacking her travel case. “I forgot the toothbrushes.”
The Moscas had driven up from Pennsylvania for the wedding of one of Harry’s Army buddies. They’d just checked into this motel, next to the highway in a small town in Connecticut.
“We can get along without them,” Harry said.
“I won’t kiss you if you don’t brush your teeth.”
“Oh, no. We’d better get some toothbrushes.” He fell backward on the big double bed, next to his three-year-old son, who giggled when the bed bounced.
Jane walked to the bureau and picked up the car keys. “I saw a Rexall in town. I’ll run down there and pick some up. Will you take care of Terry?”
Harry rolled over onto his stomach and started to tickle the boy. “Kootchy-koo.” He gave Terry a big sloppy kiss on his forehead. “You want to stay with Daddy?”
Terry giggled.
“I won’t be long.” When Jane walked out, a flood of light streamed in. It was early in April and the country air was so fresh and clean Harry couldn’t stand to stay in the room. He jumped up, put his jacket on, and picked up his son.
“You’re getting so big,” he said. “You want to go outside? Want to go for a walk with Daddy?”
“OK,” Terry said. Harry put the boy’s jacket on and they walked out to the parking lot. Terry was still chunky then, awkward on his feet. They walked across toward the highway, kicking up little pieces of gravel, Harry telling jokes.