by Norman Green
The most amazing thing about the place, to me, was the utter silence. I guess I’d never experienced such a thing before, never heard it. In Brooklyn, where I grew up, there’s always noise, all day and all night, all year long. You get so you don’t notice it, you tune out the cars, planes flying overhead, people shouting, talking, laughing, music coming from a radio somewhere, always and forever. Up here the only human noises were the ones Nicky and I made walking through the leaves. Everything else was the wind or the animals. A crow, once, staccato, yelling for his friends, the breeze banging empty tree branches together, something chirring softly in the brush. I didn’t know if it was some kind of a bird or maybe a raccoon or squirrel. I tried to see it, but it was too shy for me, whatever it was. There were some ducks on the far side of the lake, a couple of overloaded barges in miniature, riding low in the water. I thought they might be loons, but they were too far away for me to be sure without the spotting scope. I was too distracted anyhow, watching Nicky. Come back, I told myself, come back and look for them another day.
“You ever hear of Daniel Boone?” I asked him.
“No,” he said. I made up a story about Daniel Boone and told it to him. I left out the ugly parts, him and the Indians shooting at each other, Boone’s inner knowledge that white guys were gonna follow him there and take it all away, cut down the trees to make room for houses, roads, and all the shit that comes after. He must have hated it, that had to be the reason he was out there on the hard edge, he had to know that time and civilization were going to spoil it all. I left all that out of the fairy tale I told Nicky. I just told him about the explorer wearing deerskins, the first guy to come looking, who never got lost.
When I was about Nicky’s age I was in this foster home for a while, the guy living there had a lot of books. That was where I found out about Daniel Boone. I have always had problems sleeping, and they would turn off the television at a certain hour and make you go to bed. I would cop a book, hide it under my pillow, and then pretend to be sleeping until they all went to bed. Then I would lie awake reading by the faint glow of the hallway light. Reading became my first addiction. It was my first, and maybe best, escape. It’s magic, when you think about it, how some dusty artifact made of paper and dried ink can transport you off to Skull Island, or out to the purple-tinged plains of the Southwest. It’s very seductive, you know. I got caught up in it, and I have never really recovered. Anyplace but here, right? Any life but mine.
It’s the same thing that makes me look at real estate every time I go someplace new. What would it be like? What if I did not live where I do, what if I were not who I am? I kept picturing log cabins back in the woods while I watched Nicky play by the water’s edge, and it was that same old thing, you know, that itchy discontent, that restless spirit inside, always asking What if? Life seemed so much easier back when I had nothing, because back then it didn’t matter what I did, nobody gave two shits, least of all me. But now life, or nature, or God, if you prefer, some cruel spirit had given me Nicky, suddenly I wanted things I had never cared about before, and the castles of my imagination seemed far beyond my poor capabilities. I wondered then if every parent feels this way, if even old man Calder might not be skewered on this same spit, roasted over these same slow flames. I could picture what I wanted for my son in a thousand variations, not for me, God, really. . . . But in all my capacity for fantastical thinking I could not picture any of it coming to pass.
Nicky got tired, finally. I was beginning to think that would never happen, either, but it did. I had to carry him back out, but he insisted on hanging on to the book, and we hung the binoculars around his neck so I wouldn’t have to carry them, too. The only weight I felt was Nicky, and I was happy to bear him back to the clearing where I had parked the Subaru. That, at least, was something I knew how to do.
It probably won’t come as a complete shock to find out that I don’t like cops. Part of it, I suppose, is just an occupational bias, but you have to admit that it is difficult to like a guy whose job largely consists of driving around looking for someone to fuck with.
I should have passed the place up when I saw the police cruiser parked out front, but I remembered Eleanor had asked me to get her some coffee, and the little convenience store was the only place I’d seen on the way to the lake that looked like it was open. I didn’t want to have to drive all the way to the grocery store up in Lubec, so I pulled in.
It was Hopkins, the same guy who’d searched the minivan. He’d parked out in front of the place, next to the gas pumps, and he was out of the car, having an earnest conversation with some female, although it wasn’t really a conversation. He was talking, she was listening, white-faced. Nicky and I got out and went into the store. Hopkins glanced in my direction, but he gave no sign that he recognized me. I got Eleanor’s coffee, and then I wandered around in the place for a while, picking out stuff I thought the Averys might need. I took my time, figuring I would stall until Hopkins left. They didn’t have carts in the place, so I just kept carrying stuff up to the counter and giving it to the girl working the register. She didn’t say anything to me, she just rang it up, but she was watching Hopkins and the woman outside by the gas pumps. Nicky got tired of following me around, I guess, and I lost track of where he was. I finished, finally, and watched the girl putting all the stuff into plastic bags. She didn’t look at me, though. She was more interested in the soap opera unfolding outside.
“Friend of yours?” I asked her.
She nodded once, leaned forward. “Hopkins is a pig,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Brenda never should have went out with him.”
Just then I felt Nicky pulling at my pant leg. He had some kind of intuition, he always knew when someone else was in trouble or hurting. You can make something out of that if you want. All I know is, the pains he had endured in his short life had given him some kind of special antenna.
“Poppy,” he said. “That policeman outside is hitting that lady. Make him stop.”
Nicky was right. Hopkins had the woman backed against the cruiser, and as the girl behind the cash register and I watched, he grabbed the woman by the hair and whacked her head against the car. He did it very quickly—if I hadn’t been watching for it, I might have missed it.
“Poppy,” Nicky said. “You have to make him stop. He’s hurting her.” I looked down at him, thinking that he had a purer sense of right and wrong than I did, mine being polluted by years of thievery and an overdeveloped instinct for self-preservation. The girl behind the counter made a frightened squeak and picked up her telephone, dialed 911. “Don’t worry,” Nicky told her. “My dad can take that guy.”
The sound of Hopkins yelling came right through the plate-glass windows. Nicky pulled my pant leg again. “Poppeeee . . .”
I looked at the girl. “Watch my kid, okay?” She nodded, holding the phone to her ear, waiting for someone to answer. I looked down at Nicky. “You stay right here, you understand me?”
“Okay,” he said.
I took two of the bags of groceries and carried them outside, put them in the back of the Subaru. Hopkins stopped when he saw me. I leaned on the back of the truck. I remembered the nickname that Louis Avery had said Hopkins hated. “No, go ahead, Hoppie,” I said. “I want to see how you do it. Maybe I’ll learn something.”
Hopkins’s face turned a furious red. “Go on back in the store. Mind your own business.”
“Yeah? You want me to watch from inside?”
He was so mad his whole body was shaking. He half turned in my direction, and the woman he had up against the car flinched, as though she were going to run away. He was quick, though, he spun back and held his finger out at her. She froze.
“C’mon, Hoppie, this is stupid. You can’t do your business out on the street.”
He turned completely toward me then, took a step in my direction. “Goddam you! Go on and leave me alone!” The woman behind him saw her chance and made a break for it, but Hop was way faster than she was, he had her
before she’d gotten four steps. He dragged her back and threw her up against the car.
I applauded. Hopkins froze at the sound of me clapping. “Way to go, Hop. Be careful, though. You don’t want to mark her up. Might bust a finger that way, too. You got to hit ’em in the soft parts.” The woman held her hands up to her face and began to sob loudly. Hopkins let go of her and dropped his hand, and his shoulders slumped. “Go ahead, Hoppie. Show her you’re a man.”
“Oh, shit,” he said to her, ignoring me. “I’m sorry. Oh, Jesus, Brenda, I’m sorry. . . . Brenda, come on. Stop. Brenda . . .”
“Go fuck yourself, Hop,” she said, but she said it without any heat. She pushed herself away from the car and stomped off into the store. Hopkins made no move to stop her.
Maybe I shouldn’t have rubbed it in. “That was fucking pitiful, man.”
That reignited him, and he walked slowly in my direction, his hand fluttering down by his pistol and his face twisted in anger. “Get over theyah,” he said, his voice low and vicious, “and put yoah hands on the hood.”
I was still leaning on the Subaru, and I didn’t move. “I don’t think so, Hop.” He took another step in my direction, put his hand on the holstered gun. He looked like he was going to burst. “What are you gonna do, asshole, shoot me?” I pointed at the store, where the two women, and my son, were watching through the glass. “You got three people watching, you moron. Besides, you’re too close. Don’t they teach you country-ass hillbilly cops anything at all? I could break your fucking arm before you ever cleared your piece.”
“Is that what you think, you son of a hoah?” He was so pissed off he could barely spit the words out. “Is that what you think?” He took a step back away from me, took his hand off the gun, unbuckled his belt. “You think I fucking need this?” We both heard the siren then, faint in the distance, and he knew it was over. The air seemed to go out of him, and he turned away from me, walked over slowly, and stood with his head down, over by his car.
The other cop shut his siren off before he got to us and coasted to a stop with a minimum of drama. He got out of his car and stood there, looking from me to Hopkins, and then he saw the two women inside the store. He was a tall guy who looked to be in his early fifties, he was on the heavy side, with bland gray eyes in a mild face, and thinning brush-cut hair. I think he had it all doped out before anybody said a word, or maybe the cashier had told the dispatcher what was happening. He opened the back door of his car, gestured to Hopkins. Hoppie walked over wordlessly and got in, and the guy shut the door on him. He looked over at me. “Who might you be?”
“Manny Williams.”
“Could I see yaw drivah’s license, Mr. Williams?”
“Yeah, sure.” I got it out and handed it to him, but he only glanced at it and gave it back. The guy had the down east accent, but it was slightly different from the one I’d been hearing from everybody else.
“That yaw boy, in the sto-ah?”
“Yeah.”
He looked over to where Nicky and the two females were still watching, and he sighed. “Would you mind waiting heah for a few minutes, Mr. Williams?”
“Not at all.”
“Thank you,” he said, and he walked over and went into the store. Nicky tensed up, and when the cop went through the door he came tearing out. He ran over to me and grabbed on to my leg. The cop stood inside and watched, then turned and started talking to the two women. I could feel Nicky shaking as he held on to me. He pulled at my sleeve, and I leaned over so he could whisper in my ear.
“Poppy,” he said. “Did they come to take me back?”
“No,” I told him. “Nobody’s taking you away from me. Shh, now.”
He wasn’t finished. “Are they gonna put you in jail?”
“No, shhh. Nobody’s going to jail. That guy over there just lost his temper, that’s all.” This is all I need, I thought. I’m gonna get ratted out by my own kid. “Look, I want you to sit in the car and stay out of trouble, okay?” I walked him over to the Subaru, and he reluctantly got in the passenger side.
“You’re coming back, right?”
“I’m not going anywhere, you can watch me the whole time. Now just sit there and be quiet, okay? Can you do that?”
He nodded, and I closed him in, went back to where I had been standing. Inside, the cop had teamed up with the girl who’d been working the cash register, and they were both working on the other female, but she had her face in her hands and she was shaking her head, no, no, no. . . . They kept at it for a long time, but they couldn’t break her down. Eventually the cop gave up, left her there, and came back out to talk to me.
“Mistah Williams,” he said.
“Manny.”
He nodded. “Manny. My name is Taylor Bookman, and I’m the sheriff of this county. I appreciate yaw patience.”
“That’s okay.”
“I apologize for the actions of my deputy ovah theyah, Thomas Hopkins.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Bookman, I—”
He was shaking his head. “No,” he said, “it isn’t all right. This is not the first time this has happened, but that fool girlfriend of his refuses to press chahges. Again. That kind of ties my hands, Manny.” Bookman talked very slowly, and his deadpan expression never changed. He looked at the groceries in the back of the Subaru, and then at Nicky. He’s taking it all in, I thought. Filing it away. I made a mental note not to let Bookman’s verbal slowness lull me into thinking he was a dope. You better watch your mouth around this guy.
“Thing is,” he went on, at his unhurried pace, “Hop is a very bright young man. He’s done some good work with the kids up heah, and that has helped the depahtment make some inroads on our drug problem. I know it might be hahd for you to appreciate right now, but he is a good man, when he isn’t thinking with his glands. He has got the makings of a fine officah, if he would just grow up some. But Brenda, ovah theyah, she’s nevah going to do what needs to be done, she don’t have the backbone for it. But you might be able to help me out.”
“Yeah?” I didn’t want to have anything to do with this, I just wanted to be on my way. “How’s that?”
“Well,” he said, “if you’d be willing to come on up to Eastpoht and swayah out a complaint, that would give me just what I need to put a twist in Hop’s nut sack, if you get what I mean.”
“Mr. Bookman, I really don’t want to get anybody into trouble.”
“Oh,” he said mildly, “you won’t be getting anyone into trouble. You’ll be helping me stop trouble befoah it gets out of hand. Won’t be nothing to it. Just fill out a fohm, and I’ll keep it between you, me, and him. You’ll be doing both of us a big favah.” He turned and looked at the guy, sitting in the back of the cruiser, head down. “You see, the thing is, Hopkins has nevah had anyone to teach him how to act. Don’t mean it’s too late for him to learn, though. If you help me get to him, I can teach him how to get pahst this kind of meanness.” He looked back at me. “It’s the right thing to do, Mistah Williams.”
“Manny,” I said, looking at him, and he nodded. I found I could relate to Hop’s problem, getting by on bulldozer tactics and muscle, knowing it was wrong but unsure of the alternatives. It struck me then, a normal guy, a regular Joe citizen, would have no problem trusting Bookman, and would not be afraid to walk into the police station to sign a paper for him. I could feel his bland eyes watching me, I could almost sense him wondering about the source of my reluctance to do what he wanted. “All right, Mr. Bookman. If you think it’s best.”
“Good. Good.” He clapped me on the shoulder.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to take him back to the station and beat the shit out of him?”
“If I thought that’d werk,” Bookman said, “I’da done it long ago. Believe me.”
Somehow, I didn’t doubt him. He fished a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to me. “Just give a call befoah you come,” he said, “and I’ll be theyah. You staying someplace local?”
; “With Louis and Eleanor Avery.”
“That right,” he said. “Well, I’ll expect to heah from you, tomorrow or the next day.”
I nodded. “No later.”
“Excellent,” he said. “Good thing I was close by.”
“Good thing for me or for Hopkins?”
He looked at me, shook his head. “Hahd saying,” he said. “But you can believe that’s what the foolish bahstid is sitting in theyah thinking about.”
Nicky was subdued on the way back. Part of it might have been fatigue, but part of it had to be our encounter with the cops. I didn’t know what to make of his silence, and I didn’t know what to say to him. I had not yet found it difficult to get him to talk, but when I asked him if he was okay, he just nodded his head. A few minutes later, he crawled down on the floor and fell asleep with his head on the seat. It didn’t look very comfortable, and the Subaru was anything but smooth, but he went out like a light. He didn’t wake up until I turned into the Averys’ driveway. Louis’s Jeep was parked at the top of the hill. I pulled the Subaru up next to it. Nicky got up and looked around.
“You want to help me carry groceries inside?”
“Okay,” he said. He didn’t seem over it yet. Wherever he’d gone in his head, he was still there.
Louis was in a funk.
Eleanor tried a few times to get him talking as she fussed around her kitchen, putting away groceries. “Look at all this stuff he bought,” she said to him. “All I asked him to do was buy me a pound of coffee.” Louis didn’t answer.
“I forgot what you told me to get.”
“Hmmph,” Louis said. He was sitting at the kitchen table playing solitaire, with actual cards. It had been a while since I’d seen anyone do that. Nicky had been hanging on to me ever since we’d gotten into the house. It struck me that this was the first time in either of our lives that we had spent so much time together. We had known each other by sight, I guess, and by that weird connection related people have, that free-floating, undefined sense of obligation. On my end there were some bad feelings, too—the kid had gotten saddled with a fuckup for a father—and then close on the heels of that I would go through my normal run of justifications, you know, who isn’t a fuckup in some way, you’re doing the best you can, and so on, and that would last only a second or two before the guilt would come back again. But beyond all this surging mess of unfamiliar emotion I realized that I was getting to know my son for the first time, and one of the first things that struck me was that sixth sense he had for when other people were suffering, and how different his reaction to that was from what mine would have been, if I had even noticed. He’d been sticking close to me, within arm’s length, but he walked over to Louis then, stood at his elbow, watched him play cards. Louis looked down at him, and Nicky stood on his tiptoes to whisper in Louis’s ear. Louis bent down to listen.