Shadows

by Peter J Manos

  Eventually, after what seemed to him the time it would take to bury a jeep, they arrived in the kitchen, where he sat at the table while she made an herb tea, using only her left hand, the shot gun at the ready.

  “Sorry. I’m harmless,” he said. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “I doubt very much that you are harmless, Mr. Larrabee. You look big and strong enough to me and men rarely are harmless. But we don’t get many ax murderers around here and those that we do get don’t knock on the door or follow directions. What’s more, they have an ax with them, and they are wise enough to stay in the car in a thunderstorm, not that I’m implying you’re stupid, you understand.”

  On the bright yellow table, she placed two mugs and a tea pot shaped like a cat on its haunches.

  “Thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt on the stupidity question. If lightning strikes, cars can sometimes protect you from getting zapped but if you touch anything metal, you’ll regret it. A house is safer.”

  She poured a dark tea into the mugs.

  “Try it,” she said.

  “I will not only try it. I will drink it all up.” But after a few sips, he paused.

  “What kind of tea is this?”

  “It’s an herb tea. No caffeine. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.”

  Larrabee shook his head. “No. No. Off course I’m going to drink it. I was just curious. It’s unusual.”

  He burst out laughing. The tingling in his chest that came with each breath reflected the relief he felt to be in this cozy kitchen, dry, and drinking tea before being hosted to a bed and possibly sleep. All this despite the gun, which no longer troubled him.

  “I’m sure you have a funny story to tell Mr. Larrabee, but let’s wait until tomorrow, shall we? I’m tired,”

  “Call me Will.”

  “And you may call me Edna.”

  He would be unable to sleep he was certain but remarkably his roller derby thoughts began to slow up and eventually he did sleep.

  The next morning, while the washing machine sloshed his clothes back and forth, Edna in black pants and black blouse, served him a traditional breakfast of coffee, toast and jam, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Bacon! The secret of her longevity surely, he thought, chuckling.

  She sat at the table, the shotgun across her lap.

  He’d used the hair dryer on his hat and was wearing it now, feathers newly restored to their proud colorful selves.

  Edna decided to ignore it.

  “So you are in a rush to see your mother, but you decided to drive instead of fly?”

  His mother had called, painting a dire picture of her situation, throwing in some legal jargon about involuntary commitment, to convince him that she was serious. The whole family was against her, she’d pleaded. He must do this for her. He must come immediately. It was an excuse to take to the road, even if impulsively. He disliked flying, being stuffed into those narrow seats with only enough legroom for a snake. Damn the greedy airlines.

  Edna did not press him for more details, instead turning to a concern of her own.

  “I wonder if you could do me a little favor.”

  He accepted hesitantly, sensing the possibility of entanglement, though he was grateful and believed in paying his debts. On the other hand, was he really that eager to get back on the road, that eager to see his mother?

  “My brother-in-law is coming over this morning to talk with me about a little disagreement we have, and I’m concerned he may, how shall I put it, lose his temper. Not that he’d hit me or anything, but I’d like to have someone in the next room listening in. Just to comfort me, you see. Just to give me a psychological boost. I could stand up to him better. But you wouldn’t have to do a thing. I just need to know there’s someone there. Really, Earnest is harmless, but he scares me a teeny bit at times though he’d sooner smack his own behind with paddle than hurt anyone. Well, I think he would anyway. I don’t expect him until around ten.”

  “Are you going to answer the door carrying that blunderbuss?” said Will.

  “I’m sorry. Does it bother you?”

  “You may not believe this, but it doesn’t. You’re a good Samaritan and if it makes you feel more secure that’s fine with me. But I’d like to leave as soon as possible so I won’t be here at ten.

  A while later: knocketty knock. To Will’s ears, a firm, but not desperate knocking.

  “Just like him. Trying to catch me off guard by coming way too early. I’m putting you in the closet in the living room. Don’t worry. This won’t take long. Please get up.”

  “The closet?” he grumbled. “You said the next room.”

  “Shush,” she demanded. “Please get up.”

  She had him walk ahead of her. She pointed to the closet. The knocking continued.

  “Please do this for me.”

  He opened the door and walked in among overcoats and jackets. He turned to face her as she closed the door.

  Thank goodness he didn’t put up a stink. She could now keep track of him as she spoke with the visitor at the same time. No need to answer the door with a shot gun. She had to admit that the young man no longer made her quite so nervous.

  Mistreated, his wishes discounted, his anger rose. But he was in the closet now. What if Earnest opened the closet door and had a heart attack or, just as bad, what if Earnest blasted him in the belly with a shot gun? Her shot gun. A flock of other what-if’s were driven off by Edna’s voice, which he heard fairly well. It must have been a cheap door.

  “Good morning, Sheriff Andresen,” she said formally.

  “Morning, Edna. I’d like to speak with you. May I come in?”

  A policeman! Under his breath Will produced a string of colorful expletives, some involving organs of excretion or hybrid blasphemous and scatological curses. He cursed like a marine.

  Well, should he step out now and introduce himself, risking a tasering, or a bad case of lead acne or should he suffocate in silence until the goddamned cop left. When Will’s nose began to tickle, he collapsed the nostrils between thumb and index finger.

  Edna did not invite Sheriff Andresen in.

  “What is this all about?”

  The sheriff coughed, clearing his throat.

  “Well, it’s not about your trespassing on government property. You got off easy on that one. It’s about your handing out leaflets in front of Earnest Schmidt’s business office. In his capacity as a city alderman, he asked me to ask you not to do this. He said he’d spoken with you, but you ignored him. He says this is bad for his business. It associates him with the unpatriotic ideas you’re peddling.”

  “The sidewalk is public,” she said hesitantly. “I was walking down the street, and someone wanted a flyer. It just happened to be in front of his place.”

  “Back to that trespass matter,” said Andresen. “I just hope you’re not cooking up another hair-brained protest scheme.”

  “My name’s O’Hare. So any scheme I cook up would have to be hair-brained.” She was ashamed of her brazenness.

  “Look, Edna we all know you’re against the missiles, but they’ve been here for almost sixty years. Why the sudden interest?”

  She was not about to tell him that she was having more frequent dreams about nuclear war, that she was frightened they actually meant something.

  “My husband didn’t want it on this land either. Now they’re planning to replace these old monsters with new monsters and all the wires and pipes the new monster needs. They’re going to tear up the fields with those ugly trucks and leave everyone in more danger than we’re already in. I’m going to stop it this time.” She paused. “Or try to.”

  “Edna,” said the sheriff exasperated, “Believe it or not, I’m just trying to keep you out of trouble. And let’s be honest, here. This is an ego trip. You can’t ground the U. S. air force.”

  “Dear Sheriff Andresen, I don’t want to be rude. I know you’re just doing your job, but I have to say goodbye.”

&nb
sp; That Bjorn Andresen had driven all the way out here just to talk to her about handing out flyers, must have something to do with his reelection campaign. Edna’s brother-in-law was not only an alderman, he was a long-time member of the chamber of commerce. Yes, Andresen was currying favor with Schmidt. There could be no doubt about it. It may even have been why he’d put her in that cell, if only for an afternoon. It made her mad, but it frightened here, too. How far would they go to shut her up?

  “While you’re busy enforcing the law, I think I should mention that someone sprayed the word “Russian” on my truck in red paint, but neither I nor the truck are Russian. Whatever can it mean, Sheriff?” she asked facetiously.

  “When and where did this happened?” he asked, taking out his notebook.

  There are yogis who can assume the most remarkable positions, walk over smoldering embers, or hold their breath for as long it would take to bake a cake. Will was not one of these. He could not even suppress a sneeze.

  “What was that?” asked Andresen. “It came from the closet. Is there someone in there?”

  Edna was silent.

  “I’m coming in,” said Andresen.

  “You are not coming in. You need a search warrant to come in here. Go away. We’re finished speaking.”

  “I have probable cause to think you are hiding contraband in that closet,” he said absurdly. “I ask you to step aside.”

  After his second and third sneezes, Will came out of the closet.

  “Couldn’t find my damn coat. It must be in the bedroom,” he said with a mixture of anger and amusement in finding himself playing a role in some screw-ball comedy. He tugged at the brim of his hat as if in greeting, hunched his shoulders, put a beats-me look on his face, swiveled around, walked up the stairs, and disappeared.

  “Your contraband has gone,” said Edna. “Now you be gone.”

  Andresen was nonplussed. Like everyone else in town, he knew that Edna O’Hare was a widow and lived alone.

  As she was closing the front door, Andresen asked, “Who was that?”

  “He’s a complete stranger and that’s the truth, I swear to God.”

  She shut and bolted the door.

  With hands cupped around her mouth, she called up with a strong voice for an old woman, “Coast is clear, Mr. Larrabee. Will.” But the confrontation had shaken her. She’d never spoken with anyone like that before.

  Will came down the stairs, scowling at having been forced to play the fool.

  “You said you wanted me in the other room, not in the closet.”

  “Well, it’s more or less the same. You were nearby, which is what I wanted. I’m so sorry I upset you. I really am.”

  He did not wish to appear a crybaby, so simply nodded.

  “I can see that you are.”

  “And look. No shotgun.”

  “You trust me?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far but I can’t think of any good reason, except robbery, maybe, that you’d want to hurt me, and you’ve been a perfect gentleman.”

  It struck him as funny, which forced him to smile.

  After putting his clothes in the dryer, she warmed up the eggs, and sat with him at the kitchen table.

  “You should have seen the look on his face,” said O’Hare.

  “I did.”

  “You moved quickly. I wish I could do that.”

  Was it because of her awareness of Will’s proximity that she’d risked being so cheeky with, even disrespectful of, Andresen? This wasn’t like her at all. And now she found herself talking with ease—that is to say, with relative ease—to this young man to whom she’d recently been displaying her shotgun.

  Edna finished her coffee, which had cooled off, and poured herself another cup. Will helped himself to another strip of bacon.

  “Did you hear the conversation?”

  “I did. It was about the missiles.”

  “I’ve been stewing about them forever but what could I do? The government had its little parcel, it’s access road, it’s silo, and its ICBM. That’s short for intercontinental ballistic missile in case you didn’t know. Oh, yes, and its hydrogen bomb. There’s no shortage of hydrogen bombs in North Dakota.”

  “Yeah,” said Will, “but that rocket’s out there to stop the Russians from attacking us because if they did they’d be hit by the one in your back yard and probably a lot of others, too.”

  O’Hare began to put the dishes in the sink. Will rose to help her.

  “Probably a lot of others,” she laughed. “Minot air force base has a hundred and fifty and so do the air force bases in Montana and Wyoming.”

  One basin of the kitchen sink was filled with hot soapy water, the other with clean water. As if they’d worked this job before, Edna washed and rinsed the dishes and Will dried, putting them into the cupboard. As he got more excited, he became less careful.

  “So don’t you care about the country?” He was gesturing and speaking faster now. “You know what the Russians are like.” He made a face, showing his teeth.

  She hummed a few bars of the Volga boat song.

  “If the farmers around here all got rid of their rockets,” he continued, “we’d be a whole lot less safe, like holding your shotgun overhead to show the wolf and then tossing it into the manure pile.”

  He went on like this for a while until he broke a coffee cup, knocking it off the edge of a shelf with the sleeve of his robe. He picked up the pieces immediately. Edna indicated the waste basket under the sink.

  “My, you do have quaint similes, young man. The wolf indeed.”

  “The Russians have lots of land-based missiles, too,” said Will, pumping himself up and down on his calves. “So nobody wants to start a fight.”

  “Maybe so,” said O’Hare, ignoring his movement. “But what if there were a false alarm? What if we thought a flock of geese was a bunch of missiles? I’m not making this up, you know. If they hadn’t found the mistake it would have been nuclear war.

  “Or what if a terrorist exploded an A-bomb in Washington ? Wouldn’t the U.S. think it had been attacked?”

  They faced each other at the sink.

  “These devils are on hair trigger. And you can’t call a missile back once it’s launched.”

  Her cheeks had turned red. She’d spoken with rising forcefulness but, having come to an end, sat again at the table. He was unable to sit, instead leaning, hands on top of the back of the chair.

  “Geese are still flying. So the false alarm threat is the same. Why are you protesting now?”

  She stood, turned her chair so the back faced her, put her hands on it, and leaned toward him.

  “I told you. The military aerospace industrial complex has decided to replace all the Minuteman missiles with new missiles at an estimated cost of between eighty-four and a hundred forty billion dollars and that’s not counting maybe another hundred billion or so for upkeep. I needed a little kick in the behind to get started and that was it.” The impetus of her husband’s death she did not mention.

  He didn’t want to offend her, but the laughter just broke through, imagining her scolding a room full of scowling, beribboned generals and captains of industry.

  “How are you going to stop them?”

  She stood up straight. After the silo protest fiasco—specifically the failure to have the protest written about in the paper—she felt defeated but arguing with this young man had reinvigorated her.

  “Well, first of all I’m going to hand out some more flyers.”

  Chapter Four

  After Edna had gone off to town, Will dressed in his newly laundered clothes, and left the house, the latch clicking distinctly into place with apparent finality as he closed the door. Well, that’s that, he thought. He walked to his car, which was parked on the side of the main road, about thirty yards from the house. At attention a thousand sunflowers faced him, annoying him in some ineffable way. Did their bright faces mock him?

  “Go to hell,” he spat.

  The r
oad had no shoulder. The spinning rear wheels had dug deep holes for themselves and now the rear bumper almost rested on the soggy ground. The situation did not look promising. He had no shovel and didn’t know where to look for one; his cell phone was dead; and the nearest town was not even visible from here. He climbed into the car and started it, gingerly touching the gas pedal. The tires whirred. His mind whirred. Walk to town? Run to town? Wait here? His mother. Katie. The sunflowers…Afghanistan.

  Yes, he’d been through worse.

  Sitting atop an armored vehicle, he travelled with his comrades over a primitive desert road, making a short side-trip outside of Jowman to see if Taliban activity had taken place there the night before. But from his vantage point behind the machine gun he saw no people, no resources; no villages; and, of course, no water. And he saw nothing on the road. The sand, though, he could taste.

  “Everything good up there, Willy, baby?” yelled a buddy from the driver’s-side window.

  The explosion occurred shortly thereafter, the vehicle bucking Will onto the sand where he lay dazed but feeling no pain, despite broken bones. Not immediately. The vehicle burned. He heard a scream. The helicopter landed sometime after. His buddies were dead. But he was not.

  The experts couldn’t agree whether the shock had caused his outbursts or whether he’d always been so obstreperous. As soon as he could walk, he wanted to leave, and to prove that he was ready, he did a somersault on the hard floor, splitting open some wounds. He cursed, and on one occasion sung all night, to the discomfort of patients and staff alike. A psychiatrist saw him but didn’t think he was manic.

  He cursed. He’d locked himself out of the damn house. He removed the jack handle from the trunk, hefting it, brandishing it at the sunflowers, and again told them to go to hell.