Hammond’s done his job. He caps the apple juice and puts it back in the refrigerator. There’s nothing much inside: a package of cheddar cheese, some wilted lettuce, two sticks of butter. Hammond closes the refrigerator, then sees that the Giant is crying. Hammond quickly turns away and looks out the back window, into the yard. It’s empty out there.
“I worked here for your grandfather one summer when I was a kid,” Hammond says. “He just about drove me nuts. He had me cut wood till I thought I’d drop, but that wasn’t the worst part. He talked all the time and I wasn’t used to it. My parents were deaf and we all used sign. I got dizzy from all his talking, it shook me up. He had a rooster named Primo and when your grandfather wasn’t talking to me he was talking to Primo.”
“I knew Primo,” the Giant says. He sounds like a kid; his voice is soft and flat from crying. “Or maybe it was his great-grandson.”
“Bastard of a rooster,” Hammond says. “Wouldn’t you know he’d live for fifty years.”
All this time the Giant has been holding the silver hair clip. He puts it down on the table and can’t take his eyes off it.
“Let’s go get them,” Hammond says.
The Giant turns to him, puzzled.
“You must have taken your chickens somewhere. Now let’s get them back.”
The Giant looks at Hammond and when he sees this isn’t a joke, he gets an empty seed bag from under the sink.
“I’m going to be breaking the law,” he says to Hammond.
“No, you won’t,” Hammond tells him. “I’ll see to that.”
They take the patrol car and drive down the road to the neighboring farm, then park and wait for dusk. When it’s dark enough they get out, run over to the slatted fence meant to keep cows from straying, then crouch down low, on their bellies.
“Go on,” Hammond West urges. “I’ll be right behind you with the flashlight.”
The Giant crawls forward, under the wooden slats. A car goes by, illuminating the road, and the Giant pushes his face into the earth.
“We’re okay now,” Hammond says when the headlights disappear.
There’s a tall wire fence around the poultry yard. The Giant’s been here once before. He hands West the burlap bag.
“I’ll catch them,” he says. “You just keep them in there.”
The Giant scales the fence easily, then gets down on his haunches, waiting for Hammond, who gets stuck on top of the fence and rips his shirt coming down.
“You okay?” the Giant asks, and Hammond nods impatiently. They go into the first henhouse. The Giant recognizes some of his chickens from the tone of their clucking. He quickly grabs two hens and elbows Hammond to open the bag so he can get them in before they start squawking and alarm the others. It’s too dark to find all of his stock, but they manage to get twelve before Hammond says, “Time’s up.”
They go back the way they came. The Giant lets Hammond go first, then he climbs the fence while holding the bag of chickens in one hand. They run to the patrol car, and when they get in, the Giant lifts the bag of chickens into the backseat, then he lets out a whoop. “All right!” the Giant says, and he pounds Hammond on the back a little too hard.
“I hope we got the best of them,” Hammond says, “because I’m not going back there.”
“I thought I might have to leave you up there on the fence.” The Giant grins.
“Very funny,” Hammond says. “I’d like to see you try it when you’re my age.”
They’re still running on adrenaline; every now and then they laugh for no reason at all. The bag on the backseat cackles and moves and sets them off all over again. When Hammond pulls up alongside the farmstand, the Giant grabs the bag, lifts it over the seat, and sets it on his lap.
“Listen,” he says. “Thanks.”
The Giant gets out of the car and Hammond gets out too. Hammond steps up so he can lean on the roof of the patrol car. “I’ll tell you one thing, Eddie,” he says. “If I have to see a chiropractor and get my back realigned, I’m sending you the bill.”
“You do that.” The Giant laughs.
Crickets are calling, their song quickened by the heat.
“It’s going to be even hotter tomorrow,” Hammond says.
“Yeah,” the Giant agrees. “That’s July for you.”
“Yeah,” Hammond says, and they laugh.
It doesn’t matter that the hollow is pitch black as the Giant walks down it; he knows this path by heart. He walks behind the house and over to the coops. He kneels down and takes the chickens out slowly, one at a time, holding each hen on the ground until her wings stop flapping. Then he opens his hands wide and lets go.
The Giant goes inside and makes himself the first good meal he’s had in weeks—a cheese sandwich and a salad. He’s too excited to sleep much and he wakes before dawn and goes outside. Hammond is right, the day is hotter. Already. The chickens are scratching in the dust and the Giant throws them some feed. He knows that if he ignores his garden any longer the heat will scorch the flowers on the melon vines, the sunflowers will become brittle and their stalks will snap in half. The Giant gets out the hose and waters. Then he begins to weed, just a little because the earth is so easy to work now that it’s drenched, and before he knows it he’s cleared a line of lettuce.
He makes himself some coffee and sits down on a wooden crate outside to drink it. The sky is growing light and, beyond the trees, there is a brilliant streak of crimson in the east. The Giant goes back to work; he weeds until he’s covered with sweat, then he takes off his shirt. He fills the crate with heads of lettuce, with the season’s first tomatoes and green beans, then carries the crate up to the farmstand.
Blisters have formed in the palms of his hands, but he’s still working when Vonny’s truck pulls up. The Giant walks around to the side of the house so he can get a better look. Vonny’s out early this morning; she leans against the truck and watches cars go by. There are times when it’s hard for her to leave this place. She sees now there is at last something to buy and she goes over to the farmstand. Carefully she chooses lettuce and beans. She folds two dollar bills through the slit in the coffee can, then decides to take the bunch of cosmos the Giant has found growing wild underneath a tangle of brambles and searches her pockets for change.
Vonny sees him just as she is about to get back into the truck. Instantly she sees how young he is. He is staring right at her and for this one moment Vonny feels as though he belongs to her. If she leaves now she can still go to the beach with Simon and Andre. They’ve promised to wait. Vonny juggles the flowers and vegetables into the crook of one arm so she can wave. The Giant lifts one hand in the air, then watches her get back into the truck. His back and arms are strained after working so hard, but he returns to his garden and sets out bowls of salt to keep the snails away. Soon, he knows, Vonny will no longer stop here. She’ll drive a little farther each day until the farmstand is just a small reference point rather than a destination. But the Giant will have other customers, some of whom will swear his vegetables are better for them than medicine.
Tonight the Giant will sleep on clean sheets, and above him there will be uncountable, unknown planets. He wants to stay awake forever, he wants to always remember the way he feels right now. But his arms ache and he realizes just how tired he is. He lies down in the grass and, stretching himself out to his full height, looks upward, through the green leaves.
About the Author
Alice Hoffman was born in New York City and grew up on Long Island. She wrote her first novel, Property Of, while studying creative writing at Stanford University, and since then has published more than thirty books for readers of all ages, including the recent New York Times bestsellers The Museum of Extraordinary Things and The Dovekeepers. Two of her novels, Practical Magic andAquamarine, have been made into films, and Here on Earth was an Oprah’s Book Club choice. All told, Hoffman’s work has been published in more than twenty languages and one hundred foreign editions. She lives outside of Bo
ston.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1987 by Alice Hoffman
Cover design by Tracey Dunham
ISBN: 978-1-4532-2577-6
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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Illumination Night: A Novel Page 21