Damned If I Do Part 16

"Not too fast," Errol called to me.

I heeded his warning and calmed myself. I pulled the trout closer and closer and then I could see his eye staring at me on the surface. I was standing at the bank now. I grabbed the fish, slipped out the hook, and dropped it into my creel. I looked down to see Errol and he was waving to me, gave me the okay sign.

1 September We ate the fish that Errol and I caught for breakfast along with scrambled eggs made by Errol's father. The fish were fried with the heads still on and the meat fell away from the skeletons easily. The heat of the cooking fire warmed the front of my body and a cool wind bit pleasantly into my back.

After breakfast, we went hiking up the mountain. We followed the creek for a couple of miles and then veered away from it, climbing to the top of a ridge. We followed the ridge up into stands of aspen trees. We got a quick glimpse of a yearling elk, and then we found the partially devoured carca.s.s of a fawn. The gla.s.sy eyes didn't look real. The body was ripped open and the hind legs were gone. Part of the heart was several feet away.

"Lion," Errol's father said. "Look at the claw marks and the size of the bite." He pointed to the torn, light brown body, but I really couldn't see what he was talking about. "Body's still warm," he said.

Errol and I looked about anxiously. I was both excited and terrified. I wanted to see the animal, see it close up, out there in the woods.

"You boys stay close," my father said.

We continued on through the forest. It was a cloudy day and so the sun never really had a chance to warm things up. I zipped up my jacket and listened for noises as we walked, trying to separate the forest from the sounds of our footfalls. We made it to the high lake and ate a late lunch of cheese sandwiches. Then we started back down. We didn't see the cat, no further sign of it. I was disappointed. But the image of that fawn's heart stayed with me.

1 September There was a lion up there. I didn't get to see it, but I was next to its kill. I saw the animal's heart from which it had taken a bite. In my mind, the cat was gigantic, but in my calmer moments I realized that it was no bigger than a German shepherd dog. I couldn't get to sleep that first night home after the camping trip. I wanted to dream about the lion and nothing else.

While I was awake, I thought about the fact that school would be starting again very soon. A matter of days. Those last days of summer were always the sweetest. The weather was hot, but not unbearable. There were occasional afternoon showers. And after the rain, when the desert had sucked up the moisture in less time than it had taken to fall, I would walk with Frannie Dawes.

Frannie Dawes lived across the street with her mother. Her father was in and out of the VA hospital in Albuquerque. Frannie was skinny, with little feet, and she played the flute. She liked insects and so I liked her.

Those last days of summer were sweet. And the circus was coming.

1 September Frannie Dawes and I left my house with a sack lunch and my father's binoculars. We didn't see any coyotes, but we walked a long time. We walked along the wash and watched a couple of red-tailed hawks circling and looking for prey. We stayed out until the sun was going down, just talking about this and that. I was floating, feeling happy and lost. And I wanted more than anything to kiss Frannie Dawes, to kiss her on the lips.

We were facing the sunset as we approached the edge of town. There was a broken band of clouds, which the sun had turned golden. Frannie said for me to stop walking and just look at that. "Just look at that," she said. I did and my hand found hers. I had never been so scared in my life. I looked over at her face. She was staring at the horizon at first, but then she looked at me. I don't know how it happened, but somehow I kissed Frannie Dawes. It was a quick kiss, our lips barely touching, but it felt like a gift. Then we walked on, my heart racing around my chest.

1 September The cave was located south of town. Errol, Frannie, and I were there at about dusk. We waited, watching the opening from about fifty yards away. A bat flew out and into the pink sky. Then another and then a swarm. A cloud of bats, their wings grabbing the air and pushing it behind them, sounding together to make a huge scream in the night. Buzzing. My mouth was open at the sight and when I realized it, I shut it. I glanced over at Frannie. Her eyes were so beautiful and full of wonder and I wondered if I could ever look that beautiful to someone. Errol was standing slightly in front of us. He couldn't keep still. He bounced on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. He was so excited by the sight. He said, "Look at that! Would you look at that?!" Then he turned to look at us. Frannie had reached over and taken my hand. Errol saw our fingers tangled together. He gave my eyes a quick brush with his and then turned back to the bats.

"Bats can't see," Errol said. "They're blind and they have sonar, just like navy ships. Some people are afraid of them, but they won't hurt you."

"They give me the creeps," Frannie said, and she held my hand a little tighter.

"That's because you're a girl," Errol snapped.

"They give me the creeps, too," I said.

"Like I said." Errol sighed out a breath. "Come on, let's go back to town."

1 September The circus came. It came into our little town as a parade, music blaring from a marching band, and elephants stomping the streets, leaving them wet with dung and the smell of the circus. We watched the clowns tumble by. We watched the ladies in the skimpy clothes ride by on horseback and we nudged each other with our elbows. We watched the man in the top hat point to us and beckon us to come. Trucks carrying the large cages with the lions and tigers rolled by us. We watched them all the way through town and out to the western edge where they set up camp. Their big tents were beautiful with the sun sinking down behind them. The sounds of the animals rode the wind into the town that night and I went to sleep listening through my open window.

Errol and I sat forward in the bleachers, away from our parents, at the show. Frannie sat with her mother, father, and little brother. We ate popcorn while we waited for the show to start.

"What is it with you and Frannie?" Errol asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I saw you holding her hand."

I was embarra.s.sed. "So?"

Errol looked back at the empty center ring. "I just saw you, that's all."

Then the lights went down and a spotlight came down on the ringmaster. We edged forward on our seats. He lifted his hat to us and introduced the acts and we laughed when the clowns fell and slapped each other and we gasped when the acrobats rolled through the air to be caught in the nick of time by another. And then the lion tamer came out. He was a great big man and he cracked his whip loudly. But it was the cats that captured me and I saw the same thing on Errol's face when I glanced over at him. There were two African lions and a tiger. The tiger was gigantic, much larger than I would have imagined. If the lions had been without manes, then the tiger would have dwarfed them.

The tamer walked confidently around the inside of the big cage. He was wearing a rhinestone-studded vest and so the huge muscles of his arms were plain for all of us to see. He cracked his whip once, twice, three times, and the cats, after a brief complaint, all climbed up on their stools. The tamer shouted unintelligible commands at them with his booming voice. The low growls of the lions clawed into the crowd and I could feel the power, but the tiger was silent. When the audience was oohing and aahing over the tamer placing his head into a lion's mouth, I looked over at the tiger and found the animal staring at me. Amber eyes fixed on me. Unmoving.

1 September The tiger's eyes burned there. A glance at Errol let me know that he was not seeing what I was seeing. Looking at the tiger caused everything else to disappear. The tamer seemed to do all of his tricks with the lions and left the tiger to stare at me. Then the big man approached the tiger and popped his whip. The report made me jump, but the tiger didn't move a muscle. The tamer snapped the leather cord again and still there was no acknowledgment from the striped cat. The tamer looked to where the cat was looking and he saw me. He looked angry and he said something to the tiger. I couldn't hear his words, only the quality of his sounds, but whatever it was he said, he got the tiger's attention. The tiger looked at him and before anyone knew what had happened, the tamer was on the ground in a pool of blood. The big iron gate swung open by itself and the big tiger stepped out of the cage. People screamed and ran, some down to the aisles and out, pushing and trampling, and others scurried up to the top of the bleachers, packing in together with nowhere to go. I don't know which way Errol ran, but I stayed put, right there in the front row. No one was near me. I watched the tiger rip open the arm of a circus roadie who was trying to toss a net over him. Another roadie was reluctantly trying to draw a bead on the cat with a rifle. The screaming and shouting fused into a kind of meaningless roar. Then the cat was standing in front of me. I heard my mother's voice pierce the deadened hush. The tiger turned his enormous head and took my body into his mouth, closed his jaws about my waist. But he didn't bite down, though I could feel the coolness of several of his teeth against the skin of my back and sides.

1 September The tiger carried me in his mouth down the aisle toward the exit. I looked up and saw my mother in the crowd on the bleachers, her face frozen in a scream, but I couldn't hear any sound coming out of her. I could hear only the raspy breathing of the big cat. I saw my father trying to push and weave through the pulsing tangle of bodies. People scurried for cover on tops of trucks and cars and behind refuse barrels and small boulders as we pa.s.sed. I could feel the pad of each footfall against the stiff ground. Errol was standing in the bed of a pickup with his father and I could see that he wanted to run to my rescue, but was being held back. Then, in his face, I could see that Errol did not want to save my life, but that he wanted to sever my connection to the cat. He was not concerned about my welfare. He was jealous. I stared at his eyes as the tiger carried me past him. I smiled.

But where was the animal taking me? I began to grow fearful. I found it remarkable that this was my first pang of concern for myself. I was just coming to realize that the cat had captured me, that it was not the other way around. The tiger carried me off into the night, toward the big wash.

1 September.

As I was being carried between the teeth, I tried to remember everything I knew about tigers. I didn't know much. I knew that tigers had poor vision. I knew that they had a weak sense of smell. I knew that they hunted by sound. I knew that they were aggressive hunters. I knew they were sometimes man-eaters. The cat put me down near some large rocks and walked away a few steps, then dropped to the ground, seemingly exhausted. I was too afraid to stand or even sit up. I moved my foot barely an inch, my toes moving a pebble on the ground not quite enough to push it from its spot in the sand, and the tiger let out a warning rasp of breath, a sound that was not quite a roar, but substantially more than a purr. So, I lay as still as possible, trying to slow my breathing and calm my heart. I wondered how long it would be before my father came for me. I wondered if some man from the circus was at that moment drawing a bead on the cat with a scoped rifle loaded with a dart. I kept seeing Errol's face.

1 September The tiger and I slept and morning came. I had been cold all night, but for some reason I was able to sleep through until light. The tiger got up and paced a circle around me. Then I heard the voice of the circus master of ceremonies. He was calling my name and I could tell he was drawing nearer. He got closer and closer and the tiger heard him, too. I called out to him and told him to stay away. But he came anyway. The tiger roared, his big noise echoing off the rocks, but he came anyway. The big cat hissed at him when he was in sight, but the master of ceremonies came anyway. He was just yards from me, reaching out to me, calling me by my full name, telling me he was going to take me to my parents. Then the tiger ran at him. The tiger bit into his stomach and he screamed out some name I didn't know. I cried out into the morning air. The tiger clawed at his face, erased it. The tiger glanced at me, then lapped at the man's life, licked up the red juice of his existence.

1 September The tiger and I slept again until the sun was straight overhead and the heat was considerable. The tiger got up and paced circles around me once more. Then I heard the voice of Errol. He was calling my name and I could tell he was drawing nearer. He got closer and closer and the tiger heard him, too. I called out to him and told him to stay away. But he came anyway. The tiger roared, his big noise echoing off the rocks, but he came anyway. The big cat hissed at him when he was in sight, but my best friend came anyway. He was just yards from me, reaching out to me, telling me that I was his best friend and that he would save me. Then the tiger ran at him. The tiger bit into his stomach and he screamed out Frannie's name. I cried out into the afternoon air. The tiger clawed at his face, erased it. The tiger glanced at me, then lapped at Errol's life, licked up the red juice of his existence.

1 September It was late summer, just days before school would start. That perfect time. The heat was just so.

The tiger and I slept again until the sun was starting down in the west. I could feel the air beginning to cool just a little. The tiger got up and paced circles around me once more. I had grown accustomed to it. Then I heard the voice of my mother. She was calling my name and I could tell she was drawing nearer. She got closer and closer and the tiger heard her, too. I called out to her and told her to stay away. But she came anyway, saying that I was a baby and that she loved me. The tiger roared, his big noise echoing off the rocks, but she came anyway. The big cat hissed at her when she was in sight, but my mother came anyway. She was just yards from me, reaching out to me, telling me that I was her reason for living. Then the tiger ran at her. The tiger bit into her stomach and she screamed out my father's name. I cried out into the evening air. The tiger clawed at her face, erased it. The tiger glanced at me, then lapped at my mother's life, licked up the red juice of her existence.

1 September.

The night sky was lavender in the west and a deep purple in the east. It was late summer, just days before school would start. My mother's body parts lay with those of Errol and the master of ceremonies.

The tiger and I had been sleeping again, our bodies touching. The air was stiffly cold and there was a persistent wind. The tiger got up, but did not pace this time, instead he sat beside me, sniffing the breeze. Then I heard the voice of my father. He was calling my name and I could tell he was drawing nearer. He got closer and closer and the tiger heard him, too. I called out to him and told him to stay away, told him what had happened to Mother. But he came anyway, saying that I was his son and that he would protect me. The tiger roared, his big noise echoing off the rocks, but he came anyway. The big cat hissed at him when he was in sight, but my father came anyway. He was just yards from me, reaching out to me, telling me that he would save me. Then the tiger ran at him. The tiger bit into his stomach and he screamed out my name. I cried out into the night. The tiger clawed at his face, erased it. The tiger glanced at me, then lapped at my father's life, licked up the red juice of his existence.

1 September.

The tiger was asleep. It was late summer, just days before school would start and it was snowing in the desert. I walked a circle around the sleeping beast, kicking through the bones and flesh of my life, the parts of my friend and my mother and my father and of someone I did not know, but who had come to try to save me. The blood of my father stuck to the sole of my shoe and made a kissing sound. I stepped on my mother's delicate fingers.

Randall Randall..

RANDALL HALPERN RANDALL.

189 Wayland Avenue, Apt. 51.

Providence, Rhode Island 8:10 a.m., Sunday, November 23, 1980.

Miss Holly Diehl.

Apt. 41 189 Wayland Avenue Providence, RI.

Dear Holly:.

I am distressed that it has come to this. I had hoped that there would be no reason for me to compose this letter, but it seems the matter at hand will not straighten itself out, considering this morning's condition in the driveway rear of this building.

Please permit me to state MY SIDE of the matter in question!!!

My dear wife, a good woman who knits constantly and who makes baby booties for people she doesn't even know, has enjoyed over 20 years of extremely peaceful and harmonious relations with the tenants in this building, and I certainly have tried my best to preserve such a condition in spite of some recent goings-on, such as door slamming by tenants on the fourth and sixth floors, etc.

We have attempted to quietly and without disturbing anyone else, on any floor, take care of the rubbish and/or garbage from our apartment ... to the large green Dumpster, as detailed in our lease and yours ... daily (not just weekends as you seem to have deduced per Claudia!). However, I usually do it ... and a major reason is that Claudia suffered a fracture to her kneecap (patella) some time back when she fell on some ice outside the convenience store and had to wear a brace for weeks. And of course I have thrombophlebitis, as did our late president Mr. Nixon, two years ago throughout my left leg and must watch myself when descending the 87 steps down to the first floor and out the rear door of this building!!!

I contacted Mr. Harry Bottoms following your "to whom it may concern" note (which I still have in my possession) and asked him WHO was probably the nicest and most quiet and agreeable tenant in the building-aside from him and Lucy. He said without pause that it is YOU!!! That is WHY I could not understand HOW any such fine person would block the rear door to prevent pa.s.sage to the big green Dumpster...... aside from the probability that the fire department could NEVER get in in case of a fire in the building!!! I remember vividly when those yellow lines were painted, and I NEVER saw any car in that area right up close blocking the door until your car was there!!!

You KNOW that once I stopped into your fine apartment and was received most cordially, and enjoyed speaking with you about your plants and collection of small dinner bells, etc. I could NOT somehow believe that it was YOUR car (never thought it was for one minute) that was blocking us from the Dumpster.

I was planning to seek you out for a discussion of the matter, but the condition, and it was a condition and not a situation as my wife insists, was so serious this morning that I had to state MY side of the case to Mr. Pluckett!!! I HOPE that this will be the end of it-and that my poor wife won't have to cart our waste out and around, so publicly, around three (3) sides of the building to reach the Dumpster!!! Mr. Bottoms was just up here again-Claudia spoke with him at length only to discover that you and others have accused me of overreacting. Please do not speak about me further and I shall do the same for you.

Sincerely, R.H.R.

P.S.-I don't care what you or anyone else thinks, I am NOT a "troublemaker" and want a peaceful home just as you no doubt do. I DO try to be alert, however, because there have been several burglaries in the 27 years Claudia has been here and the 16 years that I have been here. And of course the Osco drugstore was broken into again last week.

Randall folded the letter and sealed it in an envelope. He waved it in the air in front of his wife's face as if to say, "This should take care of it."

"It's not such a big deal, Randall," Claudia said.

"What if I were breaking the rule?" Randall asked. "What if it was me? You think it would just be let go? No, it wouldn't." He sat down at the kitchen table and scratched at a chip in the Formica. "No, it wouldn't and I'll tell you why. It's because she's a young woman and Pluckett's a dirty old man."

Claudia slapped a skillet onto a burner of the gas stove. She laughed.

"Shut up."

"I bet old Pluckett is down there right now having a little party with Miss Diehl." She melted b.u.t.ter in the pan while she opened the refrigerator.

"I only want one egg this morning," Randall said.

"Bacon or sausage?"

"Sausage."

"We're out of sausage," Claudia said.

"Then why did you ask me?"

She put the bacon on the counter next to the carton of eggs. "I wanted to give you a choice."

"But I didn't have a choice."

"You chose, didn't you? You just made the wrong choice." She cracked an egg into the hot skillet. It sizzled.

"Well, I don't want bacon," Randall said.

"Then I won't make you any."

He looked at her in her lavender robe and cream-colored slippers. She was dressed in street clothes, but still she wore that robe over them and those slippers. He hated the way the heels of her feet looked, hard and callused, white, porous.

"Do you want toast?"

"Is there any bread?"

"Yes."

"Then, yes, I want toast."

Claudia flipped one of the eggs. "I broke your yolk," she told him. She lit a cigarette and put the lighter back down on the sill above the sink.

"I want to put plastic runners down over the carpet in the front room," Claudia said.

"Plastic runners?"

"To protect the carpet from wear."

Randall laughed. "Wear? Oh, yeah, from all the visitors we get."

Claudia fell silent as she slid the eggs onto the plates. She pulled the bread from the toaster and put breakfast in front of Randall. She sat with him at the table.

Randall b.u.t.tered his toast. "This neighborhood is going to h.e.l.l."

Claudia tore her toast and dipped a corner of it into the yolk of her egg.

"Gangs and drugs," Randall said. "Punks." He watched Claudia eat for a while. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me."

"Something's wrong," he said.

"I'll tell you what's wrong. I don't have anybody to talk to. That's what's wrong."

"Here we go again," Randall sighed it out. "I'm talking to you right now."

Claudia continued to eat.

Randall put his fork down. "Listen, I'm going out to get my medicine. Is there any money in the house?"

Claudia looked up at him. "In my purse."

"What?"

"There's some money in my purse," she repeated.

Randall went into the front room and grabbed Claudia's pocketbook from the buffet. He brought it back to the doorway of the kitchen and found the money in it. "Do you need anything while I'm out?"

"No."