Day of the Bomb

by Steve Stroble

  “That’s just it. All winter long he was gone by seven every morning looking for sidewalks and driveways to clear the snow off of. Then he always went to Tom’s Diner to eat dinner. He said the daily specials are just too good to pass up. Then he looked for odd jobs all over downtown. He got home for supper about 4:30 only because by then it was getting dark.”

  “At least he’s not lazy. He reminds me of my daddy, the way he’s willing to work any job that comes his way.”

  Thelma wiped her tears with her embroidered apron and sighed. “I guess you’re right. I’d plumb go off the deep end if it weren’t for you being my friend.”

  “Truth be told, I need you just as much as you need me. For some reason you’re the only one I trust enough to talk about family. All my neighbors and the ladies at church gossip like a bunch of hens pecking some weak chicken to death. I’m not going to be pecked by them.”

  “It’s no different for me. Old Mrs. Thorndike was wagging her tongue so hard after church last Sunday that I thought it might break off.”

  When the life inside of her moved Thelma grabbed Sally’s hand and placed it on her womb. “Feel that? Mom says it’s a boy for sure the way he kicks all the time.”

  Sally smiled as the tiny legs thumped against her hand. “I guess that means maybe mine is a boy, too.” She patted her round abdomen with her other hand. “But all he does so far is make me throw up every morning.”

  ***

  Jason’s daily habits appeared strange to more than just Thelma. No matter which job he worked – demolition, remodeling, new construction – he brought home every scrap of building material. His quarter-acre lot, which lay just outside of the city limits, now resembled a junkyard. Lumber of every size and length, shingles, bricks, and pipes and fixtures were all stacked in separate piles, which Jason considered adequate storage of salvage. Some citizens of Madisin did not. One such grievance was aired at a monthly city council meeting.

  “Now that the snow has melted off all of Jason Dalrumple’s trash is exposed.” Mrs. Walengrad waged a forefinger. “You simply must cite him.”

  Mayor Chet Flingler, a voting member of the city council, grimaced and turned to the four seated beside him but none came to his rescue. “We’ve told you before, Mattie. The Dalrumples live outside the city limits. Madisin has no jurisdiction over their property. You have to take your gripe to the county.”

  “The county?” She abandoned the podium set up in front of the council for public input and marched to the long table that protected the council from her wrath. Her head spun back and forth as she made certain all five members paid attention to her every word. “The county seat is a good sixty miles from here. Why should I have to go all the way there when the problem is right in our own backyard?” Her forefinger jabbed at each member. The most timid one flinched and cleared his throat.

  “I have to head over there on business next Tuesday, Mattie. I’d be glad to give you a ride.”

  For the first time since the gavel had signaled the start of the meeting, Mattie smiled. “That’s more like it. At least one of you is civic minded enough to take pride in Madisin’s outskirts. Mark my word. The way we’re growing it won’t be long before we incorporate Jason Dalrumple’s property and far beyond it. Then you’ll have to do as I say.”

  Fred often attended such meetings, more for business than civic reasons. Before and after them he would wander through the audience to “make sure all your insurance needs are up to date.” Because he was driving home from his three-week swing through Texas and parts of the Southeast he had missed Mattie’s fireworks. But Sally filled him on Mrs. Walengrad’s campaign to beautify Madisin.

  “Fred, you’re the only one Jason listens to.”

  He gagged on his piece of toast. “To hear Jason tell it, he listens to Thelma nonstop.”

  “Very funny, wise guy. You are the only one he respects enough to take advice from.”

  “Oh? Then why did he only buy a $50,000 policy when I told him he needed a $150,000 one? Now that his kid has been born he needs that much. If Jason were to die today poor Thelma and Stanley would be hurting without his income coming in. Why’s she have to nag him anyway? He works his butt off for her and Stanley. Isn’t that enough? What do you women want from us?”

  “I know he does. But it’s like he’s obsessed with working. Just like you are.”

  “Maybe working is good for him. Listen, I had it pretty damn easy during the war. None of the ships I was on got torpedoed and sunk. That kamikaze plane killed a bunch of men when it hit our deck but all I got was a few pieces of metal in my legs.” He patted the scars left as reminders. “Jason? That poor fool landed on one too many islands, okay? How would you like to go ashore with shells and bullets flying so thick that if you stand up a second too soon or too late you’re dead?”

  Sally stared at the white-laced tablecloth. “Actually, Thelma and me think it was Monkey Island that made Jason go crazy. He was on that one for almost a year all alone.”

  “Monkey Island? He never even talks about it to me.”

  “He does in his sleep.”

  “Oh?” Fred put down his cup and leaned forward. “What’s he say?”

  “It’s all crazy talk. Thelma says it sounds like he and Kong are acting out a movie.”

  He picked his fork up and sliced a link of sausage. “That’s all? I thought maybe he was talking to some Polynesian babe that he had as a girlfriend there. Thelma should be glad.”

  She grabbed the large cloth napkin from her lap and hurled it at her husband. He ducked. Karl clapped at his parents’ antics. “You make daddy look like a clown, Mommy.”

  Fred stood, retrieved the napkin, and handed it to her. “Got to get going. I have an appointment at Mr. Gilmore’s office. He’s thinking of offering his employees a health insurance plan. Lucky for him Heartland is expanding into other lines. Wish me luck.”

  Sally followed him out the back door to the unattached garage. “Please, Fred. Could you at least talk to Jason when comes over tomorrow to give us a bid?”

  He hesitated as the wooden door swung open and its hinges groaned. The six-foot by six-foot piece of plywood missed Sally’s head by two inches. “All right already. I’ll do it.”

  Years later, Jason would swear that it was Fred’s nonstop sales pitch that led to the fight.

  “Now that you have a son you really need to raise your life insurance policy to $150,000, Jason.”

  “What for? I don’t plan on dying any time soon.”

  “But what if you did? Your $50,000 policy would last Thelma and Stanley ten years at most. If you factor in inflation a $150,000 policy would take care of them for at least fifteen, maybe even twenty years if they live frugally.”

  Jason spun around and shook a tape measure at Fred. “Will you shut up? I’m trying to work up a bid, you ninny.”

  “Ninny? You’re the ninny, you dumb bunny. This isn’t Monkey Island; it’s the real world. Grow up.”

  Jason shoved Fred. “Ha! Big bad Ensign Rhinehardt! You ain’t nothing but a sissy. Look how long it took me to get you to go with me to take care of business with Darryl. All you had to do was be the referee. It was me who beat the tar out of him. I did it for both Thelma and Sally because you were too chicken, Momma’s boy.”

  Fred pulled his right hand past his head as it became a fist. “I ought to…”

  “Go ahead, Momma’s boy. You ain’t man enough.”

  Instead, Fred lunged at his tormentor and grabbed his neck with both hands. His vise-like grip stopped all air from reaching Jason’s lungs. He fell backward, which pulled his attacker on top of him. By the time the scuffle’s noise reached the attic and Tim Dalrumple and Sally, Jason had passed out. When they reached the fight Jason’s face was shades of purple and blue. It took both of them to pull Fred off of Jason. Tim lifted his son to a sitting position and pounded on his back as Sally slapped Fred.

  “I told you to talk to him, not kill him.”

  Fred’s h
ead bobbled. “Huh? What are talking about? I was just giving that Jap what he deserved is all. It was payback for all our ships his damn torpedoes sunk.”

  Sally threw up her hands and retreated toward the shade behind the garage. “You’re crazier than he is.” She screamed as tears soaked her cheeks. “Sometimes I wish both of you were still off somewhere in your uniforms. You men always got nothing better to do but fight and die. It was that way for my mom. Dad went off to two wars.”

  Jason’s body convulsed as fresh air seeped back into his deflated lungs. “Is that you, Dad? What happened?”

  “I was minding my own business looking at the attic with Sally when we heard something that sounded like two tom cats spitting and clawing at each other. So we hightailed it on down here and found Fred choking the life out of you.”

  “Oh. Yeah, now I remember.”

  “Did you start it?”

  Jason turned away from his father’s piercing brown eyes. “Uh…”

  “I thought as much.” Tim moved his son’s head from his lap to the softness of Kentucky bluegrass and weeds. “Sally?” He walked over to the lawn chairs by the garage. Her face was buried on her knees. “I want to apologize, Sally. It was Jason’s fault.”

  Tim’s features looked blurry through the last of her tears. “Jason’s fault?”

  “Yeah.” Tim squatted next to her favorite chair. “I’m afraid it’s nothing new. The whole time Jason was growing up he would tease his older brothers until they would start wailing away on him. Looks like Jason never learnt his lesson, I reckon. Now that John is in heaven and Leroy is living up in Detroit Jason doesn’t have anybody to try and get their goat. Looks like he tried to get Fred’s goat for the first time today.”

  “But that still doesn’t mean Fred should kill him.”

  “I know. Let’s let them straighten things out while we go back up into the attic and figure out how best to make it into a bedroom for that little one you got tucked away in the oven.” He pointed at her round midsection, which looked as if it carried a bowling ball.

  She smiled. “Okay.”

  Tim hooked Fred’s arm and dragged him to Jason, who was wobbling his arms as he stood. “Okay, Jason. Rule number one?”

  “Time is money.”

  “Rule number two?”

  “No fighting on the job.”

  “Good. I was afraid maybe Fred might have choked the little bit of wisdom out of you that I’ve spent decades trying to put inside your head.” He patted his son’s grass filled hair. “You two go on inside and have a cool drink of water and settle your differences. Then get your skinny little butt back out here and finish measuring up under the eaves like I told you to do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fred waited until they were seated at the kitchen table before speaking. “I’m sorry, Jason. I don’t know why I snapped like I did. I thought you were a Jap.”

  Jason rubbed the bruises on his throat. “It was because I tried to get your goat. Dad’s right. I always was a troublemaker. I guess that’s why I liked Monkey Island so much. With nobody else around I was able to stay out of trouble for a change.”

  The rest of the morning was spent with husband and wife trying to verbalize what they wanted while the two craftsmen listened, conferred among themselves, and envisioned whether their customers’ wishes were doable. It was noon before Tim could talk them down to reality.

  “Look, folks. If we take off the roof and put on a second story then we have to put a whole new roof back on.”

  “How much would it be?” Sally folded her arms.

  Tim shrugged. “I can’t give you an exact figure until I price out the lumber, shingles, wallboard, doors, and everything else. But it would be in the range of $4,000 to $7,000, depending on how many windows you want and how much of a pitch you want on the new roof.”

  “But $4,000 is more than Fred makes in a year!” Sally walked away from them and stared at the roof.

  “Look, I know she had her heart set on having a bedroom and sewing room added on,” Tim said. “How much can you afford?”

  “Only about $1,500.” Fred blushed. “With the new baby coming and all the tires and gas I buy to sell insurance we can’t go any higher. Sally stuck it out the factory as long as she could but the doctor told us she might lose the baby if she kept working there. And she’s staying home once it’s born. Maybe we should just build one of those bomb shelters instead. At least I could dig up the ground for it.”

  Tim rubbed his chin. “No way you can put the new little one’s crib in a bomb shelter. First things first. You all need more space, simple as that. There’s only one way we could do it for $1,500 but it would mean keeping the old roof on. Nothing wrong with that though. The shingles are still good for eight, maybe nine years.”

  “Keep the roof on?”

  “Yeah. We’d cut through the rafters a section at a time and raise the roof with jacks. Then we could support the raised section with three-foot long four by fours. After we get the exterior boards nailed off on the raised section we’ll just move on to the next section and do the same thing all over again. Another thing is we won’t put in the interior walls just yet. You can have just one big room until you’re ready for the interior walls to be added later on. The rate you’re going you’ll probably end up with more than just two kids.”

  Fred shrugged. “You really think you can do it for $1,500?”

  “Let me price it on out at the lumber yard. I’ll call you back as soon as I can put the numbers down on paper.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Fred shook the contractors’ hands.

  “Sorry about getting your goat, Fred. I won’t do it again.” Jason stared at his feet.

  “Thanks for not being sore about me choking you.”

  Tim waited until Jason had pulled his truck in front of the farmstead to invite him inside. Jason studied the forty acres of farmland that surrounded the house in which he had been born. “How come you don’t have the fields plowed up yet?”

  “There was a fog last night. That means there’s going to be a frost in May, which means I won’t be planting until after that frost which means I can let the soil sit and rest a spell. I’ll plow it up the end of April.”

  “Oh.”

  Tim led his son to the nine-foot long dining room table and pointed at the map of the world spread out on it. “What do you see over that direction?” His hand swept westward from Wake Island and stopped on China.

  “Monkey Island.” Jason pointed at the specks labeled Marshall Islands. “Only they probably don’t show it on here since it’s so small. But it’s right about there.” His finger tapped where his dreams, night and day, took him.

  Tim groaned. “You ever hear about living in the past?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, you got a real bad case of it.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah. Son, the war’s over and done with. You best start thinking on the next one because most likely you could end up in that one too.”

  “What do you mean? I thought that United Nations they’re starting up was going to stop all the wars.”

  “Fat chance. Look again.” His hand covered China on the map.

  “China? What they got to do with us?”

  “Plenty. Look, they fought against the Japs for about ten years. Now some guy named Mao wants to take over. He’s a commie. If he does take over he’ll have a country that’s been destroyed by war.”

  “That’s his problem.”

  “Son, they got more people in China to feed than anywhere else. He’s going to have to go in to some other country next door to him and make those folks hand over what they grow.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Who knows? All I’m saying is you could end up off at another war before too long.”

  “Sure hope not. There probably isn’t any other place like Monkey Island for me to hole up in again.”

  “In the meantime, you best be watching your back.”

  �
��Huh?”

  “The word’s out that Darryl is still sore at you and talking about how he’s going to get even with you.”

  Jason stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “How big is Madisin?”

  “About 12,000 or so.”

  “Every town that size has one hobby that all its folks share, gossiping. You know that. Darryl talks about you when he’s had one too many over at Joe’s Bar. Wilbur heard it and told his wife. She told Darlene who told her husband who told me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Like I said. Watch your back.”

  Chapter 16

  “I’m sorry sir, but without an appointment we can’t let you in.”

  Dave Freight shrugged. “I understand.” You bet I do. My boss back at Los Alamos probably got my name put on some kind of security risk list. Maybe…Ah, who cares? I’m hungry. He exited the office and trudged to the only road leading to and from the huge telescope.

  A scientist going home after his shift at the observatory stopped to give him a ride down the windy road.

  “You work at Mount Palomar?” Dave asked as he settled into the passenger’s seat.

  “Yeah. Where you headed?”

  “To the first place with food. I’m starved.”

  “The Palomar Gardens isn’t too far down the road. I can drop you off there.”

  To salvage what little remained of his expectations, Dave asked the driver what it was like to peer through one of the most powerful telescopes on Earth into the reaches of the universe. The astronomer’s descriptions made Dave’s soul hungrier than his body by the time he reached the Palomar Gardens and took a seat at its counter. He ordered a burger and soda for his empty stomach and a bit of conversation for his soul, receiving more than he had imagined possible.

  “What’s that thing?” He pointed at a photo pinned to a wall.

  “A mother ship.”

  “A what?”

  “You know. A big flying saucer.”

  “Looks more like a blimp to me.” Dave stood and leaned closer to the photo. “Nah. More like a cigar than a blimp.”

  “I told you already. It’s a mother ship. Nothing fake about that photo. I guarantee it.”

  “All right, wise guy. What exactly is a mother ship?”

  “You know. It’s the big flying saucer that carries all of the little flying saucers around. Sort of like an aircraft carrier up in the sky.”