Knife Fight and Other Struggles

by Knife Fight

  The space behind the dumpster was choked with a high drift of powdery snow, and Leonard and Susie dug away enough of it so they could all squeeze in. “Everybody here?” said Leonard. “Then good. Here’s the plan.”

  Leonard unzipped his Ninja Turtle backpack and began handing out the equipment. That morning, Leonard had glued together four wooden crosses from Popsicle sticks, and he passed them around. He hadn’t been able to find any garlic, but his mother used garlic salt on everything, and before school he made a quick pass by the spice rack. He threw the salt on everyone, then pocketed the shaker and took out his G.I. Joe canteen. All the Catholic kids in town went to school down by the river at St. Cyprian’s and wouldn’t even talk to public school kids, so Leonard had filled his canteen at the drinking fountain in the Presbyterian church his parents went to. The holy water tasted stale and plasticky, but according to every one of Mr. Hammer’s Drakeela movies you had to have it, so they all took a swig anyway.

  Then Leonard handed out the rulers.

  They were twelve-inch wooden rulers from the Grade One-Two classroom down the hall and were covered in drawings of machine guns and jet airplanes and trucks. Leonard and Jason had worked on these all Sunday afternoon in Jason’s dad’s garage. Now, where they would have said “12,” the rulers were sharpened to a point. Jason said, “Watch out for slivers.” Lucy giggled but Leonard said, “Mind what Jason says,” in a voice that was very grown-up even for Leonard. Lucy stopped giggling and paid attention.

  “These are for the drakeela,” said Leonard, holding up the rulers. “They go straight into his heart, just like on TV.”

  Next he lifted the cross.

  “The drakeela’s ascared of these, so if he comes at you, hold it up.”

  He held the cross in front of him to demonstrate, then put it away too.

  “Don’t look in its eyes. It doesn’t like mirrors. Stay together. Drakeelas getcha when you’re alone. Drakeelas hate daytime. You can’t shoot it with guns ’cause it just laughs. You ready?”

  Jason nodded first, then Susie and finally Lucy.

  On a bathroom trip that morning, Susie had propped open the door to the gym, and now she skipped around the dumpster and pulled it open.

  With Leonard taking the lead, the four of them filed into the dark gymnasium.

  When they came to the door to kindergarten, Lucy said she was scared and wanted to wait for Mrs. Shelby to get back from the Staff Room.

  “That won’t work, dummy,” said Jason. “She’s the teacher, she’ll make us stop.”

  Leonard didn’t even comment. He lifted his cross and pulled the door open a crack.

  The drakeela had turned off the lights and shut the blinds when everyone left, and the rooms beyond were shadows of black and grey. He opened the door wider, so they could all see. The classroom, at the far end of kindergarten, was only visible in the dusty light that filtered through the venetian blinds. Closer, the little corridor that led to the washrooms and the cloakroom was impenetrably dark.

  Leonard stepped inside, and motioned the others to follow. Their snow pants whisked nervously as they moved along the corridor into the cloakroom. They left a trail of dirty water and their boots squeaked. Ahead in the dark, Susie heard a sound like flies.

  “Shhh!” hissed Leonard, and held his hand to Jason’s chest as though they were a pair of G.I.s sneaking up on an enemy camp. The buzzing oscillated—loud and soft, high and low. Lucy was still scared, but she kept quiet.

  The fly-sounds stopped abruptly as they entered the cloakroom. Now all four of them had their crosses out, and they held them high in front, like the Sunday TV matinees by Mr. Hammer said to.

  “Think holy thoughts,” said Leonard. “They can’t getcha when you’re pure.”

  The light fixtures rattled in the ceiling over their heads, and Susie gasped as she realized: the drakeela was moving, over their heads, back behind them.

  “It’s getting away!” Susie squealed, and in spite of herself Lucy giggled again. The rattle in the fixtures stopped, and an instant later they heard the claw-on-metal sound of the drakeela crawling over the ductwork in the main room.

  “Get him!” yelled Leonard.

  “Come on!” Jason hollered.

  Hearts pounding, the four of them turned on their heels and, slipping only a little through the muddy water trail they’d left coming in, ran back into the kindergarten. They were all breathless and hot in their snowsuits, and when they looked around, the drakeela was nowhere to be seen. Leonard frowned.

  “Drakeelas are tricky,” said Leonard. “Watch everywhere at once. You never know where they’ll be.”

  They watched everywhere at once. Lucy watched the toy cupboard, which was halfway open and so dark that it could be holding three drakeelas and she would never be able to tell. Susan watched the art table, draped in big sheets of construction paper that hung off the sides and wafted back and forth in the breeze from the radiators. Jason paid attention to the cloakroom hallway, which also led to the washrooms where the drakeela had pounced at least five times. Leonard kept his eyes up, watching the shadows of the blinds as they crisscrossed the ceiling.

  They watched everywhere, and all at once, but Leonard was right about the drakeela being tricky. It had hidden underneath Mrs. Shelby’s desk, where Mrs. Shelby put her knees. While the four of them watched the ceilings and cupboards and tables and washrooms, the drakeela cricked its back and bent its knees and with a breath like a winter wind pulled itself up to its full height over the desktop.

  “Hum!” Susie exclaimed, putting her hand to her mouth as she saw the drakeela and it saw her. Its feet were on Mrs. Shelby’s chair, so it loomed almost as high as a grown-up. Its big orange eyes glowed in the dim light, and its jaw clicked as it opened and closed. It made a noise like a little kitten. And then it started to buzz.

  Leonard swallowed hard. The drakeela reached down to the desktop, and its long-nailed fingers closed around something. It buzzed louder as it lifted the thing into the air, swooped it back and forth. Susie and Lucy had a hard time recognizing it, and Leonard wasn’t paying attention, but Jason got it immediately.

  The drakeela was holding the Concord. It was plastic and grimy; its stickers had been coming off since Halloween and it was not even as long as the twelve-inch ruler Jason held in his fist. Until Christmas, the Concord was Jason’s favourite toy in the toy cupboard. The drakeela stopped buzzing.

  “Play?” Its bright orange eyes blinked, and it leaned forward so far that Jason thought it might fall on its face. But the drakeela kept its balance and made the Concord do a loop-the-loop.

  “Hi,” said the drakeela. “Play?”

  Jason barely heard the twelve-inch ruler as it fell from his hand and clattered on the linoleum floor. He took a step toward the drakeela, and then another.

  “Sure,” said Jason. “Lemme see that.”

  He put out his hands, and the drakeela stretched and bent so that only its toes were touching the top of Mrs. Shelby’s desk. The drakeela’s clawed hands swung down on Jason, and he reached to the Concord that it held.

  “Wolton! “Leonard yelled. Wolton was Jason’s last name, and Leonard only used it when he was so mad he was going to beat Jason’s head in. This time, though, Leonard wasn’t mad. He only knew he had to get Jason’s attention away from the drakeela—when you look into a drakeela’s eyes, it’s got you. Leonard yelled “Wolton” again, and this time it got Jason’s attention.

  “Hey!” Jason looked away, and then he looked back, and then his face crumpled into a hot red ball and he started to cry. The drakeela remained above him, still offering the Concord.

  “Play. Here.” The drakeela pushed the Concord down on him. “Take it.”

  But Jason just sat down and wept. The other three stood and watched. Susie wanted to go and get Jason a Kleenex or something, but Lucy stopped her.

  Leonard was getting his cross ready.
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  “Come on. We got ’im.”

  The drakeela was almost on top of Jason now, pushing and prodding him with the wing of the Concord. The three of them lifted up their Popsicle-stick crosses and marched forward in a straight line.

  “Hey! Drakeela!” said Leonard. “Look at this!”

  The drakeela looked, and as it saw the three crosses its eyes became wide and round as pool balls. The drakeela dropped the Concord, lifted away from Jason and fell back against the desktop. Papers went flying as it scrambled to get away.

  “You like that?” yelled Leonard.” Stupid stupid drakeela head?”

  Lucy and Susie joined in, in sing-song:

  “Stupid stupid drakeela head,” they all sang as the drakeela stumbled off the far side of the desk.

  “Stupid stupid drakeela head,” they sang as Lucy and Leonard circled around either side of the desk. Jason wheezed and sobbed and picked up the twelve-inch ruler he’d dropped when the drakeela took control of his mind. Then he stood up and joined the chorus:

  “Stupid stupid drakeela head, stupid stupid drakeela head!”

  The drakeela managed to get to its feet before Lucy and Leonard could get around the desk. It had nearly made it to the toy cupboard by the time they had caught up with it. Susie touched her cross to the drakeela’s hand, and it screamed with a sound like a strangling kitten. When the wood came away, there was a burn mark on its knuckles, like it had been branded.

  The drakeela stuck its head into the cupboard and tried to get inside, but Leonard managed to get ahold of its legs. When it kicked, it nearly sent him flying. Leonard reached into his belt-loop for the twelve-inch ruler and tried to stick the drakeela with it, but it was too far inside.

  “I can’t hold on!” yelled Leonard.

  “I’m coming!” hollered Jason.

  “Wait for us!” squealed Lucy.

  It was a tough fight, but together, Lucy and Leonard and Susie and Jason managed to pull the drakeela out of the toy cupboard and lay it on its back. It thrashed back and forth, its legs going like pinwheels, and its fangs nearly gave Leonard a cut on his hand.

  Leonard got his twelve-inch ruler. He took a deep breath. Susie took hold of the pointed end and put it against the drakeela’s chest.

  “That’s where its heart is,” said Susie. “I know ’cause I’m a doctor.”

  The drakeela’s eyes were screwed shut. Its shoulders and knees trembled where Jason and Lucy held it pinned.

  “You’re not a doctor,” said Leonard.

  “Am too,” said Susie. “Ask Lucy. She’s a nurse.”

  Leonard was about to ask Lucy when a shudder went through the twelve-inch ruler and he almost lost his grip. The drakeela coughed, and its mouth spasmed open. Its two thin fangs slipped out from beneath its leathery lips for the barest instant. They looked like nails, Leonard thought. Little nails like his mom used to hang pictures in the living room.

  The drakeela’s lips folded back over its mouth, and its eyes opened. Their glow was diminished by shadows, but the eyes still reached up to Leonard. They pleaded, and tried to draw him down.

  “No way!” screamed Jason. He let go of the drakeela’s knees, reared up on his own knees and slammed his hand down on the top of the ruler. The fabric of the drakeela’s T-shirt pushed in as the tip of the ruler slipped over a rib, but Jason’s weight wasn’t enough to push the stake in by itself.

  Leonard shook his head rapidly and said, “That was close.” He put his hands on top of Jason’s and added his own weight.

  The drakeela’s T-shirt began to redden.

  Lucy let go of the drakeela’s shoulders and grabbed hold of the ruler as well. The drakeela flailed, and it snapped and bit and shrieked as the splintering tip of the ruler pierced its ribcage. It was harder than any of them had imagined—on Mr. Hammer’s matinees, the stake always went in after one or two whacks from a mallet, and the drakeela just hissed a bit before it got killed. Killing this drakeela was hard work.

  Finally, Susan piled on top. Combined, the weight of the four of them was enough to send the ruler the rest of the way into its chest, and the drakeela’s cold, congealing blood shot up like a geyser. Its eyes shut tight, then opened wide, and then they became still, their orange glow extinguished.

  Jason started to sob. He had pressed down too hard on top of the ruler when he jumped on it, and now his own hands were bleeding freely. The other three were fine, but hearing Jason, one by one they followed suit. Leonard was the last, and his tears came reluctantly.

  The recess bell rang at 10:50 a.m., but Mrs. Semple, the vice-principal, told the kids from the morning kindergarten to stay outside for a while longer. When one of the kids said she had to go to the bathroom, Mrs. Semple had one of the older children take her around to the big kids’ washrooms on the other side of the school.

  Mrs. Shelby stayed in the kindergarten until the police and the ambulance came. She ordered the hallway from the gym to the door to the schoolyard sealed off, so that no one could get to the kindergarten but her.

  She looked at little Timmy Slitzken for what seemed like a long time. They were all so small at this age, and this one . . . There was something precious in the special ones, wasn’t there? Mrs. Shelby knew that she should have called the parents already, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Not right away.

  The parents of the special ones had seen so much pain already. Who knew what Mr. Slitzken would do in the face of this tragedy? Mrs. Shelby felt a February chill as the door to the yard opened for the paramedics’ stretcher, and she shivered.

  BLACK HEN À LA FORD

  We cooked her, feathers and all, during the last hundred miles of that long drive to Agatha’s Perch . . . and oh, her fume filled the cab with such a wonderful, peaceable scent. One might drift off to sleep by it—and that is precisely what I did.

  I dreamed of the kitchen, hot with the afternoon sun and fire of the wood stove, the steam off the slowly cooling meat pies on the sill. . . . Gudrun, my dear sister, humming an old chant as she rolled out dough for more—out of sight, in the pantry. . . .

  Were it not for that, I almost might have forgotten—what I’d come to do.

  William had gutted her with an old scaling knife. After wiping the blood off, he applied the blade to coring crab-apples we’d filched from the same farm as we’d found her. He stuffed them up inside the cavity until she was ready to burst. He shoved salted roast peanuts and some pork rinds up between skin and breast, and he took two layers of thick-gauge tinfoil, wrapped her up tight and wedged her against the exhaust manifold. Then he turned the oven on—that’s to say the oven of his truck, by driving it fast on the straightaways and too fast on the turns, into the foothills, up to the Perch.

  “Black Hen à la Ford,” he said when he finally cracked the hood and pulled her free.

  She was hot in her bright shell, and he tossed that hen from hand to hand as we all gathered in the late afternoon haze, in the shade of that old house on the ridge.

  “Voila!” he hollered, and we all howled.

  William is a good grandson. Not the best, but I’d never dream of telling him that.

  There were a lot of grandchildren at the Perch already and more to arrive before nightfall. Grandchildren, and nieces and nephews—great-grandchildren, maybe even a great-great-grandchild.

  I lose track of them all, but I know the families: Alfred’s and Rainer’s, Kerr’s and Lars’s, and of course Gunnar’s.

  It was their turn this time. So of course they were there.

  Janet, Gunnar’s wife, had set up long tables on the front lawn, and dangled paper patio lanterns above them from the tree branches. She’d even arranged for two old blue plastic privies, side by side next to the old garden house.

  Not far from that, a long green hose dribbled water into the grass. It was a good idea; you could wash up after doing your business, without ever feeling need of setting foot indoors.
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  Janet took the chicken from William and ran up the path to the house so William could go to the back and get my things.

  There wasn’t much to get: just an old suitcase with a new frock and a set of iron fry-pans—wrapped up in newspaper and covered in a green garbage bag. I packed them myself two days back, with great care. Wouldn’t do for them to rust; it’d taken decades to season them right.

  William carried them in one trip to the long porch, set them down next to where Janet had laid his offering. Then it was off to the privy. It’d been a long drive and we’d only stopped the once. Janet took me by the arm, hauled me over to a big green Muskoka chair at the head of the first table.

  She said, “You look good, Granny Ingrid,” which I didn’t care for. No one tells good-looking people they look good.

  Janet, now. What Janet looked was tired. There were new lines around her eyes, and her face was red with sunburn. She had probably earned it. The drive was long enough for William and me. We weren’t hauling a trailer up the mountain road; there were no children in William’s truck. William was young enough to have reserves. I’m old enough to know my limits. Janet, stuck between us, would have wrung herself dry with work, and with worry.

  “Where are the girls?” I asked.

  She pointed over to the Lookout. My great-grandchildren were there, on their toes, peering over the stone wall that came up to their chins. That was good. The drop off the lookout was fierce and far, and Lars and his boys had built it so even a grown man would have to mean it, to tip over that edge.

  “They’re getting big,” said Janet. “Amanda’s going to be in high school next year.” She saw my perplexity, and pointed to the one on the left, coppery hair cropped short at her shoulders. She was bigger than I remembered. But it had been five years. One can’t expect time to stand still, where a child’s concerned.

  “Mandy. And Lizzie—” the smaller of the two, with darker hair braided down her back, was bending down to pick up a pebble “—is she talking yet?” I asked. Last time, Liz only spoke to scream, and there were no words. She was five years old. We’d made a chant then—one of so many—that she wouldn’t grow up a retard, but I hadn’t much hope for her.