“I don’t know,” he said. “It seems to me that’s the best thing about being human. The ability to question. The option to choose not to fit in, if you don’t want to.” He was thinking of Daisy, even now up in her attic, who didn’t fit in anywhere, and didn’t want to. Or yourself, so quick to dive into a fantasy land of your own creation when no one is around. “I’m not so ready to describe life as a gift. Maybe it’s a curse.”
“Cynical view,” Daddy said happily. “Young blighter like y’self.”
“I tend to think the real gift is the consciousness of who and what we are. I like being able to use the time here to puzzle it all out. I think that animals are actually worse off without the ability to think abstractly, not better. Ignorance isn’t bliss. It’s just living your life in a stupor.”
Daddy appeared to be listening intently, nodding his head. He seemed to be pleased by what he was hearing. “Pon my soul,” he said. “I think you might have something, young master. Interesting, extremely in-ter-est-ing, that you might say such a thing. If you’d allow us to return our conversation to its previous thread, I might remark again on my study of the rana catesbeiana, the reasonfor which you find me at this locale. Part of my fascination with the animal in question extends, in point of fact, to other subspecies to be found in these parts, including the rana clamitans, for one, or even the rana palustris, all having one thing in common, as might well be observed, each being amphibious, yes, both by nature and practice. You do know what amphibious means, don’t you? They do teach you that in school, at least?”
“I know what…”
“Y’see, I have what you might call a kinship with animals. Take that frog there, for instance.”
“What frog?”
“There. Right in front of us.” Tad looked where Daddy was pointing and saw nothing but lily pads. “Lands sake’s alive! There. Just to the left of that stick. Facing away from us.” And then Tad did see it, not two feet from the bank, a small green frog with dark flecks along its flank. He could see the white bulge of its throat pulsing rapidly, the moisture glistening on its skin. It was a young frog, less than a year old, still in the process of metamorphosis from tadpole to its mature form. While possessing all of the features of an adult, it still had a short length of tail, perhaps two inches, that it retained from its former appearance. He could see now, too, that it was afraid to move, having made the decision not to leap into the water when the two of them had approached. Now it was relying on camouflage to protect it. Daddy began to kneel down, bending his knees very slowly. The frog didn’t move. It’s like it’s paralyzed with fear. Or hypnotized. It did not jump. When Daddy had knelt down all the way there was a pause, during which time Tad stood by, watching. Daddy didn’t take his eyes from the frog. He leaned his head slightly to the left, holding his neck at a crooked, awkward angle. Then he reached out with his right hand, neither very fast nor very slow. His hand closed around the frog so that only its eyes and the tip of its nose could be easily seen, and then he began to lift it. As he rose up again to his normal height, Tad could see that the frog in his hand had begun to struggle. Daddy cupped his left hand now and held the thrashing frog between the two. Apparently its indifference to the proceedings had a limit. “Right funny it is,” Daddy said musingly. “How some’s so docile, others fight like ‘ell. They don’t know I’m trying not to hurt them.” Yeah. That’s some kinship you’ve got there. “Such a fascinating animal. Look. So vulnerable when they’re young.” He pointed to a spot a few feet into the water, where squadrons of tadpoles darted about, dark dots with tails, zooming through patches of sunlight in the shallows. To Tad they did seem small, defenseless. “Susceptible to the wiles of so many predators. Very few make it to the next stage. This way.” He began walking again, moving slowly to the left along the bank. “There.” Tad looked. Again, he did not see it first. He scoured the area that Daddy seemed to be indicating for several moments before finally picking out the animal in question. It was floating on the surface with most of its body submerged, neither tadpole nor frog. Its tail still made up most of its body, and its back legs were small and underdeveloped. “Still with few natural weapons,” Daddy said. Tad could see the frog battering itself against the insides of its clammy prison. Its captor, his hands clasped tightly together, seemed not to notice. As they watched, the tailed frog dove down and out of sight, causing a weedy tremor in the water. “Only when they get to this point,” he said, raising his hands to show the frog trapped inside, “can they count themselves truly prepared to battle the natural enemies they encounter out there in the world. They’ll have the weapons it takes. Agility. Virtual invisibility from those that would do them harm.”
“You handled him pretty easily. He didn’t have a defense against you.”
“Very true. But then, I’m not a natural enemy.”
“Natural or not, you are an enemy. He’s put himself in a position where you can crush him, if you feel like it. He wasn’t able to prevent that. So he failed.”
“But I mean him no harm. It…blast!” The frog had squirted through his fingers. It hung in the air for a moment, a green blot in Tad’s field of vision, twisting and writhing, its legs pumping away. Then it fell, fell, and hit…not the water, but part of a rock, jutting out from the bank. It bounced off, striking back first, and then it landed in the water, less then a foot from shore. Its white underbelly pale as its legs convulsed. It managed to right itself, and hung in the water, both legs hanging below its body. It was moving its front right leg in a jerking motion, treading water.
Tad looked over at Daddy without speaking. Daddy met his gaze and smiled. Tad tried to read the smile; he could not. “Mustn’t worry, old chap. Little blighters are remarkably resilient. Just shrug off a knock like that, so they do. As I was trying to say, in regard to our little friends, is that when those very few, of all those hundreds, the ones that survive, to thrive, and procreate, and secure the continuance of the species, when they’ve become what it is they were meant to become, they’re the most remarkable of beasts, of any I’ve encountered, anywhere in the world. Only the adults, the elders, earn the right to sing out over the swamp. So fortunate to have such splendid specimens, here, in my own backyard.” As he spoke he had been looking down at the frog in the water.
“I don’t think the patient’s going to make it, doc,” Tad said.
Daddy ignored him. “As amphibians,” he said, speaking from far away, “the frog is a cohabiter of both the water and the land, keeping a foot in two worlds. And yet,” he said, speaking very slowly now and fully articulating each syllable, “he is not…fully com-fort-able…in either.” Lying below them in the water, the frog had ceased moving.
The Woods by Night
Tad continued looking down at the frog, but Daddy had begun once more to move along the bank. He was talking again, spouting off about something in that stuffy accent, gesticulating. Tad forced himself to follow, away from that spot. Look away, and he did, turning from the body that held its position there as lifeless and inert as a bit of litter dropped by a thoughtless hand along the sidewalk. Survival of the fittest, I suppose, Darwinism at its best. But you should have hopped away when you had the chance. Compliance is acceptance by default. Daddy had turned back toward him, seeing that he wasn’t keeping up. “Time,” he said, a single word and spoken carelessly, innocently enough, but a wall of uneasiness slammed into Tad like an oncoming freight train and he looked sharply at the sky. It was still uncomfortably hot, but the sun had vanished like a mirage in the desert and there were clouds hung like vivid cobwebs against the yellow sky. The thump of the bullfrogs and the buzz again of insects as summer’s symphony swelled in living tapestry its various voices. Tad didn’t know what time it was, but it had only been a few minutes, surely, since he last checked. “Time,” Daddy said again, solemnly, nodding his head as if to confirm a point he’d been making.
“Yes?” Tad said, sharply. “What about it?”
“Flies when you’re having fun.
Or maybe bees when you’re having fun. Ladybugs.” Tad pulled the watch from his pocket. It was just past four in the afternoon.
“Daddy,” he said. “What did…” He looked out toward the water, as if for inspiration. “How did…” he stopped, frowning, biting his lower lip. How do you ask these questions? How do you even begin?
“Yes?” Daddy said. “Yes yes yes?” He was smiling again, hugely, sweetly, cruelly.
He wants you to ask. He’s waiting for it. But if I break down and do it, he’s scored a point. He’ll be winning. I…can’t allow that to happen. Talking about it is…an admission of weakness. It’s like telling a cruel teacher you don’t understand the lesson. “It’s been a pleasant diversion, our time together,” he said, returning the smile. “You give me a lot to think about.”
“I feel exactly the same way,” Daddy said. “But to an infinitely lesser extent.” He had crouched down by the water, the notebook was out, and he was busy with the quill again.
“Until we meet again, then.”
“Tea,” Daddy said, concentrating on the notebook.
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh, don’t apologize, old chap. My fault entirely. Just remembering that you were coming to tea, came to me of a sudden, have to pick up some cake while I’m out, or do you perhaps take yours with pâté, or pickled herring, or a cheese log?”
“I don’t like tea.”
“Oh, but you will come, won’t you? Say you will.”
Tad didn’t answer. He had turned away and was breathing hard and rubbing the palms of his hands together. Like one in a daze he moving along the bank toward the spot in the reeds where he had pushed his way in, stepping into the shallows, his boots being warmly received by the mud as he pushed his way down the tributary. As he’d turned his back, Daddy had instantly stopped writing in the notebook and had straightened in order to watch him walk away. He focused in on a spot between Tad’s shoulder blades, and there his gaze rested until Tad had swept away the first wall of reeds and vanished from sight. But if Tad would have only turned back to where the would be scholar and naturalist was standing, he would have seen for the first time Daddy’s real smile, a thing so perverse, a transformation of the face so ghastly, that it was more of a natural disaster than an honest expression of any genuine human happiness. The smile remained for a long time after Tad had left.
Now like a moving force through the forest, out, out of the marshes, up hill and down, stalking through the bland patches of sunlight with his face flushed, eyes hard. Head games. That’s what he’s about. That’s what gets him off. Playing with people. But what’s he after? “I don’t even like tea,” he said again. Moving at top speed, probably have time to beat the folks back from town. But there won’t be enough time to finish up in the garage. At least they can’t prove I left the house. Not if I can get these boots off in time. It was gone,whatever it was, that feeling, the light of the world that had risen again and dragged him away with it. Without it he was empty, a husk. He felt the disappointment that comes only after a deed that had been looked forward to has passed, and there is nothing anytime in the foreseeable future to brighten an otherwise desolate landscape consisting of an undiminished line of twenty-four hour blots to come. He checked the pocket watch again for the tenth time in as many minutes, thinking that at any moment he might go leaping over another passel of hours. Why did I always take time for granted before? It was half past four. Time was proceeding as usual, for the moment. And anyway, those time lapses can only happen when you’re close to him. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but it felt right. Unless I want to call it a coincidence that the same thing happened twice. No. I don’t buy it. I have to learn the rules as I go along, and part of it is just instinctual. And how do I know that? By instinct. He had turned to the right, leaving the fence behind, and was looking now to meet up with the long driveway somewhere close to its halfway point. What will I tell her when she asks? That I fell asleep. That there was some obscure emergency. I’ll just say the hell with you, that’s what I’ll say, I didn’t fucking feel like doing it. Sure. And then Pa will whup the bejeezus out of me. He could feel the insect bites, tingling on his forearms and the backs of his legs, starting to itch. It was that part of a late afternoon that sometimes comes in early summer, especially in densely wooded forest, where the air is heavy and walking through it is a daunting task. He felt lethargic, spent. He had traveled a good deal again today, in those boots, no less. But I still shouldn’t feel this worn out. The ground had leveled off and now he came upon the drive. He strode out onto it and turned sharply left, quickening his pace, heading for the homestead with the boots squeaking as they kicked up dust, chafing at his heels. Again he had that feeling that comes when you’ve just escaped from danger, when you step off the roller coaster with an upset stomach but still in one piece. But now he rushed headlong toward another peril. Just pray you beat them there, and then worry about the next step. But underneath the rational desire not to incur more punishment was the same swell of anger that he’d felt after his first meeting with Daddy. He did it again! Distracted me. Pulled me off track somehow, then stole away those hours. And I’m probably going to get the business end of Pa’s foot this time. The path was broadening slightly as it prepared to swing around in its final loop before it straightened for the last five hundred yards, ending at the house and garage. Tad had walked up and down the drive and ridden up and down it in his father’s truck several thousand times in his life, and this was his favorite part, where he walked around the last corner, catching glimpses of the house through the branches and undergrowth until finally he cleared the last of the trees and could see the buildings that meant home and safety, standing alone at the edge of the field that stretched beyond.
It was always best to do it at night, when the lights were lit in the windows and all else was dark as far as the eye could see, apart from the natural light of the moon and stars. But all the same, it was looking comfortable and inviting now, in the late afternoon that was still midmorning in Tad’s mind. His father’s truck was nowhere to be seen. As he approached, he could see what looked like a pile of dark objects heaped on the ground beside the garage. He sped up again, wincing. He could feel a blister forming on his left heel. When he got closer he saw that what he’d been looking at was a mound of the black plastic garbage bags that had been left out for him to put the irreparable toys in. The work had been done for him. Before he could even begin to ponder this new development, Daisy stepped out from the shadow of the buildings’ interior. It was strange, he thought, to see her out of the attic, and indeed outside of the house voluntarily. She was wearing a pair of plastic yellow sandals of the sort you might take to the beach, and, despite the heat, the same oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants as before. Her hair hung disheveled down her shoulders like an old mop. Her dark eyes took him in as he stood getting his wind back, bent over with his hands on his hips, his face flushed, his boots still caked with mud, dried now, the color of an old cow pie.
“You saw him again.” It wasn’t a question.
“You did this.” Nodding toward the neatly stacked pile of bags. Also not a question.
“Yes. And you should be kissing my feet, middle child. You owe me huge for this. Consider yourself lucky Casey hasn’t come back yet. Or Mama and Papa.”
“I know, I know. And I do owe you huge. Anything you want. Just name it.”
“For starters, I want to hear what happened.” She was angry with him. He could tell, though her voice was even, and she was speaking neither louder nor softer than she normally did. It was in her eyes, and it was in her stillness. He smiled at her and she crossed her arms over her narrow chest. “And you can wipe that stupid expression off your face. Your charms don’t work on me.”
He stepped toward her with his arms outstretched. “Give us a hug.”
“Fuck you. Get away. Get away!” She was moving backward into the garage, but he ran forward and swooped her up in his arms and swung her around. She was as li
ght as an empty sack.
“Oh wise and wonderful one, I would be lost without you. To prove my undying gratitude for your most selfless deed, I shall immediately order several monuments built in your honor, and sacrifice a few goats.”
“I hate you,” she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. “Put me down. The monuments are fine, but leave the poor goats alone. Sacrifice Casey instead.” He deposited her gently on the dirt floor of the garage, and she stood shaking her head at him. “I don’t know why I put up with you. I’m going back inside. I recommend you rinse those disgusting boots off and hide them in the cellar, or it’ll all have been for nothing. Mama and Papa should be back any minute.” She walked toward the porch, up the steps and through the screen door, disappearing into the house, while Tad circled around the garage to avail himself of the spigot in the back. He washed the mud off quickly and went inside by the back door, in his socks, holding the dripping boots in one hand. He placed them in their customary spot in the cellar again and was just wiping the drops of water from the steps when he heard Walt Surrey’s truck pulling up outside. He dashed upstairs to change into a fresh pair of socks, feeling for the second time today that he’d had a close shave. When did life become so complicated? A few days ago he hadn’t had a care in the world, he’d been in good with his parents and he’d had the whole lazy summer ahead of him. But everything’s fine now. I did my time, and now I’m off the hook. In spite of the efforts of my strange new acquaintance. For he felt that it hadn’t been an accident that he’d had the compulsion to see Daddy again today, when his punishment being lifted was contingent on one more day of work. And obviously the time lapse was no accident. He did it just for the joy of getting me in more trouble.
Woods Page 7
