Teddy (The Pit)

by John Gault

  She flipped through it absently, then carefully returned it to its rightful place between the mattress and the box spring. Then she picked up the bundle of linen and started for the door. Inexplicably she turned and considered the staring bear. “You,” she murmured, “and that magazine. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  Jamie had never been able to fully come to terms with the fact that the butcher shop was called Fruitman’s Fine Meats. A man named Fruitman, he’d reasoned the first day he’d ever been in the place with Barbara, should be selling, well, fruit. Barbara had explained that many names—Benjamin not among them, that she knew of—originated with what people did, and that probably one of Mr. Fruitman’s ancestors had in fact sold fruit. Jamie understood, but he still found it very curious.

  “So, my young Mr. Benjamin,” Sol Fruitman said, wiping his hands on his bloodied apron, “what can I do for you today? The chops are on special, and I’ll tell you, they look so good, I could almost eat them myself.”

  Jamie didn’t get it and his face showed it.

  “I am a Jew, Mr. Benjamin, not a very good Jew but a Jew nonetheless. I sell pork, I sell bacon, I sell ham and I sell chops, but I do not eat them. It goes with being a Jew . . . you don’t understand, do you?”

  Jamie shook his head.

  “No,” the butcher said, “why should you? Even I don’t, sometimes, so why should you, my handsome little goy? But tell me, what can I do for you?”

  Jamie read the red and white plastic price tags in the refrigerated glass case, and he thought about the $5.48 he had in his pocket. There certainly wasn’t much he could buy for that. Some of the stuff cost more than that for a pound. But he didn’t want to take too long; he didn’t want to make Mr. Fruitman mad at him because, well, Mr. Fruitman always treated him nice and never yelled at him and never told him to get out of the store. The hamburger was selling for $1.59 a pound, and Jamie quickly calculated mentally that he could get about three-and-a-half pounds for the money he had, and that seemed like a lot.

  “I’ll take the hamburger,” he said, pointing through the glass.

  “A pound?” Mr. Fruitman smiled.

  “No . . . uh . . . can you give me . . . uh . . . about five dollars and forty-eight cents worth, please?”

  “No sooner said than done, Mr. Benjamin.” Fruitman began scooping the ground meat onto a piece of brown wrapping paper. “Your parents are planning a barbecue?” he asked as he dropped the purchase on the scale. Jamie saw that the needle was just touching the four-pound mark, but instead of shovelling some of the meat back into the tray in the showcase, Mr. Fruitman wrapped it quickly, tied it with string, wrote $5.48 on the package, and handed it to the boy.

  Jamie started to protest, but Mr. Fruitman put a finger to his lips. “Our little secret,” he said. “Enjoy it in good health.”

  “Thank you,” Jamie said, handing over his handful of change and crumpled dollar bills. “And I won’t tell a soul. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Happily, with a wave, he rushed out of the store.

  Because he was moving too fast, by the time he saw the wheelchair, it was too late. His foot caught in the right wheel and he went sprawling along the sidewalk, ripping skin off his elbows, and banging his left knee painfully. The package flew out of his hands, struck mushily against a parked car, and dropped into the gutter.

  “My God, what was that?” he heard a familiar and hateful voice say behind him. Miss Oliphant, that frigging Miss Oliphant! Shakily he dragged himself to his feet, tested the knee to discover that it would still hold him, and turned to face what he knew was coming.

  “It’s that terrible Benjamin boy again, Emma,” the other woman said. The other woman was named Louise, and according to Barbara, Louise was Miss Oliphant’s paid companion. That had made sense to Jamie, because he was sure that nobody as rotten as Miss Oliphant could get a companion for free. She was blind and she was crippled, and he knew that he was supposed to feel sorry for her, but he didn’t. She was like the wicked witch in The Wizard Of Oz, and Jamie wanted to believe that some day she’d suffer the same awful fate. It was Miss Oliphant who had gotten his bike taken away, just because there had been a little accident. He hadn’t meant to run into her, but Tom and Barbara hadn’t believed him. Besides, Barbara had said it wasn’t because of the accident, it was because of all those terrible names Jamie had called Miss Oliphant and Louise. Jamie could not remember doing that, but Barbara had said—as she did so often—that he had a “convenient” memory.

  Still, if he had said anything, it was only after Miss Oliphant had slapped his face, he was sure of that. He’d been trying to say he was sorry, and then Louise was shouting at him, and so was Miss Oliphant, and he’d started talking louder and she’d hit him. She couldn’t have seen him, he knew, because she was blind, but she reached out and hit him hard anyway.

  Not again! He turned and limped to the package in the gutter and, without even inspecting it for rips and tears, gathered it up and started away.

  “Come back here young man! Come back here this very instant!” That was Louise’s voice. He pretended not to hear and continued to limp away. Blood was dribbling from his left elbow, and it was pounding in his temples. His ears burned, and he could feel rage beginning to bubble up from somewhere deep in his chest. Don’t stop, Jamie, whatever you do! Don’t stop, don’t say anything, don’t listen!

  But he couldn’t help hearing: “Well, it seems that I’ll have to have another talk with those parents of his. And if that doesn’t do any good, then by God, I’ll call the police. He should be put away, that boy!”

  Some day, Miss Oliphant, I’ll put you away.

  C H A P T E R

  15

  Jamie called out twice, identifying himself, and waited. In a few minutes he could hear the pig-grunting sounds—before the scratching, this time—coming from way off somewhere under the earth and growing progressively louder. Then he saw the yellow eyes, looking up at him, and there was a perceptible change in the nature of the grunts. They sounded almost friendly now, and that pleased Jamie a lot. He’d had a puppy once, but it hadn’t been a very happy puppy except with him; after a few weeks, Tom had taken it away, telling Jamie that the dog was sick, but Jamie knew Tom had wanted it out of there just because it kept peeing and pooping on the floor. It had been the only pet Jamie had ever been allowed—the toads and the snakes weren’t really pets, although he didn’t know just what they actually were. He had never forgotten the happy loving sounds that animals could make.

  The trogs, his friends, were glad to see him.

  He started to unwrap the hamburger, then changed his mind. It would get all dirty down there. So he retied the string and dropped the whole package. The shadowy figures melted away from it at first, and Jamie sensed their suspicion. “No,” he said softly, “don’t be afraid. It’s food. To eat. I know you didn’t like the chocolate bars, but this is different.” They understood! He felt triumphant, as one, then another of the troglodytes approached the package, sniffing at it, touching it with those talon-like fingers. Then one of them—the leader, Jamie decided—lifted it up and held it. He looked up at Jamie and growled something that Jamie took to mean either “What is it?” or “Thank you.” He tore away the paper and string and took a handful of the soft, reddish meat and held it to his nose. Then, to Jamie’s astonishment and pleasure, he shoved the whole handful into his mouth.

  Jamie did not know what he expected to happen next, but it was certainly not what did happen. After the leader had noisily chewed and swallowed the meat, he did not grab another handful. Instead, he offered it around. No, there was no mistake. The leader was slowly turning in a circle, and the others were taking portions and stuffing them into their mouths. When the other four had taken their share—and that’s what it had seemed like to Jamie, that they had taken almost equal shares—the leader looked up at Jamie and grunted something that Jamie took to be either another “Thank you” or an “Is there any more?”

  “Oh, don’t wo
rry,” Jamie replied. “Now that I know you like meat, I’ll bring you lots of food.”

  “Yes, Miss Oliphant, I’ll be sure to tell them. No, Miss Oliphant, I won’t forget. Fine. Thank you for calling. ’Bye now.” Sandy replaced the receiver and added, for her own ears only, “Fuck you, Miss Oliphant.” If this was the kind of shit Jamie had to put up with all the time, it was no wonder he was half-nuts, it was no wonder that he talked to teddy bears and imaginary creatures in the forest. For the moment, at least, she was back on Jamie’s side and feeling guilty that she’d ever left it.

  She mixed up a pitcher of her famous limeade and put it in the refrigerator. She knew that would please him. Then she went out on the back porch and felt the sheets and towels on the line and, satisfied, she began to reel them in.

  “Hi,” Jamie said, coming around the corner of the house.

  “Hi yourself,” she said back, matching his happy tone. Then, “Jamie, you’re bleeding! Look at your elbow!”

  He studied one elbow, then the other, as if trying to figure out just where and how he’d gotten hurt. “Oh yeh,” he said, “I was running and I fell.”

  “Was that before or after you ran into the woman in the wheelchair?” It wasn’t an accusation, although she knew it might have come out sounding that way. But no, she didn’t want to catch him out in a lie, to embarrass him, so she continued rapidly, “I had a call from a Miss Oliphant a little while ago . . .”

  “Oh?” he said, hanging his head. “I guess you’ll have to tell Tom and Barbara when they get back?”

  “No, Jamie. No, I won’t. They may find out about it—I’m sure that old woman will see to that—but I’m not going to say a thing. You can count on it.”

  “Oh Sandy!” He said, the tears of happiness welling in his eyes. “Oh Sandy, thank you so much! Nobody’s ever believed me before, that it wasn’t my fault. I love you, Sandy!” He came close and hugged her, and she tried to hug him back, but her body was tense and unwilling. Still, she managed to put her arms around his shoulders and to ease herself away without really telegraphing her reluctance. “I . . . uh . . . I think you’re pretty special too, Jamie,” she said, honestly. “Now let me have a look at those scrapes. We’d better get them cleaned up before they get infected. Why don’t you go up and hop in the bathtub and soak them for a while? That’ll get rid of the soreness, too, probably.”

  He looked her right in the eye, and she could read absolutely nothing into his faint little smile. “Will you come up later and wash my back?” he asked shyly.

  Something told her no, but she was not disposed to listen. Sure, why not? She’d bathed kids before, and even if Jamie was older than any of the others, he was still a kid. But she had to set a few rules. “Aren’t you a little old for that?” she asked, giving him the chance to either back out or suggest a compromise. He chose the latter. “I’ll put some of Barbara’s bubble bath in. You won’t see anything. Will you wash my back, Sandy, will you?”

  “Sure, Jamie. I’ll be up in a few minutes. I’ll even bring you a surprise.”

  “Great,” he said, bounding past her; then he stopped and caught the screen door before it slammed.

  She waited outside the closed bathroom door until the water stopped running, and his little groan informed her that he was safely in the tub. Even then she moved cautiously. But his disarming smile and the double handful of suds he held up were sufficient proof that the offending parts of his body were indeed safely obscured from her sight.

  As he sipped the limeade she’d brought him—the surprise—she sat on the closed toilet lid, trying to figure out just how she fit in with Jamie’s immediate plans. She was certain that he was sexually attracted to her, and she knew that in his own way he was in love with her. No, it couldn’t be any more than a little boy’s love, but to him it was real and important. And no, she reviewed her words and actions of the previous few days, I haven’t done anything to encourage him. Which made her feel only slightly less uncomfortable. In the beginning her instincts and her reasoning had been pretty much in agreement so far as Jamie was concerned. Now they were not, and she did not know which to trust. She still could not shake the vague, growing feeling that there was something menacing about Jamie.

  He held up the soapy washcloth to her, and she had to make a decision. She saw that he recognized her hesitation, and she instantly felt caught out. Without a word she took the cloth from him and began to move it carefully over the soft, unpimpled skin of his back.

  “Oh Sandy,” he said, closing his eyes, “that feels great!”

  Chief Becker Torrey had listened patiently and attentively for more than an hour while David told and retold all he had learned about the Whately family and Whately’s Copse, but now the Chief was starting to sneak glances at his watch. While police work never stops, policemen, even chiefs, do get the urge to stop now and then, especially late on Friday afternoons when the work seems to be pretty well in hand. Torrey wished he had never told David about his great grandmother or his open-mindedness toward things not readily explicable. If he hadn’t said all that, it would have been easy to cut off David in mid-flight and tell him to keep his investigation a little more conventional. However . . .

  “Well David,” he sighed, “that’s all very interesting, but what does it take us to? Unless I’ve misunderstood you, you’re at a dead end. And unless you’ve got something more solid, I don’t have much choice other than to tell you to put the Morley case on the back burner and get onto something else. McLachlan’s got that string of break-ins, and Cogan needs some door-to-door help on that indecent assault over on Fourth Street, just for starters.”

  “But Beck,” David protested, “there’s something going on out there in that clearing in the Copse. I’m sure of it.”

  “That’s what you’ve been saying for an hour, David, but you haven’t told me what. Now let’s just get off the subject, okay? If anything substantial turns up, you go back on the case, otherwise, it’s finished. Now, let’s get over to the club, while we still have a chance at a court.”

  Jamie and Teddy watched from the window, secretly, as Sandy and her “friend,” Allan, embraced on the front walk. She had asked Jamie, while she bandaged his elbows, if he minded if this Allan came over. But she had made it sound as if Allan was coming, whether Jamie liked it or not. He had minded, but had nodded anyway.

  “Looks like more than a friend to me, Jamie,” Teddy said, a nasty little nudge in his voice.

  “She said she didn’t love him,” Jamie replied, not so convinced now, but trying not to show it.

  “She’s kissing him on the lips. And look, he’s touching her on the ass!”

  “Yeh, but you look. She’s moving his hand away.”

  “Jamie, forget it. To her you’re just a little kid. She doesn’t love you. I bet she doesn’t even . . .”

  Jamie swung blindly, knocking Teddy off the dresser and across the room. The bear landed face-down on the floor by the closet door and then, suddenly, Jamie had him by the throat, pushing him up against the wall. “Fuck you, Teddy, fuck you you rotten cunt-prick bear!” The tears were streaming down his face, but his mouth was a bared-tooth snarl. “She loves me, I told you, you fuckface shit! She does love me and when I get older I’m going to marry her and you can go to hell!”

  Then a very strange thing happened. Instead of fighting back, Teddy just looked back at Jamie with soft, understanding eyes and said, “Okay, Jamie, maybe you’re right. Maybe she does love you. And you know what? I bet she was just kissing that guy to make you jealous. Sure, that’s what it was. She figured you’d be watching and she did it to make you jealous.”

  “Are you sure, Teddy? Do you really think that?”

  “Sure, Jamie. What else could it be?”

  Jamie hugged the bear and then sat him gently on the bed. “I have to go and meet Allan,” he said. “I promised I would. I’ll be right back. And Teddy?”

  “Yes, Jamie?”

  “Thank you for understanding, thank
s for seeing it my way . . . And I’m really sorry I hit you like that.”

  “No problem. But hurry back. Remember, this is the night we pay Miss Livingstone a visit.” The unhealthy gleam returned to his eyes, and Jamie laughed.

  “Well,” Allan said, removing his sunglasses and hanging them over the rearview mirror, “you know the literature about as well as I do. So you know that it isn’t uncommon for children to have surprisingly extensive fantasy lives. And for boys especially, holes are common elements of those fantasies, holes with witches and trolls and monsters in them. And you don’t have to have read much Freud to interpret what that means, do you? I mean, I have a certain fantasy about such things myself . . .”

  “Allan, for Christ’s sake, don’t make jokes. Not now. I’m too upset.” She had listened to herself recount the previous few days’ events with a sinking heart. It had sounded even dumber when spoken aloud to another person; and Allan had given her no sympathy whatsoever. From the time they’d left the house, with Jamie’s strangely-enthusiastic blessing, he’d done little more than make her feel what she’d been feeling for days, only more so. “You’re turning that kid into an obsession,” he’d said. “I am not,” she’d replied. “Then forget about him,” he’d said. “I . . . I can’t,” she’d admitted.

  They were parked by the river, well upstream from the paper mill, where the water still ran relatively unpolluted. The sun was behind the tall pines on the opposite bank now, and the light was dying. The warm hum of the day had ended, and the night sounds of frogs and crickets had not yet begun, so around them there was silence. She broke it. “Allan?”