by Tobias Wolff
Tub caught up with Frank and Kenny at a bend of the creek. They were standing on a log that stretched from their bank to his. Ice had backed up behind the log. Frozen reeds stuck out, barely nodding when the air moved.
“See anything?” Frank asked.
Tub shook his head.
There wasn’t much daylight left and they decided to head back toward the road. Frank and Kenny crossed the log and they started downstream, using the trail Tub had broken. Before they had gone very far Kenny stopped. “Look at that,” he said, and pointed to some tracks going from the creek back into the woods. Tub’s footprints crossed right over them. There on the bank, plain as day, were several mounds of deer sign. “What do you think that is, Tub?” Kenny kicked at it. “Walnuts on vanilla icing?”
“I guess I didn’t notice.”
Kenny looked at Frank.
“I was lost.”
“You were lost. Big deal.”
They followed the tracks into the woods. The deer had gone over a fence half buried in drifting snow. A no hunting sign was nailed to the top of one of the posts. Frank laughed and said the son of a bitch could read. Kenny wanted to go after him but Frank said no way, the people out here didn’t mess around. He thought maybe the farmer who owned the land would let them use it if they asked. Kenny wasn’t so sure. Anyway, he figured that by the time they walked to the truck and drove up the road and doubled back it would be almost dark.
“Relax,” Frank said. “You can’t hurry nature. If we’re meant to get that deer, we’ll get it. If we’re not, we won’t.”
They started back toward the truck. This part of the woods was mainly pine. The snow was shaded and had a glaze on it. It held up Kenny and Frank but Tub kept falling through. As he kicked forward, the edge of the crust bruised his shins. Kenny and Frank pulled ahead of him, to where he couldn’t even hear their voices any more. He sat down on a stump and wiped his face. He ate both the sandwiches and half the cookies, taking his own sweet time. It was dead quiet.
When Tub crossed the last fence into the road the truck started moving. Tub had to run for it and just managed to grab hold of the tailgate and hoist himself into the bed. He lay there, panting. Kenny looked out the rear window and grinned. Tub crawled into the lee of the cab to get out of the freezing wind. He pulled his earflaps low and pushed his chin into the collar of his coat. Someone rapped on the window but Tub would not turn around.
He and Frank waited outside while Kenny went into the farmhouse to ask permission. The house was old and paint was curling off the sides. The smoke streamed westward off the top of the chimney, fanning away into a thin gray plume. Above the ridge of the hills another ridge of blue clouds was rising.
“You’ve got a short memory,” Tub said.
“What?” Frank said. He had been staring off.
“I used to stick up for you.”
“Okay, so you used to stick up for me. What’s eating you?”
“You shouldn’t have just left me back there like that.”
“You’re a grown-up, Tub. You can take care of yourself. Anyway, if you think you’re the only person with problems I can tell you that you’re not.”
“Is something bothering you, Frank?”
Frank kicked at a branch poking out of the snow. “Never mind,” he said.
“What did Kenny mean about the babysitter?”
“Kenny talks too much,” Frank said. “You just mind your own business.”
Kenny came out of the farmhouse and gave the thumbs-up and they began walking back toward the woods. As they passed the barn a large black hound with a grizzled snout ran out and barked at them. Every time he barked he slid backwards a bit, like a cannon recoiling. Kenny got down on all fours and snarled and barked back at him, and the dog slunk away into the barn, looking over his shoulder and peeing a little as he went.
“That’s an old-timer,” Frank said. “A real graybeard. Fifteen years if he’s a day.”
“Too old,” Kenny said.
Past the barn they cut off through the fields. The land was unfenced and the crust was freezing up thick and they made good time. They kept to the edge of the field until they picked up the tracks again and followed them into the woods, farther and farther back toward the hills. The trees started to blur with the shadows and the wind rose and needled their faces with the crystals it swept off the glaze. Finally they lost the tracks.
Kenny swore and threw down his hat. “This is the worst day of hunting I ever had, bar none.” He picked up his hat and brushed off the snow. “This will be the first season since I was fifteen I haven’t got my deer.”
“It isn’t the deer,” Frank said. “It’s the hunting. There are all these forces out here and you just have to go with them.”
“You go with them,” Kenny said. “I came out here to get me a deer, not listen to a bunch of hippie bullshit. And if it hadn’t been for dimples here I would have, too.”
“That’s enough,” Frank said.
“And you—you’re so busy thinking about that little jailbait of yours you wouldn’t know a deer if you saw one.”
“Drop dead,” Frank said, and turned away.
Kenny and Tub followed him back across the fields. When they were coming up to the barn Kenny stopped and pointed. “I hate that post,” he said. He raised his rifle and fired. It sounded like a dry branch cracking. The post splintered along its right side, up towards the top. “There,” Kenny said. “It’s dead.”
“Knock it off,” Frank said, walking ahead.
Kenny looked at Tub. He smiled. “I hate that tree,” he said, and fired again. Tub hurried to catch up with Frank. He started to speak but just then the dog ran out of the barn and barked at them. “Easy, boy,” Frank said.
“I hate that dog.” Kenny was behind them.
“That’s enough,” Frank said. “You put that gun down.”
Kenny fired. The bullet went in between the dog’s eyes. He sank right down into the snow, his legs splayed out on each side, his yellow eyes open and staring. Except for the blood he looked like a small bearskin rug. The blood ran down the dog’s muzzle into the snow.
They all looked at the dog lying there.
“What did he ever do to you?” Tub asked. “He was just barking.”
Kenny turned to Tub. “I hate you.”
Tub shot from the waist. Kenny jerked backward against the fence and buckled to his knees. He folded his hands across his stomach. “Look,” he said. His hands were covered with blood. In the dusk his blood was more blue than red. It seemed to belong to the shadows. It didn’t seem out of place. Kenny eased himself onto his back. He sighed several times, deeply. “You shot me,” he said.
“I had to,” Tub said. He knelt beside Kenny. “Oh God,” he said. “Frank. Frank.”
Frank hadn’t moved since Kenny killed the dog.
“Frank!” Tub shouted.
“I was just kidding around,” Kenny said. “It was a joke. Oh!” he said, and arched his back suddenly. “Oh!” he said again, and dug his heels into the snow and pushed himself along on his head for several feet. Then he stopped and lay there, rocking back and forth on his heels and head like a wrestler doing warm-up exercises.
Frank roused himself. “Kenny,” he said. He bent down and put his gloved hand on Kenny’s brow. “You shot him,” he said to Tub.
“He made me,” Tub said.
“No no no,” Kenny said.
Tub was weeping from the eyes and nostrils. His whole face was wet. Frank closed his eyes, then looked down at Kenny again. “Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere,” Kenny said, “just everywhere.”
“Oh God,” Tub said.
“I mean where did it go in?” Frank said.
“Here.” Kenny pointed at the wound in his stomach. It was welling slowly with blood.
“You’re lucky,” Frank said. “It’s on the left side. It missed your appendix. If it had hit your appendix you’d really be in the soup.” He turned and threw up o
nto the snow, holding his sides as if to keep warm.
“Are you all right?” Tub said.
“There’s some aspirin in the truck,” Kenny said.
“I’m all right,” Frank said.
“We’d better call an ambulance,” Tub said.
“Jesus,” Frank said. “What are we going to say?”
“Exactly what happened,” Tub said. “He was going to shoot me but I shot him first.”
“No sir!” Kenny said. “I wasn’t either!”
Frank patted Kenny on the arm. “Easy does it, partner.” He stood. “Let’s go.”
Tub picked up Kenny’s rifle as they walked down toward the farmhouse. “No sense leaving this around,” he said. “Kenny might get ideas.”
“I can tell you one thing,” Frank said. “You’ve really done it this time. This definitely takes the cake.”
They had to knock on the door twice before it was opened by a thin man with lank hair. The room behind him was filled with smoke. He squinted at them. “You get anything?” he asked.
“No,” Frank said.
“I knew you wouldn’t. That’s what I told the other fellow.”
“We’ve had an accident.”
The man looked past Frank and Tub into the gloom. “Shoot your friend, did you?”
Frank nodded.
“I did,” Tub said.
“I suppose you want to use the phone.”
“If it’s okay.”
The man in the door looked behind him, then stepped back. Frank and Tub followed him into the house. There was a woman sitting by the stove in the middle of the room. The stove was smoking badly. She looked up and then down again at the child asleep in her lap. Her face was white and damp; strands of hair were pasted across her forehead. Tub warmed his hands over the stove while Frank went into the kitchen to call. The man who had let them in stood at the window, his hands in his pockets.
“My friend shot your dog,” Tub said.
The man nodded without turning around. “I should have done it myself. I just couldn’t.”
“He loved that dog so much,” the woman said. The child squirmed and she rocked it.
“You asked him to?” Tub said. “You asked him to shoot your dog?”
“He was old and sick. Couldn’t chew his food any more. I would have done it myself but I don’t have a gun.”
“You couldn’t have anyway,” the woman said. “Never in a million years.”
The man shrugged.
Frank came out of the kitchen. “We’ll have to take him ourselves. The nearest hospital is fifty miles from here and all their ambulances are out anyway.”
The woman knew a shortcut but the directions were complicated and Tub had to write them down. The man told them where they could find some boards to carry Kenny on. He didn’t have a flashlight but he said he would leave the porch light on.
It was dark outside. The clouds were low and heavy-looking and the wind blew in shrill gusts. There was a screen loose on the house and it banged slowly and then quickly as the wind rose again. They could hear it all the way to the barn. Frank went for the boards while Tub looked for Kenny, who was not where they had left him. Tub found him farther up the drive, lying on his stomach. “You okay?” Tub said.
“It hurts.”
“Frank says it missed your appendix.”
“I already had my appendix out.”
“All right,” Frank said, coming up to them. “We’ll have you in a nice warm bed before you can say Jack Robinson.” He put the two boards on Kenny’s right side.
“Just as long as I don’t have one of those male nurses,” Kenny said.
“Ha ha,” Frank said. “That’s the spirit. Get ready, set, over you go,” and he rolled Kenny onto the boards. Kenny screamed and kicked his legs in the air. When he quieted down Frank and Tub lifted the boards and carried him down the drive. Tub had the back end, and with the snow blowing into his face he had trouble with his footing. Also he was tired and the man inside had forgotten to turn the porch light on. Just past the house Tub slipped and threw out his hands to catch himself. The boards fell and Kenny tumbled out and rolled to the bottom of the drive, yelling all the way. He came to rest against the right front wheel of the truck.
“You fat moron,” Frank said. “You aren’t good for diddly.”
Tub grabbed Frank by the collar and backed him hard up against the fence. Frank tried to pull his hands away but Tub shook him and snapped his head back and forth and finally Frank gave up.
“What do you know about fat,” Tub said. “What do you know about glands.” As he spoke he kept shaking Frank. “What do you know about me.”
“All right,” Frank said.
“No more,” Tub said.
“All right.”
“No more talking to me like that. No more watching. No more laughing.”
“Okay, Tub. I promise.”
Tub let go of Frank and leaned his forehead against the fence. His arms hung straight at his sides.
“I’m sorry, Tub.” Frank touched him on the shoulder. “I’ll be down at the truck.”
Tub stood by the fence for a while and then got the rifles off the porch. Frank had rolled Kenny back onto the boards and they lifted him into the bed of the truck. Frank spread the seat blankets over him. “Warm enough?” he asked.
Kenny nodded.
“Okay. Now how does reverse work on this thing?”
“All the way to the left and up.” Kenny sat up as Frank started forward to the cab. “Frank!”
“What?”
“If it sticks don’t force it.”
The truck started right away. “One thing,” Frank said, “you’ve got to hand it to the Japanese. A very ancient, very spiritual culture and they can still make a hell of a truck.” He glanced over at Tub. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way, honest to God I didn’t. You should have said something.”
“I did.”
“When? Name one time.”
“A couple of hours ago.”
“I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
“That’s true, Frank,” Tub said. “You don’t pay attention very much.”
“Tub,” Frank said, “what happened back there, I should have been more sympathetic. I realize that. You were going through a lot. I just want you to know it wasn’t your fault. He was asking for it.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely. It was him or you. I would have done the same thing in your shoes, no question.”
The wind was blowing into their faces. The snow was a moving white wall in front of their lights; it swirled into the cab through the hole in the windshield and settled on them. Tub clapped his hands and shifted around to stay warm, but it didn’t work.
“I’m going to have to stop,” Frank said. “I can’t feel my fingers.”
Up ahead they saw some lights off the road. It was a tavern. Outside in the parking lot there were several jeeps and trucks. A couple of them had deer strapped across their hoods. Frank parked and they went back to Kenny. “How you doing, partner,” Frank said.
“I’m cold.”
“Well, don’t feel like the Lone Ranger. It’s worse inside, take my word for it. You should get that windshield fixed.”
“Look,” Tub said, “he threw the blankets off.” They were lying in a heap against the tailgate.
“Now look, Kenny,” Frank said, “it’s no use whining about being cold if you’re not going to try and keep warm. You’ve got to do your share.” He spread the blankets over Kenny and tucked them in at the corners.
“They blew off.”
“Hold on to them then.”
“Why are we stopping, Frank?”
“Because if me and Tub don’t get warmed up we’re going to freeze solid and then where will you be?” He punched Kenny lightly in the arm. “So just hold your horses.”
The bar was full of men in colored jackets, mostly orange. The waitress brought coffee. “Just what the doctor ordered
,” Frank said, cradling the steaming cup in his hand. His skin was bone white. “Tub, I’ve been thinking. What you said about me not paying attention, that’s true.”
“It’s okay.”
“No. I really had that coming. I guess I’ve just been a little too interested in old number one. I’ve had a lot on my mind. Not that that’s any excuse.”
“Forget it, Frank. I sort of lost my temper back there. I guess we’re all a little on edge.”
Frank shook his head. “It isn’t just that.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Just between us, Tub?”
“Sure, Frank. Just between us.”
“Tub, I think I’m going to be leaving Nancy.”
“Oh, Frank. Oh, Frank.” Tub sat back and shook his head.
Frank reached out and laid his hand on Tub’s arm. “Tub, have you ever been really in love?”
“Well—”
“I mean really in love.” He squeezed Tub’s wrist. “With your whole being.”
“I don’t know. When you put it like that, I don’t know.”
“You haven’t then. Nothing against you, but you’d know it if you had.” Frank let go of Tub’s arm. “This isn’t just some bit of fluff I’m talking about.”
“Who is she, Frank?”
Frank paused. He looked into his empty cup. “Roxanne Brewer.”
“Cliff Brewer’s kid? The babysitter?”
“You can’t just put people into categories like that, Tub. That’s why the whole system is wrong. And that’s why this country is going to hell in a rowboat.”
“But she can’t be more than—” Tub shook his head.
“Fifteen. She’ll be sixteen in May.” Frank smiled. “May fourth, three twenty-seven p.m. Hell, Tub, a hundred years ago she’d have been an old maid by that age. Juliet was only thirteen.”
“Juliet? Juliet Miller? Jesus, Frank, she doesn’t even have breasts. She doesn’t even wear a top to her bathing suit. She’s still collecting frogs.”
“Not Juliet Miller. The real Juliet. Tub, don’t you see how you’re dividing people up into categories? He’s an executive, she’s a secretary, he’s a truck driver, she’s fifteen years old. Tub, this so-called babysitter, this so-called fifteen-year-old has more in her little finger than most of us have in our entire bodies. I can tell you this little lady is something special.”
