Boys Life

pen. You know. Like the thing from the lost world.”
    Ben shrugged. “Ahhhhh, he’s probably used to it by now.”
    “Bein’ used to somethin’,” Davy Ray answered, “is not the same as likin’ it. Numb nuts.”
    “Hey, don’t get mad at me!”
    “I ain’t mad at anybody.” Davy Ray sat on his bike, his hands clenching the grips. “It’s just… I sure would hate to live that way. Could hardly move. Sure couldn’t see the sun. And every day would be just like the day before, even if you lived a million days. I can’t stand the thought of that. Can you, Cory?”
    “It would be pretty awful,” I agreed.
    “That man’ll kill it real soon, the way he’s beatin’ it. Then he can go dump it on a garbage pile and be done with it.” Davy Ray looked up at the sickle moon, his breath white. “Thing wasn’t real, anyhow. That man was a low-down liar. It was a deformed rhinoceros, that’s all it was. So, see? It was a gyp, like I told you.” And he started pedaling away before I could argue with him.
    That was our visit to the Brandywine Carnival.
    Early Saturday morning, sometime around three, the civil defense siren atop the courthouse began yowling. Dad got dressed so fast he put his underwear on backward, and he took the pickup to go find out what was happening. I thought the Russians were bombing us, myself. When Dad returned near four o’clock, he told us what he’d learned.
    One of the carnival’s attractions had escaped. Broken right out of its trailer and left it in kindling. The man who owned it had been sleeping in another trailer. I later heard Dad tell Mom it was a trailer occupied by a red-haired woman who did strange things with light bulbs. Anyway, this thing had gotten loose and rampaged down the midway like a Patton tank, tearing through tents like they were heaps of autumn leaves. This thing had evidently run right down Merchants Street and smashed into several stores, then had turned a number of parked cars into Mr. Sculley’s fodder. Had to have done ten thousand dollars’ worth of damage, Dad said Mayor Swope had told him. And they hadn’t caught the thing yet. It had gotten into the woods and headed for the hills while everybody was still jumping into their boots. Except Mr. Wynn Gillie had seen it when it had crashed its head through the bedroom wall of his house, and Mr. Gillie and his wife were now being treated for shock at the hospital in Union Town.
    The beast from the lost world was free, and the carnival left without him.
    I let it wait until Sunday evening. Then I called the Callan house from Johnny’s, and we used the telephone in the back room while his folks were watching TV. Davy Ray’s little brother Andy answered. I asked to speak to Mr. Callan.
    “What can I do for you, Cory?” he asked.
    “I was callin’ for my dad,” I told him. “We’re gonna be takin’ Rebel’s pen down this week, and we were wonderin’ if you might have… oh, a chain cutter we could use?”
    “Well, you’ll probably need wire cutters for that job. There’s a difference.”
    “There’s some chain needs to be cut, too,” I said.
    “Okay, then. No problem. I’ll have Davy Ray bring it over tomorrow afternoon, if that’ll suit you. You know, I bought that chain cutter a few years ago but I never use it. Down in the basement in a box somewhere.”
    “Davy Ray’ll probably know where it is,” I said.
    Mr. Attitude had slinked away, most likely because a seven-hundred-dollar loss was cheaper than a ten-thousand-dollar vacation in jail. Many mighty hunters went out on the trail of the beast from the lost world, but they returned with dookey on their boots and their egos busted.
    I have a picture in my mind.
    I see the park after the carnival has packed up and gone. It is clear again, except for a few scatters of sawdust, crushed Dixie cups, and ticket stubs the cleanup crew has left like a dog marking its territory.
    But this year the wind blows Zero wrappers before it, and they make a sound like giggling as they pass.

PART FOUR – Winter’s Cold Truth
    A Solitary Traveler
    Faith
    Snippets of the Quilt
    Mr. Moultry’s Castle
    Sixteen Drops of Blood
    The Stranger Among Us

XXV – A Solitary Traveler
    “YOUR FATHER’S LOST HIS JOB,” MOM SAID.
    I had just walked in from school, with Thanksgiving four days behind us. This news hit me like a blow to the belly. Mom’s face was grim, her eyes already seeing days of hardship ahead. She knew the red-ink realities of