Boys Life

everythin’? Just put a whole town’s stores under one roof so the rain won’t fall on you and you won’t get cold. Wouldn’t that be a jim-dandy idea?’” My father worked his knuckles for a moment. “And then you’ll have stores and roads and houses, but you won’t have towns anymore. Not the way they are now. And you’ll walk into one of those stores under one roof and you’ll ask for somethin’ and the gum-chewin’ girl’ll say no, we don’t have that. We don’t have that, and we can’t get it for you because they don’t make that anymore. That’s not what people want, you see. People only want what the big banners hangin’ from the ceilin’ tell them to want. We only have those things, and they’re made by machines a thousand a minute. But they’re perfect, she’ll say. Not an imperfection in the lot. And when you use it up or get tired of it or when the banners change, you can just throw it away because it’s made to be thrown away. Now! she’ll say, How many of these perfect things do you need today, and please hurry because there’s a line behind you.”
    He was silent. I heard his knuckles crack.
    “It’s just one supermarket,” I said.
    “The first one,” he replied.
    He narrowed his eyes, and for maybe a minute he stared out at the lake as the wind scrawled patterns across its surface.
    “I hear you,” he said softly.
    I knew who he was talking to. “Dad? Can we go home?”
    “You go on. I’m gonna sit here and listen to my friend.”
    I heard the wind and the crows, but I knew my father heard another voice. “What’s he sayin’, Dad?”
    “He’s sayin’ the same thing he always says. He’s sayin’ he’s not gonna let me alone until I come with him, down in the dark.”
    Tears came to my eyes. I blinked them away. “You’re not gonna go, are you?”
    “No, son,” he said. “Not today.”
    I almost told him about Dr. Lezander. My mouth opened, but my brain posed a question: What would I tell my father? That Dr. Lezander didn’t like milk and was a night owl, and Vernon Thaxter believed those were the qualities of a killer? What came out of my mouth was: “The Lady knows things, Dad. She can help us if we ask her.”
    “The Lady,” he repeated. His voice sounded thick. “She pulled a good one on Biggun Blaylock, didn’t she?”
    “Yes sir, she did. She could help us if we go see her.”
    “Maybe so. Maybe not.” He frowned, as if the thought of asking the Lady’s help caused him deep pain. It was surely no worse than the pain already lodged and festering. “I’ll tell you what,” he said as the frown went away. “I’ll ask my friend what he thinks.”
    I was scared for him. Very, very scared. “Please come home soon,” I told him.
    “I will.” He nodded. “Soon.”
    I left him there, sitting on the boulder under the low gray clouds. When I made my way to Rocket, I looked back and saw him standing on the boulder’s edge. His attention was fixed on the water below him, as if he were searching for the trace of a car in those terrible depths. I started to call to him, to warn him away from the edge, but then he walked back to where he’d been and sat down again.
    Not today, he’d said. I had to believe him.
    I pedaled home the way I’d come, and I had way too much on my mind to even give a thought to the beast from the lost world.
    The following days were gray and cold, the hills around Zephyr brown as the grass on Poulter Hill. We entered December, the jolly month. Dad was around some days when I got home from school, and some days he was not. Mom, who suddenly appeared strained and tired beyond her years, said he was out looking for work. I hoped he wasn’t back on that boulder, contemplating the future in a mirror of black glass.
    The mothers of my friends were supportive. They started bringing over covered dishes, baskets of biscuits, homemade canned goods, and such. Mr. Callan promised to bring us some venison from his first kill of the season. Mom insisted on baking everyone cakes in return. Dad ate the food, but I could tell it was killing him to take such obvious charity. Evidently the hardware store didn’t need a truck driver, nor did it need another man behind the cash register. Often at night I heard Dad up and about, rambling around the house. It started being that he slept much of the day, until eleven or so, and remained awake until after four in the morning. It was a night owl’s hours.
    One Saturday afternoon Mom