Damned If I Do (20 page)

1 September

As I was being carried between the teeth, I tried to remember everything I knew about tigers. I didn’t know much. I knew that tigers had poor vision. I knew that they had a weak sense of smell. I knew that they hunted by sound. I knew that they were aggressive hunters. I knew they were sometimes man-eaters. The cat put me down near some large rocks and walked away a few steps, then dropped to the ground, seemingly exhausted. I was too afraid to stand or even sit up. I moved my foot barely an inch, my toes moving a pebble on the ground not quite enough to push it from its spot in the sand, and the tiger let out a warning rasp of breath, a sound that was not quite a roar, but substantially more than a purr. So, I lay as still as possible, trying to slow my breathing and calm my heart. I wondered how long it would be before my father came for me. I wondered if some man from the circus was at that moment drawing a bead on the cat with a scoped rifle loaded with a dart. I kept seeing Errol’s face.

1 September

The tiger and I slept and morning came. I had been cold all night, but for some reason I was able to sleep through until light. The tiger got up and paced a circle around me. Then I heard the voice of the circus master of ceremonies. He was calling my name and I could tell he was drawing nearer. He got closer and closer and the tiger heard him, too. I called out to him and told him to stay away. But he came anyway. The tiger roared, his big noise echoing off the rocks, but he came anyway. The big cat hissed at him when he was in sight, but the master of ceremonies came anyway. He was just yards from me, reaching out to me, calling me by my full name, telling me he was going to take me to my parents. Then the tiger ran at him. The tiger bit into his stomach and he screamed out some name I didn’t know. I cried out into the morning air. The tiger clawed at his face, erased it. The tiger glanced at me, then lapped at the man’s life, licked up the red juice of his existence.

1 September

The tiger and I slept again until the sun was straight overhead and the heat was considerable. The tiger got up and paced circles around me once more. Then I heard the voice of Errol. He was calling my name and I could tell he was drawing nearer. He got closer and closer and the tiger heard him, too. I called out to him and told him to stay away. But he came anyway. The tiger roared, his big noise echoing off the rocks, but he came anyway. The big cat hissed at him when he was in sight, but my best friend came anyway. He was just yards from me, reaching out to me, telling me that I was his best friend and that he would save me. Then the tiger ran at him. The tiger bit into his stomach and he screamed out Frannie’s name. I cried out into the afternoon air. The tiger clawed at his face, erased it. The tiger glanced at me, then lapped at Errol’s life, licked up the red juice of his existence.

1 September

It was late summer, just days before school would start. That perfect time. The heat was just so.

The tiger and I slept again until the sun was starting down in the west. I could feel the air beginning to cool just a little. The tiger got up and paced circles around me once more. I had grown accustomed to it. Then I heard the voice of my mother. She was calling my name and I could tell she was drawing nearer. She got closer and closer and the tiger heard her, too. I called out to her and told her to stay away. But she came anyway, saying that I was a baby and that she loved me. The tiger roared, his big noise echoing off the rocks, but she came anyway. The big cat hissed at her when she was in sight, but my mother came anyway. She was just yards from me, reaching out to me, telling me that I was her reason for living. Then the tiger ran at her. The tiger bit into her stomach and she screamed out my father’s name. I cried out into the evening air. The tiger clawed at her face, erased it. The tiger glanced at me, then lapped at my mother’s life, licked up the red juice of her existence.

1 September

The night sky was lavender in the west and a deep purple in the east. It was late summer, just days before school would start. My mother’s body parts lay with those of Errol and the master of ceremonies.

The tiger and I had been sleeping again, our bodies touching. The air was stiffly cold and there was a persistent wind. The tiger got up, but did not pace this time, instead he sat beside me, sniffing the breeze. Then I heard the voice of my father. He was calling my name and I could tell he was drawing nearer. He got closer and closer and the tiger heard him, too. I called out to him and told him to stay away, told him what had happened to Mother. But he came anyway, saying that I was his son and that he would protect me. The tiger roared, his big noise echoing off the rocks, but he came anyway. The big cat hissed at him when he was in sight, but my father came anyway. He was just yards from me, reaching out to me, telling me that he would save me. Then the tiger ran at him. The tiger bit into his stomach and he screamed out my name. I cried out into the night. The tiger clawed at his face, erased it. The tiger glanced at me, then lapped at my father’s life, licked up the red juice of his existence.

1 September

The tiger was asleep. It was late summer, just days before school would start and it was snowing in the desert. I walked a circle around the sleeping beast, kicking through the bones and flesh of my life, the parts of my friend and my mother and my father and of someone I did not know, but who had come to try to save me. The blood of my father stuck to the sole of my shoe and made a kissing sound. I stepped on my mother’s delicate fingers.

Randall Randall

RANDALL HALPERN RANDALL

189 Wayland Avenue, Apt. 51

Providence, Rhode Island

8:10 a.m., Sunday, November 23, 1980

Miss Holly Diehl

Apt. 41

189 Wayland Avenue

Providence, RI

Dear Holly:

I am distressed that it has come to this. I had hoped that there would be no reason for me to compose this letter, but it seems the matter at hand will not straighten itself out, considering this morning’s condition in the driveway rear of this building.

Please permit me to state MY SIDE of the matter in question!!!

My dear wife, a good woman who knits constantly and who makes baby booties for people she doesn’t even know, has enjoyed over 20 years of extremely peaceful and harmonious relations with the tenants in this building, and
I
certainly have tried my best to preserve such a condition in spite of some recent goings-on, such as door slamming by tenants on the fourth and sixth floors, etc.

We have attempted to quietly and without disturbing anyone else, on any floor, take care of the rubbish and/or garbage from our apartment … to the large green Dumpster, as detailed in our lease and yours … daily (not just weekends as you seem to have deduced per Claudia!).
However, I usually do it … and a major reason is that Claudia suffered a fracture to her kneecap (patella) some time back when she fell on some ice outside the convenience store and had to wear a brace for weeks. And of course I have thrombophlebitis, as did our late president Mr. Nixon, two years ago throughout my left leg and must watch myself when descending the 87
steps down to the first floor and out the rear door of this building!!!

I contacted Mr. Harry Bottoms following your “to whom it may concern” note (which I still have in my possession) and asked him WHO was probably the nicest and most quiet and agreeable tenant in the building—aside from him and Lucy. He said without pause that it is YOU!!! That is WHY I could not understand HOW
any such fine person
would block the rear door to prevent passage to the big green Dumpster……
aside from
the probability that the fire department could NEVER get in in case of a fire in the building!!! I remember vividly when those yellow lines were painted, and I NEVER saw any car in that area right up close blocking the door until your car was there!!!

You KNOW that once I stopped into your fine apartment and was received most cordially, and enjoyed speaking with you about your plants and collection of small dinner bells, etc. I could NOT somehow believe that it was YOUR car (never thought it was for one minute) that was blocking us from the Dumpster.

I was planning to seek you out for a discussion of the matter, but the condition, and it was a condition and not a situation as my wife insists, was so serious this morning that I had to state MY side of the case to Mr. Pluckett!!! I HOPE that this will be the end of it—and that my poor wife won’t have to cart our waste out and around, so publicly, around three (3) sides of the building to reach the Dumpster!!! Mr. Bottoms was just up here again—Claudia spoke with him at length only to discover that you and others have accused me of
overreacting.
Please do not speak about me further and I shall do the same for you.

Sincerely,

     R.H.R

P.S.—I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks, I am NOT a “troublemaker” and want a peaceful home just as you no doubt do. I DO try to be alert, however, because there have been several burglaries in the 27 years Claudia has been here and the 16 years that I have been here. And of course the Osco drugstore was broken into again last week.

Randall folded the letter and sealed it in an envelope. He waved it in the air in front of his wife’s face as if to say, “This should take care of it.”

“It’s not such a big deal, Randall,” Claudia said.

“What if I were breaking the rule?” Randall asked. “What if it was me? You think it would just be let go? No, it wouldn’t.” He sat down at the kitchen table and scratched at a chip in the Formica. “No, it wouldn’t and I’ll tell you why. It’s because she’s a young woman and Pluckett’s a dirty old man.”

Claudia slapped a skillet onto a burner of the gas stove. She laughed.

“Shut up.”

“I bet old Pluckett is down there right now having a little party with Miss Diehl.” She melted butter in the pan while she opened the refrigerator.

“I only want one egg this morning,” Randall said.

“Bacon or sausage?”

“Sausage.”

“We’re out of sausage,” Claudia said.

“Then why did you ask me?”

She put the bacon on the counter next to the carton of eggs. “I wanted to give you a choice.”

“But I didn’t have a choice.”

“You chose, didn’t you? You just made the wrong choice.” She cracked an egg into the hot skillet. It sizzled.

“Well, I don’t want bacon,” Randall said.

“Then I won’t make you any.”

He looked at her in her lavender robe and cream-colored slippers. She was dressed in street clothes, but still she wore that robe over them and those slippers. He hated the way the heels of her feet looked, hard and callused, white, porous.

“Do you want toast?”

“Is there any bread?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes, I want toast.”

Claudia flipped one of the eggs. “I broke your yolk,” she told him. She lit a cigarette and put the lighter back down on the sill above the sink.

“I want to put plastic runners down over the carpet in the front room,” Claudia said.

“Plastic runners?”

“To protect the carpet from wear.”

Randall laughed. “Wear? Oh, yeah, from all the visitors we get.”

Claudia fell silent as she slid the eggs onto the plates. She pulled the bread from the toaster and put breakfast in front of Randall. She sat with him at the table.

Randall buttered his toast. “This neighborhood is going to hell.”

Claudia tore her toast and dipped a corner of it into the yolk of her egg.

“Gangs and drugs,” Randall said. “Punks.” He watched Claudia eat for a while. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Something’s wrong,” he said.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I don’t have anybody to talk to. That’s what’s wrong.”

“Here we go again,” Randall sighed it out. “I’m talking to you right now.”

Claudia continued to eat.

Randall put his fork down. “Listen, I’m going out to get my medicine. Is there any money in the house?”

Claudia looked up at him. “In my purse.”

“What?”

“There’s some money in my purse,” she repeated.

Randall went into the front room and grabbed Claudia’s pocketbook from the buffet. He brought it back to the doorway of the kitchen and found the money in it. “Do you need anything while I’m out?”

“No.”

“I’m not going out again, so tell me now if you need anything.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“Okay, but I asked. You can’t tell me I didn’t ask.”

Randall walked out, pulling the door closed behind him. He went down one flight of stairs and stood at number 41. He slipped the note under the door of Holly Diehl’s apartment. At that moment the door opened and there was Holly Diehl, a small woman with short blond hair and she was looking at Randall.

“Just delivering a note to you,” Randall said.

Holly Diehl bent and picked it up, looked at the envelope.

Randall realized that he had not put her name on it.