Chapter 11
Ian shifted on the hard wooden floor.
“You seem distracted,” he whispered.
After a moment, Oliver blinked and turned around.
“I am…”
“Maybe this isn’t the best time to teach me how to shoot.”
Oliver took a deep breath. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“Where are you at?”
“There is a map in my mind,” murmured Oliver. “It’s always going on, from here to the Middle East, off the Cape of Good Hope, circling by China, coming into California. It’s like the thump thump of a heart. Bringing us everything we need to live – in the style to which we have become accustomed.”
Oliver’s middle brother David grunted softly. “Yeah, you were a total space-case at the barbecue. Gapping out completely.”
His brother-in-law William said nothing, but nodded slightly.
A slight breeze ruffled through the deer blind – a raised wooden structure about 15 feet up in the woods. Two fake deer stood across the clearing about 100 feet away.
The men had come out early in the morning, climbed up into the deer blind, and had been sitting for almost three hours. They had only seen a line of young turkeys winding their way across the clearing.
“Was it Jayda?” asked David.
Oliver shook his head. “Yeah, she’s a hassle, but too much of a cliché to worry much about…”
“Lot of her type around these days, though,” murmured William.
Oliver shrugged slightly, the movement of his shoulders barely visible under his thick camouflaged jacket. “We have always been sent out as lambs among wolves…”
“Diane is not having the best pregnancy at the moment,” whispered William.
Ian said: “Should we bother whispering? I’m not sure anything’s… coming.”
“We’ll never know if we raise our voices,” murmured Oliver.
David said: “This would be totally easier if we were drinkers - I think that’s why most men do it.”
“This is not recreational,” snapped Oliver.
“Well, I agree with that!” shot back David. “My ass went to sleep an hour ago, now it’s going to be up all night!”
“All right, keep it down, bro.”
There was a pause. The endless circling crows croaked from the whirlpools of air above them.
“Seriously, though - she’s looking for comfort,” said William eventually.
Oliver shook his head tightly. “Can’t give that.”
William exhaled. “Hell of a time…”
Oliver stared across the clearing at the slow blowing treetops. “We been waiting for this – since the day we were born.”
William shuddered. “Wish it wasn’t my time.”
Oliver snorted. “Would you have preferred World War II? Vietnam? The Civil War? World War I?” Oliver gestured at the grey clouds, the ashen landscape around them. “This has always been the devil’s playground. We are to the gods as flies to wanton boys – they kill us for their sport.”
“Or us to absent dear,” smiled Ian.
“Look, Ian,” said Oliver impatiently, “hunting is a game of waiting. We’re not at the damn grocery store!”
“Sorry, man.”
The older man shook his head. “No, that’s me, I’m sorry. It’s kind of – important that we get something today.”
“Why today? In particular?”
“It’s all – stopping…” whispered Oliver. There was enough latent horror in his words to halt the breath of his companions.
Everyone knew his business. They waited.
“I’m trying to get some parts to repair some high-end ovens – one part, just a motherboard. I’ve been waiting three months. Normally you just jump on ‘Ali Baba’ and you can find whatever you need – someone always has something… And things have been – jammed up at the ports forever – strikes, Covid, quarantines, mandates – and then, things get off the ships finally – after thirty, sixty days – and then get stuck in a warehouse because the trucks aren’t rolling. But that’s just – moving things after they are already in the country… Things are – slowing down, stopping – at the source, not just the destination…”
Oliver’s eyes were distant.
David cleared his throat. “Yeah, but do..? We can survive with what we make in America. Who cares about cheap drones from Taiwan?”
Oliver shook his head grimly. “We don’t make our own pharmaceuticals anymore. We get most of our fertilizer from overseas. Oil drilling has been shut down for years…”
“But we can just – start that up again. If we have to…”
“Normally, I’d agree. We’re problem solvers, that’s our heritage… But government has totally jammed up the works – more than ever. Everything needs a license, everything is paperwork, everything is delays… I counted the other day – almost half my colleagues over fifty have taken early retirement. Their new hobby is scrambling for second passports. Renaldo is trying to track down the birth certificate of his grandfather from New Zealand. They’re joining the super-rich, buying up compounds and survival bunkers at the ass-end of the world…” Oliver’s right hand descended slowly in front of his face. “And families are just – cut in two. Hacked into opposing camps. We only have Jayda, but most families are just – staring across this burning trench of - belief. Ideology… Vaccinated and unvaccinated, left versus right, racism versus diversity, men against women… And we’re just doing this weird – dance, right at the edge of the volcano. And it’s rumbly, and hot as hell down there…” Oliver shook his head rapidly. “I’m not making much sense…”
“Shhh!” hissed David, pointing out of the blind.
Three deer stood across the clearing, noses towards the fake deer. A father, a mother – and a baby, a foal…
“Oh, we can’t – the baby…” whispered William.
“Ever eaten veal?” asked Oliver grimly, raising his rifle.
“Can I try?” asked Ian, his voice shaking with excitement.
“We’ll do it together,” winked Oliver. “Anything that hits comes from me… Remember the recoil…”
The four men lifted their rifles, rested them on the low wooden wall of the blind, closed one eye, and gazed down the sights with the other.
The deer stood rigid.
“Which one are we aiming for?” whispered Ian, his lips barely moving.
“The dad,” murmured Oliver. “Three, two – one!”
In a clap of staccato thunder, the guns erupted in smoke. Ian’s rifle skidded backwards against his cheek, and he cried out in pain.
Two of the deer – the foal and the doe – leapt into the air, fell awkwardly and then skidded off on their impossibly skinny legs into the tangled brown brush. Oliver reloaded quickly, shooting twice more.
“Holy crap!” cried Ian, his eyes ablaze, his hand cupping his cheek.
Lowering his gun, Oliver turned to him. “Let’s see – open up… Yeah, that’s gonna leave a bruise… Just tell people that your wife beat you up for watching anime – it’s less embarrassing than losing control of your gun.”
Ian laughed. “Holy hell, my heart is pounding like a rabbit!”
David tried jumping up, but lurched sideways against the wooden wall. “Well – aargh!” he cried. “Maybe I’ve been sitting too long..? Hard to tell…”
Oliver and William stood up slowly, carefully – and then helped Ian to his feet.
“Let’s go get ’im,” said Oliver. “Let’s not repeat last year, and have to track a wounded buck for half a day…”
“God no,” agreed William fervently. Oliver shot him a look.
“Gosh, sorry,” corrected William.
The four men lowered themselves down the ladder, and made their way across the clearing.
The buck was lying on its side, its legs moving slowly, its breath rasping.
“Two clean hits,” said Oliver, pointing at the neck and hind leg. “Eeny meeny miny mo, I hit the deer in the neck fo’ sho’…”
“Dibs on the haunch-hit!” cried David.
“Dang!” laughed Ian. “You say whatever you want, I’m telling Cassie I blew its head off!”
Oliver trotted slowly into the bush, ducking low under the brittle brown pine branches. He scanned left and right.
“I don’t think I hit anything else – look around, let’s check…”
The men fanned out, searching as best they could – raising their hands, to keep the dry pine branches from scratching their eyes.
After a few minutes, they returned.
“Well, that is a fine set of meals, right there!” grinned David.
Ian frowned. “Uh – I never really asked about the next part. I’m guessing it’s kind of like a horror movie?”
“Only for the deer,” grunted Oliver. He opened his backpack and pulled out a large knife. Kneeling down, he swiftly slit the neck of the dying deer. Its forelegs scrambled madly as it bled out in red splashes on the sparse grass.
After a minute, Oliver handed the knife to Ian. “Okay, virgin, you get to cut the ass.”
Ian blinked. “We start with the – ass?”
“Yeah – the ass, then up to the neck – but don’t pierce the abdominal wall, whatever you do.”
Ian made a retching sound.
“Welcome to nature’s pantry, brother!” said David, patting him hard on the back.
Ian looked vaguely seasick. “Can’t we just – throw it in the back of the truck, pay someone else to do it?”
David laughed. “Sure, and we can pay someone else to eat it, and make sweet, sweet love to your wife at the same time!”
“All right, all right…”
“Spread its legs like it’s your wedding night,” grinned Oliver.
“Okay, this is all kinds of – Lord of the Flies,” grunted Ian, squatting down and opening the buck’s hind legs.
Oliver knelt down easily beside him. “You will be absolutely shocked how easily this comes to you. And how much you will learn to love it!”
After the deer was gutted, the men sat cross-legged around the circle of blood.
“Oliver,” said William softly. “I need you to – tell us the truth. I feel like you’re always – beating around the bush. Trying to spare us. Me, perhaps. But your sister is pregnant, man. What is going to happen?”
Oliver nodded slowly. He suddenly inhaled deeply.
“Well – it’s been a roller coaster, before… Way up and down, but you’re still on the track… Like the housing crisis – or even further back, the Internet bust – that one hit dad like a ton of bricks…” He shrugged. “This isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen. It’s all coming down, all coming apart… Like that old saying – how does a really rich man go bankrupt? Well, very slowly – then very quickly… It’s the same thing with countries. Cultures. We refuse to suffer through any recessions – necessary realignments of capital and labour. We’re like addicts – we want to avoid the little suffering, so we end up with a really – big suffering…”
“Ollie,” said William slowly. “You know I love you, brother, but you really have to learn how to get to the point!”
Oliver stared at him, then gestured at the remains of the deer. “Get used to it.”
There was a long, wide silence as the men stared down into the earth – and deep through the tunnel of time, to the watching faces of their ancestors.
Oliver spoke very slowly. “Every human life on this planet is propped up by $30,000 of debt – and that was the last time I checked, heaven knows what it is now…” He held each man’s eyes. “And we are Christians, we know that every debt has to be paid… The devil came to us in the 1920s – and again in the 1960s – and offered everything for free.” Oliver shrugged sadly. “And we grabbed at it, as we always do, because we are fallen. And we lacked love, and we lacked integrity – and morality. We did not love our children enough, so we buried them in debt. We sold our integrity, so we bribed the less fortunate rather than help them up directly. We scorned virtue, so we participated in theft. And morality is based on scarcity…” He snapped his fingers. “When we could just – print money, there was never any need for any – discipline. We evolved in the cold, but mad money heated our greed like the tropics, so we lost our history… Yeah, I know – be direct…”
Oliver took a deep breath. “We don’t have long – maybe two – maybe a month.”
Ian swallowed. “A mon… A month for…”
Oliver stared at him. “A month to get what we need to survive for a long time without the supply chain. Without grocery stores. Without running water. Without electricity… We all know that cities are forty-eight hours from anarchy – always, all the time. Come on, don’t give me those faces – I’ve been nagging you all for months about this. Look – mathematically, whatever can not last will not last! I’m not taking you hunting for the fun of it. You need to learn this stuff!”
“In a month?” cried William.
Ian’s eyes were wide. “Hey, my wife is pregnant too!”
Oliver jumped up. His cheeks were red. “What on earth are you getting upset with me for? Who did your wives vote for? Did you ever talk to them about giving up free healthcare, insane pensions, the welfare state?” He took a deep breath, struggling to calm himself. “I know, there’s no point blaming people – we are the fallen, this will always happen – unless this is the end, and we all get to go home finally…”
David suddenly laughed. “Dude – you need to get a girlfriend!”
Oliver smiled sadly. “I love you guys, I love your kids – and I hope to hell that you don’t regret having them. I’m being straight! Get the food, get the supplies, and get out of the city!”
“A month?”
“Check your emails. Remember the barbecue, remember the picnic last summer, I’ve been all over this forever!”
Ian shook his head in a daze. “Surely this would be – there would be more – word about this!”
“For what? To save things? You’ve told me what’s been happening with Ben. How hard it is to have any kind of – authority with your wife. Any credibility. That’s all the result of all of this – violent excess, this drug, this cocaine of debt and money printing. Why the hell would anyone want to save this – crap-show?”
William murmured: “Gabriel, blow the trumpets…”
Oliver’s voice was thick with emotion. “I’ve never felt closer to the Bible that I have over the last six months… God is bringing us closer… We are always at our best when we are being persecuted – when we remember what we are supposed to live for. For Him, for heaven, for – the afterlife…”
“Then – why fight it at all?” William’s voice was hollow.
“You’re going to become a father again, Bill,” said Oliver softly. “That choice is out of your hands.”
David suddenly began doing jumping jacks. “Holy crap, I’m like drowning in adrenaline!” he cried. “Blow it off!” He danced over and punched his older brother’s shoulder. “Come on, what the heck, let’s wear the asses of animals and live in caves!”
Despite himself, Oliver smiled. “Yeah, we’re going to need a court jester!”
Ian stood up slowly and turned all the way around. “Oliver, with all respect, we’re supposed to just – abandon everything?”
“You’re not understanding,” said Oliver slowly. “Everything is stopping – there won’t be anything to abandon. It’s not a diet if you can’t get food!”
William said: “How common is this – knowledge?”
“As I said… Go read the news – half the billionaires are buying bunkers in New Zealand. There’s a whole canyon of information out there that you don’t know, that I don’t know – only a few people have access to it… Watch them, what they do. They are the canaries in the coal mine…”
“It’s going to be a race war,” asked William slowly.
“Who cares what it is going to be?” cried Oliver. “The whole point is to just – get away from it all! We all need to be at least two gas tanks away from the city. Arm up – legally. Get your food, get your seeds, get your rain barrels – get your medicines. Why do you think I’ve been telling you all to work out and stay healthy? Going to be kind of tough to get insulin after the apocalypse!”
“My God,” murmured Ian. “What are the women going to do?”
“Women have been through all of this before…” Oliver saw their expressions, and shook his head. “Not past lives, I’m not a blasphemer – but we’ve evolved to change rapidly – pivot – when circumstances require.” He smiled suddenly. “You wouldn’t believe how popular I’ve become with the ladies. One stalked me at a conference. They know what’s coming, deep down…”
“What – what will they do?”
Oliver laughed. “Well, first thing they’ll do is drop all this pathological altruism. They’ll stop sleeping around. Wasting time… They’ll stop being so – picky. They’ll stop pretending that they can vote a provider into existence… But who cares, that’s all just – theory.”
He gestured at the carcass, the bullseye of blood around them.
“We’ve been out for a hunt, we got good meat – now we are going to get in the truck and drive to the feed store. Because this time next month, it will all be gone!”
Ian swallowed, and said: “And then – to church?”
Oliver clapped him on the back, laughing heartily. “Of course, brother! I’m not just hunting deer today!”
Chapter 12
When Rachel and Arlo went on their first dinner dates, they would see older couples staring off into space, or at their phones, instead of talking – and they would ridicule these proximate disconnected statues, vowing of course to never be like that!
Then, over the course of their relationship, they went through phases of intimacy and distance – like a lengthy heartbeat, they got close, then recoiled or drifted apart. It was like they had two separate lives that spread apart, then came together, like train tracks in a wilderness. When they were in the same mood, or facing the same issues, or had mutual problems to solve, they stayed up late talking. Then, when life took them in different directions, they didn’t even wave goodbye as they drifted apart. They considered this to be mature, that they wanted each other, but didn’t desperately need each other.
The night they went for dinner at Rachel’s parent’s house, each was struggling to find a way to connect before the socializing began.
Arlo’s parents were gleefully “burning up the inheritance” – as they put it – via endless travel. They were both embroiled in the high-end art world, and had what seemed to Rachel to be a rather suspicious amount of cash lying around the house. Arlo’s father had been a model; his mother a curator and auctioneer. In the arid, often creepy, world of modern art, they had moved like glass sharks through the clear waters of cultural catastrophe. All the people in Arlo’s childhood photos had some strange attribute – blue glasses far too small, obviously-fake beehive hairdos, giant black hoops embedded in their earlobes – and always held their heads slightly to one side or the other, like quizzical owls regarding a corpse. They were all atheists, all left-wing and used endless elaborate terminology to cover up their fetish for destruction.
His parents had offered Arlo use of their townhome, which was blindingly white, barely furnished, and with art on the wall that Rachel always found deeply unsettling. Portraits of doughy blank-faced people surrounded by oversized dogs with bloody teeth, family portraits with misshapen people in 1920s outfits, a birdcage covered in bloody feathers, dead-eyed children with hands tied over their heads and so on.
Arlo refused to spend a single night in the townhouse, and only visited it twice a month, to flush the toilets and clean up the mail. He never mentioned any particular trauma, but his avoidance was absolute.
Rachel’s parents were solidly lower middle class. Her father was a foreman at a factory that produced custom T-shirts – a job he had held for almost 30 years – and her mother was a part-time bookkeeper. They went bowling, visited their church twice a week, did charity work for the elderly, and had sensible hobbies. Rachel’s father had built an elaborate model train set in the basement, and Rachel’s mother loved collecting duck ornaments, and crocheting.
They had none of the anxiety that drove Rachel. Visiting them was like trying to run through thick Jell-O – they existed in a peculiar state of timelessness. The ambition to change the world and be recognized and noticed was as foreign to them as a Kurosawa film in the original Japanese. To Rachel’s mind, they plodded along – or rather, round and round, in a revolving door to nowhere – with no real sense of time or growth or decay…
Arlo loved them, though. He shared a similar sense of humour with Rachel’s father, and took deep pleasure in her mother’s homeliness. They recognized his looks, and gave him occasional compliments, but also tried to reach past the glare of his beauty, to reach his – soul, or something…
He visibly relaxed in their presence – and their home was relaxing, with its occasional chirps from the dark wooden cuckoo clock, the linoleum tabletop in the kitchen, and the rows of duck ornaments on every windowsill. It always seemed darker than outside, yellow-lit and womb-like. The solid unflappability of Rachel’s parents was like a deep anchor in a wide storm – the shivering storm of modernity.
Even their names – Bert and Ethel – seemed like musty exhalations from the cellar door of the distant past.
Rachel and Arlo said very little on the drive. Their random pendulums were currently at their most distant arc. Up until as recently as a year ago, they would strive to find topics to bridge the gap, but now they simply sat in silence – comfortable silence, they said to themselves.
They parked their creaky car in silence, stepped out in silence, walked up the mossy stepping-stones in silence. Only their knocking broke the quiet.
As always, Rachel’s mother opened the door.
“Rachel, Arlo, great to see you, come in, come in!”
She beamed, wiping her hands on a tea cloth, her slightly stained apron draped over her wide hips. Arlo leaned down, and she kissed his cheek. He gave her a big hug. Rachel stepped forward and held her as well.
“I never know your schedule, so I made food that we could eat – anytime, no rush.” She called over her shoulder. “Bert, they’re here!”
Rachel’s father had a habit of appearing around corners as if he had been beamed in. Arlo was aware of this, and so did not crash into him. Bert shook Arlo’s hand warmly, then reached around him and hugged his daughter.
“Traffic all right?” he asked.
Rachel shrugged. “Nothing too bad, nothing we can’t handle.”
“Well, mother is the proud possessor of a brand-new crockpot, so we all get to see what wonderful meal she has for us today! Come in, sit down – Arlo, you want a beer?”
Arlo only broke his ‘no carbs’ rule in this house. “Yes, thank you!”
“So – how are things at the zoo?” asked Bert, handing him a bottle.
“Pretty good, thanks. How are things at the factory?”
Bert stretched his lips backwards, baring his teeth. “Things are bad, not gonna lie.”
“How come? What’s up?”
“We can’t get anything,” said Bert simply, taking a swig of beer. “We’re doing all this ‘just in time’ manufacturing – we reach for a part, and it’s supposed to just – get handed to us. We don’t store anything – saves a fortune, but it means that if we reach for something, and it’s not there, we’ve got nothing! Empty factory. I’m going over things with Randall, the boss, and he’s pulling out what little hair he has left!”
“Why can’t you get anything?”
Bert shrugged. “Eh, that’s above my pay grade. It’s just like this – what was the name, the phrase in that article we read, hon?”
Bustling in the kitchen, Ethel threw a look over her shoulder. “Can you narrow it down a little, dear?”
“About how everything is just – slowing down…” He snapped his fingers. “The Great Slowdown, that’s it… Good article, I’ll give it to you. World is increasingly full of – heck, I don’t even know the word to use anymore. People who are slightly less – rapid, you know, upstairs.” He tapped his temple. “It’s like our new employees – they show up – well, when they show up – and you have to tell them the same thing three times – and even then, it’s only 50-50 they get it right. They think working is some kind of – option, like they’re doing you a big favour by showing up and pushing a broom.” He sighed, leading them into the living room. “When I was a kid, you worked – that’s just what you did. I got my first job when I was eleven. How are they supposed to put food on the table? I don’t know…”
Arlo sat down in a wide tartan easy chair. “We get these kids at the zoo – hah, listen to me, in my twenties, talking about ‘kids’ – but they come in without any sense of – I don’t know, urgency or need. Some are good, mostly immigrants – but most of them are just – totally lazy. They think life is like a conveyor belt that just brings you good things, no matter what. I didn’t start as early as you, Mr. Hastings, but I’ve had a job since I was in my mid-teens.”
Ethel came in with a plateful of crackers and cheese. “It’s the phone that’s driving me crazy these days. My ear hurts half the day because I’ve got the phone jammed against it for hours. And my neck, my shoulder… I know, Rachel, I should use the speakerphone - radiation, yeah – but I can't hear people, it’s too tinny. And no one has any answers, and no one calls you back – and I don’t mean to complain about accents, but it’s so hard to understand people sometimes…”
“I think we’re going to have to shut down,” said Bert abruptly. “I haven’t missed a day of work in – what, ten years? I think… But we can’t – Randall can’t afford to pay people to just – stand around. What did I always say, Rachel, about getting things done?”
Rachel smiled. “‘Do it, or tell me you won’t.’”
He grinned, snapping his fingers and pointing at her. “Exactly! These chuckleheads won’t deliver, and won’t warn me – and act all offended when I chew them out! And I'd be fine getting another job, I really would, but it feels like everything is the same at the moment. Like some zombie movie…”
Arlo nodded. “They had to operate on one of the lemurs, but they couldn’t. Do you know why?”
“Because it’s a lemur?” asked Rachel.
He shot her a slightly annoyed look. “No, because they couldn’t get any lidocaine. Please, please take care of your teeth everyone. My dentists said the same thing.”
Ethel rubbed her hands. “Even getting aspirin is a bother…”
Bert took a swig of beer. “My dad talked about the war – the big one, the second – and if he were still around, he’d think it was pretty damn – familiar. You remember, hon, that time he showed us his ration book?”
“Gave me the chills!” smiled Ethel, patting her thick belly. “I do like to stay warm!”
Arlo said: “I remember, when I was a kid – you’d remember it better than me – when it was supposed to be the ‘end of history’? Remember that?”
Ethel shook her head.
Bert nodded slowly. “I do…”
“We’d won. Democracy, free markets. It was all supposed to be…” Arlo gestured vaguely. “…trending upwards from there.”
“Like the space shuttle,” said Bert, turning to his wife. “Remember when we first saw it take off, and I said I wanted to save up for a ticket!” He whistled. “Whoo, did I hear about that one!”
“You stay safe for the people who love you!” said Ethel simply.
“Ah, that reminds me. Did you call that insurance broker, young lady?”
Rachel nodded. “I left a message.”
“When?”
“Couple of days ago.”
Bert tsked between his teeth. “Are you being straight with me?”
Rachel’s cheeks colored. “Yeah, why?”
“Because Harold is a good friend of mine, and I told him all about you and – Arlo. And he would never in a million years wait a couple of days before calling you back.” Bert raised a warning finger. “If he did, he and I are going to have words.”
Rachel cocked her head. “I called the number you gave me.”
“And you got the right voicemail?”
“Oh, dad – no one has time for voicemail! I always just – bypass it and leave a message…”
“And you didn’t think it strange that he didn’t call you back?”
“I don’t think it strange when…” Rachel laughed. “I think it strange when anyone calls me back.”
Ethel said: “Well, I’m glad it’s not just old broads like me…”
“You guys need life insurance,” said Bert, leaning forward. “Anything can happen. Anything. My buddy Edwin - you know that story?”
Everyone nodded.
“No insurance. Three kids. The man died with two months savings in his bank account. His wife had to go to work, his kids had to go to daycare… Now I know that your jobs are not as dangerous – but even in the car, accidents happen, every day… Please, for my peace of mind, talk to Harold.”
“Daycare…” murmured Rachel.
There was silence for a moment.
“Mom?”
“Mmm?”
“I was talking with Cassie the other day – and she reminded me of something. You stayed home with her, but I was in – daycare, right?”
A slight pause. “Yes…”
“What happened? Why?”
It is always amazing how quickly old wounds erupt.
Ethel frowned. “Well, that’s digging up some old news!”
“I’m just curious.”
“Why?”
Rachel swallowed, her mouth obviously dry. “I’m not sure…”
Ethel’s eyes widened suddenly, and she gestured at her belly again. “Are you..?”
“Oh, mom, no!”
“Well, it’s not a curse!”
“I know that, but I’m not – pregnant.”
Bert laughed suddenly, too loudly. “You thinking of putting Arlo into daycare?”
Arlo smiled, but thinly.
Ethel stood up as rapidly as her knees permitted. “Who’s hungry?”
This was the moment of the power play – the topic dropped conspicuously, like a shattering plate everyone was expected to just – step over.
“It’s – Ben,” said Rachel.
Ethel froze.
Bert’s eyes narrowed. “Is he okay?”
“Not – not particularly,” said Rachel.
“What? Why?”
Rachel took a deep breath. “Ian’s going to… He’s convinced Cassie to quit work and stay home with the new baby. And they’re pulling Ben out of daycare.”
“Oh, that’s quite a thing!” said Bert. “We were never sicker than when you were first in daycare. You brought every bug and its cousin home!”
Rachel’s voice was tense. “It’s not because of – bugs, dad. Ben’s kind of freaking out at daycare.”
Her mother turned. “Freaking – out?”
“I think – acting out is the right term… Not listening, not sharing. Fighting, hitting. Biting. And – I think his language skills should be – further along.”
“What does – what does daycare have to do with that?”
“Well, Ian sent me a bunch of links, and – and there are some studies…”
Ethel frowned deeply. “Oh, studies! If there’s one thing the last couple of years have taught us…”
“We’re not talking about that, were talking about Ben!”
Bert held up his hand and leaned forward again. “Wait – you’re saying that Cass and Ian think that daycare is – not good for Ben?”
“They’re need to try – something… Cass says he’s becoming – quite the terror.”
“Oh, that’s just the age!” snapped Ethel.
Her husband stared at her.
“What?” she demanded.
Bert turned to Rachel. “Your mother did… She did work, when you were little. A baby. She read all these magazines… It was expected, I guess…”
“Oh Bert, stop it!”
“Stop what?”
“You know.”
“I don’t.”
“The food is – well it’s not getting cold, but it’s better when it’s fresh. Come on, let’s go eat!”
Ethel reached forward and pulled at her husband’s arm.
He sighed and started to get up.
Rachel felt a thunderous charge of horses in her chest, pulling her towards the past, towards – what? Truth? Revelation?
There was no way to know.
“Wait!” she cried passionately.
Arlo turned to her in shock.
“Babe? You okay?”
Rachel leaned over and took her father’s other arm.
“Dad, I want to ask you something – it’s nothing about daycare, or anything like that…”
He looked at her quizzically. “You can ask me anything, you know that…”
Ethel sighed and sat back down. “I guess the food can wait,” she said with vague bitterness.
Rachel’s hands were trembling, and she closed them on her lap. “I’ve been – working on this – article about something called ‘men’s rights.’ It doesn’t matter, the content is unimportant – but this man I interviewed – sorry Arlo, I never mentioned it – he asked me something that I’ve been thinking about – a lot. To do with you, dad…”
“Me?” Bert’s surprise was almost comical.
“Well…” Rachel gestured at her mother. “We all know how always thank mom for her cooking – and you’re going to thank God for your food – and even the farmers. Anyway, this man…” Rachel laughed rapidly. “He thinks that…”
Arlo said: “You want some water?”
Rachel shook her head and wiped her left eye suddenly. “Dad, I’m not much of a morning person, never was of course – but I remember waking up and hearing you getting ready in the dark – to go to work… You just said you haven’t taken a day off in over 10 years…”
Bert’s eyes were deeply alert. “No, I said I haven’t missed a day of work…”
“What was your longest vacation, dad?”
Bert frowned and glanced at his wife. “New Jersey?”
“No, Orlando. Ten days. Twelve years ago.”
Bert smiled. “What she said…”
Arlo whistled. “Mr. Hastings, you’re like a machine!”
The old man shrugged and smiled. “It’s my generation. It’s our way…”
Rachel said: “And I remember – I remember you always telling me to thank mom, show appreciation, and – praise her. You used to say: ‘It’s like mother’s milk to her’… Always thought that was – funny.”
Ethel raised an eyebrow. “Really? All these years, all these compliments – just – fake?”
Rachel shook her head rapidly. “Dad – this man wanted me to ask you something…”
Her father’s eyes were dark pools of expectation.
Ethel laughed suddenly. “Well, this is all very mysterious! Have you been keeping a mistress, my dear?”
“Yeah – under the couch. She helps me with my train set in the wee hours. In a bikini.”
Rachel shook her head again, as if to clear water from her ears. “Dad – I know it’s your generation, this emotional talk is like – it gives you hives, I think. But – Dad – did you feel – appreciated, for all the work, all the money, getting up in the dark…”
“Appreciated…” echoed her father mechanically. There was no emotion in his voice.
“Well, we thank mom all the time… ‘Mother’s milk.’ I’m – I’m ashamed… It’s so stupid! I saw a documentary the other day about a band, and the bassist wrote all the great songs, and the drummer – well the band broke up, right at the height of their fame, and the drummer – years later – said that he never thanked the bassist for all of the great songs that made them famous… I’m sorry, this is…” Rachel fixed her eyes on her father’s very still face. “I don’t remember a single time when I thanked you for getting up in the dark, for going to work… For paying all the bills.”
“Your father wasn’t the only one who worked in this family!” snapped Ethel.
Her eyes full, Rachel turned to her mother. “I know, mom,” she said softly. “But you got thanked, you were appreciated – we all – we all made sure of that… It’s almost like we – had to – I’m not saying that you demanded it, or anything like that, but…”
Rachel trailed off.
She looked at Arlo, who was staring at her father.
Bert’s eyes were narrowed. His face lowered slightly, his cheeks darkening.
“Don’t upset your father!” cried Ethel automatically.
Bert spoke with some effort. “Your – your health and happiness was all the thanks I needed… You and Cassie… And mom…”
“But why?” asked Rachel. “Mom’s not a child – if she needs appreciation, why don’t you?”
Bert shook his head in a daze.
“That time you burned your hand on the printing press… That must’ve hurt like – like heck. And when you had that manager, the bald guy with the beard, the screamer – what was his name?”
“Oh… Wesley…” murmured Bert, his eyes full of pain.
“I mean – that went on for years…”
“Three and a half years…” murmured her father. “I could give you that in minutes, if you have a mind.”
“And you couldn’t quit…”
Her father shrugged. “It was a recession…”
Rachel took a deep breath. “Well… Dad, I’m not saying you need it, but I’m really sorry that I never said anything.”
There was a moment of silence. Arlo was staring at Rachel. Ethel stood up again.
“Well, now that that’s…”
“Mom!” cried Rachel. “Haven’t you thanked him?”
Ethel’s eyes seemed to freeze over. “My relationship with your father is our business!”
Arlo suddenly said: “You haven’t thanked me!”
Rachel opened her mouth, and her face froze.
Bert said: “For the zoo?”
“Hey, I make a good base, and great tips! I give kids a great show! I know you shouldn’t talk money with – family – but I made one heck of a lot more than Rachel did last year!”
Ethel said, uncertainly: “That’s – good…”
Bert widened his eyes and cocked his head. “To be honest, we always wondered…”
Arlo pursed his lips. “Well, Rachel is trying to get her career going, and there’s not a mess of jobs out there for me, so I've been – hanging in… To be supportive. I think she’s a great writer… But I think you – I think you look down on me for that, Rach.”
“We should leave you two alone,” said Ethel decisively.
There was a pause. No one moved.
Rachel’s hands were on her clavicle. “My God, my chest is… Sorry. Why can’t I get these words out?”
“What – words?” asked her father slowly.
Rachel burst into tears. “Dad, you worked so hard for us – you still do… I’m pushing thirty, you shouldn’t be reminding me about life insurance! I don’t think I made that call – I’m sorry, I don’t want to make that call, because I’m not sure what kind of life we have…” Making a tight fist, Rachel thumped herself hard on the forehead. “Damn it, stop making it about yourself!” She raised her eyes to her father’s waiting face.
“Dad, I’m so… I thank you for – so much. You are a great father… I know you would rather have been home with us – you always told us how much fun we were…” Rachel held up a warning hand as her mother started to speak. “I’m not saying you didn’t work mom – God, can we just make it about dad for five minutes? Dad, I know you didn’t like your job. I know you saved up money so that – so that me and Cass could get an education. And I know you’re a smart guy, you could’ve done – better than me, I think. And I know you really disliked – hated – some of that stuff you had to print at the factory. It was pretty – degenerate, I heard you and mom talking about it a couple of times… And that screamer, he was a – real pill… And you did it – you did it all for us, and we just – swallowed it up… Mom, this is not about you! And here you are, surrounded by three women, who take all your money and don’t even give you the time of day! God, it’s wretched! Thank you, dad, thank you, thank you, thank you!”
His eyes full of tears, Bert leaned forward and embraced his daughter.
Ethel glared, then leaned forward and stroked Rachel’s hair.
Arlo leaned back, pouting ever so slightly.
Next chapters: https://freedomain.locals.com/post/3493810/the-present
