The Bully of Order (15 page)

Although the treason pleases
—. If they'd left together, she wouldn't be like this now, or perhaps she would. Odds were favorable that if one way killed you, the other might let you live, but there was no way to test it. Odds were just that, not certifiable.

The child had his head bowed. At the doctor's next step he turned, his mouth parted slightly. It was Nell that was grinding her teeth, not him. She was suffering in there. She was fighting. The boy mumbled something.

“What's that?”

“I said should we get a strop between her teeth.”

“She could choke on it, son. Her teeth are the last part of her well-being that I'm worried about.”

The boy nodded and crossed his hands in his lap.

The doctor allowed that from most angles Duncan Ellstrom was an awkward child, awkward yet angelic, but truly remarkable because he was Nell's. Her light was in him.

“She's sleeping so she gets better,” Duncan said. “Like when I had the fever, I had to sleep. I slept for a week before I was well.”

Dr. Haslett motioned the boy over. “Come out here with me for a moment.”

The boy rose like a marionette and followed the doctor into the living room. He was wet and shivering from being in the rain. The doctor sat in his chair and waved Duncan in front of the fireplace.

“Where'd he go?”

“He didn't say.”

“Is he coming back?”

“I don't think so.”

“Do I have to leave?”

“No, you don't have to leave. You'll stay with me until your mother gets well.”

“She's not getting well.”

“We don't know that for sure.”

“I heard what you told him.” The boy looked nervously around the room and then sat down on the floor beside the doctor's chair like a dog would. The doctor thought of caressing his wet hair but didn't. When Nell was here, she smelled of lilac. Once she'd taken off her wedding ring as soon she walked in the door, set it on the mantel like the last shell from an unloaded pistol.

“I can't help her.”

“I know you would if you could.”

“She could wake up.” The doctor felt the pressure building in his sinuses. He couldn't cover himself like he used to. With age he'd acquired a bruising sentimentality. “Your mother is a wonderful woman, Duncan. Do you know that?”

The boy didn't seem to be listening, couldn't comprehend what he was confessing. “You think she can hear me?”

“I do.”

The doctor led him into the kitchen and poured him a cup of coffee. “What can you tell me about your uncle, what kind of man is he?”

Duncan sniffed at the coffee and then sipped, tried some more. “My mother doesn't like him.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She had a shotgun pointed at him.”

“When was this?”

“Last week.”

“Did he hurt her?”

“She said she was fine.”

From the warming closet on the cookstove the doctor retrieved a plate of bear sausage and proceeded to cut it into pieces with a large but dull knife. They sat down at the kitchen table. The boy unfolded his pocketknife and cleaned the blade on his pants and then stabbed a piece of sausage from the plate and ate it. “Him and my father kind of look the same, but his son Jonas doesn't look anything like me.”

The doctor ate with his fingers, sucked the grease from his thumb. “Most brothers don't look so much alike, and they share parents.”

“Do you have a brother?”

“No, a sister, and she looks nothing like me. She's skinnier than you.” Duncan smiled, and there was Nell, and the doctor had to fight back the tears. “Nobody's making you leave here, son.”

“I know.” Duncan pocketed his knife and took his coffee with him, carried it in both hands like a bird nest.

The doctor heard the cup smash and went after him. Duncan was on his knees, picking up the pieces.

“Leave it.”

“I'm sorry.”

He lifted the boy by his arm.

“You'll make it through, son.”

“Her face changed. She looks different. Is she dead?”

Dr. Haslett put his hand on her throat, around her neck, and felt her pulse, stronger than before. “No, she's not dead. Her color's improved.”

“I didn't know her when I walked in. She didn't look like herself.”

The doctor reached out to put his hand on Duncan's shoulder, but he dodged away instinctively. Haslett hovered his hand over the boy's head. He wanted to touch him. “I'm going to the market, and then I'll be back. Wait here.”

Duncan nodded but didn't speak. His hands trembled at his sides.

T
he doctor left and
I sat there and listened to my mother's breathing. I had to cover her eyes with my hand, cover the bruising, so I could look at her. Her lips were dry. Her callused hands, resting on her stomach. The blankets were tucked around her body and her feet pointed skyward. The picture in my mind was one of a carved saint. I lifted my hand from her face and it hurt me to see her. As I was watching, her lips cracked and began to bleed the slightest bit. I wet a washcloth in the water glass on the table and wet her forehead and then her lips, and despite myself I thought of Teresa. I felt bad for thinking of her. I held the damp cloth in my lap and looked away to the steamed window and let my mind wander because anywhere would be better than here.

The new schoolhouse had been built over the summer and when we got there on the first day the floors were still sticky with paint. It was supposed to be the good school compared to the old but it was just the same. That first day the paint burned my eyes and I was targeted for being weepy. Oliver Boyerton had lost his eye and wore a patch. Everyone knew that I'd done it to him and it brought me a little bit of fame. I wasn't getting picked on so much any longer. My pals were wicked through except for Zeb, who was dull but kind, a good friend. Oliver was older so we didn't have class together. The patch made him look angry but I figured that's the way a patch makes you look. He asked me once if I wanted to go fishing sometime but I said I was busy because I felt bad about what I'd done. The McCandlisses were watching us, and Oliver was one they liked to pick on. He walked off and I followed him and aped him and Joseph and Ben both laughed and laughed until Oliver turned around. I felt low when he eyed me.

I was in the same class as his sister, Teresa. We sat in the same aisle, she had the seat behind me and I could feel her eyes staring at the back of my head. Joseph said she loved me. I went to talk to her once but she laughed at me and pinched my nipple through my shirt and called me Double Ugly and laughed some more. She was sticking up for her brother, and that was admirable enough. I didn't try to talk to her again. I avoided her like an anthill but felt driven toward her the same way. Meaning, I suppose, I wanted to poke her with a stick.

Joseph was the first with her out of our group. Then his brother, and then Zeb, of all people. I'm not saying they went for the final stop, just a tour round. A couple older boys from South Harbor were after that. To be sure, these were all rumors. Joseph and Ben were big liars, and Zeb just did what we did, said what we said. But something was happening with her. She burned at the edge of my world.

Walking home one day I met her on the road. She had mud on her hands and her dress was stained at the knees. Oliver was walking a few hundred feet back like she was a flock and everywhere, and he was herding her.

“What're you doing?” she asked.

“Goin home. What're you doin?”

“Running away.”

“Where?”

“I don't know.”

“Is Oliver going with you?” He'd stopped walking and was watching us.

“No, he's trying to stop me. Do you want to run away with me?”

“Do you know where you're going?”

“No.” She turned and looked back at her brother. “He'll follow us, so you have to run fast.” And she ran from the road into the forest. Before I could think, I was right behind her. I looked back once and Oliver was there but he wasn't running. It wasn't long before we were all by ourselves.

When we stopped we were looking across a wide and secret field of grass hidden in the trees. I knew somewhere before us there was a creek, but you couldn't tell from where we were. If it weren't for the creek, this would be my way home. I'd gone that way before, figuring that it was better to swim the creek than to walk, but I was wrong. The water was cold, and even though I'd stripped naked my clothes stuck to me afterward and made it not worth it.

Teresa sat down in the grass. I stood ten feet off and waited.

“Do you think he'll find us?” I asked.

“No, he'll go back.”

“How do you know?”

“He gets scared in the woods.”

“He's older than me, and I don't get scared.” I was like the schooner that sank last week in clear sight of the dock where it'd been moored because it'd been overloaded, except I was full of shit, not lumber. She didn't know that. One thing my father told me is that people only know what they're told.

She smiled. “I think I scare you.”

“No.” I couldn't say anything else, thought of a few things but couldn't slide them out of my mouth.

“Come and sit with me.”

When I sat down, she took my hand and held it in both of hers.

I had to swallow hard before I could speak. “I wish we were at the beach.”

“Speak quietly. My brother might find us.”

“I thought you said he wouldn't.”

“It's not like he's a monster. He's not as awful as you.”

My blood went hot, and I took back my hand.

She sprang toward me and kissed me and held me there until I kissed her back. She pushed me down and we were lying in the grass and it sheltered us from the wind and from sight. My lips ached fiercely and my pecker was swollen to bursting and embarrassing there in my pants. Then someone was crashing through the woods and into the field. Teresa jumped up because it was Oliver. We could hear him yelling. She pushed me down so I wouldn't stand up. She walked away. I heard her say something to her brother. I waited for them to come back but they never did. When I stood up, they were gone.

After school we'd run from Oliver, and after a couple more times he quit following us. Teresa said that her mother was a lady of the darkened room. Meaning she hid out and didn't bother anyone with the hope of not being bothered. Her father was always working. She didn't have to go home. The housekeepers didn't tell on her. We didn't know or really care what Oliver would do.

“Your family is rich,” I said.

“Yes.”

“It makes you different.”

“Not as different as you.”

“Here we go.”

“Put your hand there.”

I did as I was told. She kissed me and I tried to crawl on top of her, but she pushed me off.

“I didn't say to do that.”

“Sorry.”

“Show me it.”

“Show you what?”

“You know what.” She reached down and touched my crotch and then started to undo my belt. I helped her get me unhitched and pulled it out. After a few long seconds of staring, she finally grabbed it. “Don't tell anybody.”

“I won't.”

“You're all liars. Every last one.”

“Not me.” I had my hand down the front of her dress to the elbow, and I could hear the stitching begin to tear.

“Stop that and lie back.”

It didn't take long and when I was done she left me out and sticky and wiped her hand on the grass, musky as a fox trap. I was taking a chill, so I stood and shoved my slimy pecker into my pants and buckled up.

“Where are you going?”

“There's a creek. I'll wash up.”

“Not now. Sit with me.”

I sat. After a few minutes of staring at the grass and the clouds that were rolling in, I asked if she liked it.

“Doin that to me.”

“It's fine.”

“Do you like it when somebody does it to you?”

“If they do it right, and they don't have dirty hands or scratchy nails.” She picked up my hand and inspected it. “Not good.”

“I'll cut my nails tonight and wash up.”

“All right.”

The clouds were dull and heavy and the ripe green grass smelled of yesterday's rain. “We used to be rich. Not as rich as you, but my father was a doctor. He owned a whole city block.”

“Why isn't he a doctor anymore?”

“I don't know. Some people still call him Doc.”

“Oliver told me that your father never went to school to be a doctor. He just told people he was.”

“How'd he buy a city block then?”

“He was fooling people.”

“Maybe. I don't know. He's a logger now, anyway.”

“My dad says loggers are one generation from being wild beasts. He says they prove Mendelian inheritance.”

“What's he mean by that?”

“He means two black dogs don't have white puppies.”

“Loggers don't marry loggers.”

“In a way though, they do.”

I was just smart enough to be insulted, which didn't do me any good at all. “I'm goin to wash up. I'll be right back.”

“All right. Hurry, though. It's going to rain.”

She was my girlfriend. We met every day, but we had to be sneaky or her father would find out. Zeb and the McCandlisses learned to keep their mouths shut about her. To them I think I existed somewhere between pity and wonder. She made me late for supper, but it didn't matter because my father was always gone, and Mother didn't keep me to schedules. Sometimes I'd sneak out to see her and she wouldn't be able to get away to meet me, so I'd just go home, walk miles in the dark, scared of bears and everything else, for nothing. Once I left the lights of town, I was alone. No one there except the ones that'd like to do me harm. Your mind tells you this: darkness keeps danger. You can't listen to your mind. It took everything I had not to break out and run. I would think of her so I would be brave. I would've walked ten times as far in even darker woods to get the chance to see her. I wanted to see her now, but she was in Seattle with her mother and wouldn't be back for another week.