The Last Summer of the Camperdowns (24 page)

“Cut it out,” Harry said. “Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Forget about all this stuff between your dad and mine. You want to feel sorry for somebody, feel sorry for Charlie.” His voice caught in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing in pain. “Chances are he’s missed his chance to become a middle-aged pain in the ass.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

T
HE RIDE BACK TO THE HOUSE TOOK AN HOUR. IT WAS AN
uncomfortable journey and Harry’s leg was acting up again.

“I’m fine. Would you forget about it already?” he said, as the horses walked the long trail leading to the stable and the house, passing the caretaker’s cottage where Gula lived.

“Shit,” Harry said, mouth grimly set.

“What is it?” I asked him, turning around in my saddle to see what had caught his attention.

“I hate the way he treats that dog,” he said, nodding in the direction of Gula’s tortured pet, huddled on the ground, tethered by a heavy short chain to an empty wooden box.

“I know, me too,” I said, averting my gaze.

“Don’t look away,” Harry admonished. “What do you think that accomplishes? Why does Gin allow it? There’s something about Gula . . .”

If you only knew. “He scares me a little bit,” I said, a rare admission.

“Well, he doesn’t scare me.”

“Maybe he should.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He just gives me a creepy feeling, that’s all.”

“Nobody ever died from a creepy feeling. Man up, Hoffa,” Harry said.

“Screw you,” I said.

“That’s more like it.”

Once back at Gin’s house, Harry was having a rough time. Sighing deeply, wincing in pain, he leaned over, shifting his weight, first onto one leg and then the other as he tried to make himself comfortably upright. I walked alongside him into the open yard. He was moving slowly and paused to lean against the paddock fence, which was painted a brilliant white, like the stable.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

I helped him over to a wooden bench near the stable door. “I’ll find someone.”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wooden slats of the stable wall. Just then Gin, Gula and my mother appeared from the rear of the stable, heading up to the house. I called them over.

“Oh, my, does your father know where you are?” Gin said, reaching Harry’s side. “Boomslang’s training can wait, you know. Are you in much pain? We need to get you home.”

“I’ll just sit here for a minute and then head home.”

“No. Your father would never forgive me if I sent you off on your own in this condition. I’ll drive you home myself. Gula can follow in my car.”

“No, thanks. Jesus, it’s just a sore knee. I can drive myself,” Harry said as he rose to his feet and limped alongside Gin.

“Finally, some perspective,” my mother said, Harry looking over at me, trying not to laugh.

“This is turning into quite a day.” She shot me an unpleasant accusatory glance. “Gin and I were exercising Clancy and Naiad. Clancy stumbled and went down and his knee looks to be quite a mess. We had to walk back.”

“What does the vet say?”

“I’ll be back in a moment,” my mother said, not answering my question, sprinting up the walkway and disappearing through the front door of the house.

“I’ve got to get going,” Harry said. “Holy shit!” He was looking past me and toward the house. I followed his line of vision.

“Oh no,” I said as my mother approached, rifle in hand, her intent apparent.

“Don’t start,” she said, raising the palm of her hand in a stop signal. “It needs to be done. Gin and Gula both agree.”

“Just call the vet, please, Mom. I can’t believe you’re going to shoot him.” I was desperate.

Harry spoke up. “Let’s just have the vet take a quick look at him and see what can be done. Where’s the harm?”

“This is not a committee meeting. The decision is made. Clancy is finished for hunting. I don’t need a vet to confirm what I know. That’s the end of it. He won’t suffer. It’ll be quick and merciful. I’ll make sure of it. He’s lame. There’s nothing to be done with a lame horse.”

“Greer’s right,” Gula said. “The horse must die.”

My mother looked at him with something approaching respect. I was terrified.

“Gin,” I said, trying a last court of appeal. “Don’t let them do it!” Gin just covered his face with his hands and shook his head. “Gula knows what he is doing,” he said.

“Greer, for Christ’s sake, this isn’t the sad chapter from
Black Beauty
. Don’t shoot the horse,” Harry said.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t intend to indulge your sentimentality at Clancy’s expense. All you’re doing is postponing the inevitable. He’s suffering. Why prolong it when you know the outcome? The vet will euthanize him. Should someone else do our dirty work for us? By the way, you two, no one’s asking you to do it. Toughen up.”

“Maybe you better shoot me too, while you’re at it,” Harry said, pointing to his knee.

“Don’t tempt me,” she said.

“Greer, you’re just making matters worse,” Gin wailed.

I stood next to Harry, as my mother, accompanied by Gin and Gula, walked away, her stride purposeful and brisk, rounding the corner to the back of the stable.

“Mom, please!” I shouted out to her. Gin ducked back from around the corner, hands covering his ears. Seconds later we heard a single rifle shot, and that was the end of poor Clancy. I started to cry. Harry looked over at me in disbelief.

Greer reappeared and walked toward us.

“Mom,” I cried out. “Did you really do it?”

But she wouldn’t answer me. She looked at me with contempt and walked on. I kept asking her, calling after her, hoping for a different answer.

Harry stared at me, not speaking, deep in thought, his arms at his sides, palms resting on his jeans, his fingers tapping out a message that I couldn’t decipher.

L
ATE THAT NIGHT, LYING
in bed, I was reading by the dim light of an old lamp when I heard someone calling for me in a kind of loud stage whisper. “Hoffa!”

“Harry?” I stuck my head out of the open window. “What is it?”

“Get dressed and get down here.”

That was all I needed to hear.

“Over here,” Harry whispered, stepping out from behind a cluster of willow trees. The night was a chalky blue-gray color, the moon casting its surreal silver glow. I felt as if I had stumbled into a painting, a kind of nocturne.

“What are you doing here?”

“Never mind. Just follow me. I’m parked down at the road.”

“How’s your leg?” We were half running, half walking down the lane.

“It’s fine. That’s why God invented drugs and alcohol.”

“So what are we doing?” I was trying to keep my voice steady, not wanting to betray my excitement at this midnight rendezvous even as I suspected that his answer was not going to live up to my expectations. At that point in my life, anything short of a glass slipper and a golden carriage would have come up lacking—though I might have settled for an impassioned declaration of love and a marriage proposal.

“Come on. Follow me,” he said, touching my elbow, which I made immediate plans to have laminated.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said as he drove a half mile down the road and turned down the concealed back entrance to Gin’s property. I went along as if it was the most natural thing in the world—certainly the most thrilling—to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night and accompany Harry Devlin deep into the woods.

“What are we doing here?” I asked him, apprehensions growing as we ducked down behind a wide overgrowth of wild shrub roses overlooking Gula’s cottage.

“We’re going to steal Gula’s dog,” Harry said, oblivious to my sudden onset of respiratory distress.

“We can’t do that.” I moved away, shaking my head. “Let’s go home. I want to go home.”

“You go home if you want. I’m getting that dog.”

“No! You can’t. We can’t. Please, Harry, don’t.” I was shaking.

“Jesus. What’s wrong with you?”

“You can’t just steal someone’s dog. Anyway, Gula’s crazy. Who knows what he’ll do if he catches us?”

“I don’t have any problem taking that poor dog away from that bastard. Let him catch us. I couldn’t care less what he does. Somebody’s got to help that dog. Why not me?”

“I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Harry, please.”

“Fine, run along home. Do what you want. I’ll do it myself.”

He started to walk away. I was riveted in place, afraid to stay and afraid to go. An owl hooted in the tree overhead, making the decision for me. I dashed after Harry. He wasn’t impressed.

“Either you’re in or you’re out,” he said. “No whining and no independent thinking. Okay?”

I nodded and struggled to keep my voice steady. “What do we do with the dog when we get him?”

“I’ve got it covered. A friend of mine is going to take him. He’s going to live on a farm in Maine.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing for now. You wait here. I’ll get him. I want you to take care of him once we get to the car. I don’t know how he’ll react. He knows you.”

“Where are we going? Are we driving to Maine?” Crossing state lines was something that outlaws did, so why was I so captivated by the idea?

“No. My friend is going to meet me back at my house. So, will you help me?”

“Yeah, I will,” I said, my internal organs marinating in adrenaline.

“Listen to me. This guy Gula’s got some kind of weird radar. If I get caught, you run like hell. Okay? Don’t look back. Just run. Get away.”

“What about you?”

“I can take care of myself.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. Harry picked up on my reservations.

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better, if you get caught, I promise I’ll take off running without a thought for your safety, okay? Is it a deal?”

“Harry.” I grabbed him by the wrist as he got up from his crouching position behind the wall of roses. “Don’t get caught.”

“What’s the dog’s name?”

“Hanzi.”

Gula’s cottage was a board-and-batten construction with traditional Cape cedar shakes. It was small but had a wide verandah out front and a screened-in porch at the rear. There were lights on in the living room, though the blinds on all the windows were drawn. They were always closed, even on the sunniest days.

His dog was tied to an overturned wooden crate positioned a few yards from the front door. Alerted by our presence, Hanzi emerged from his crate, ears pricked, watching without barking as Harry darted across the front yard, dropping down behind an old car up on blocks in the dirt driveway.

I held my breath, watching as Harry popped up and prepared to dash toward Hanzi, who looked on timidly but with interest. Harry stepped out from behind the front of the car just as the main door to the cottage opened, screen door squeaking and banging against an outer wall. Clapping my hand over my mouth, I repressed an instinct to shout out an alarm as Harry dropped behind the car again.

Hanzi looked up and shrank back down to the ground at the sound of loud voices; the voices weren’t angry, but they were intense.

“Whatever I can do to make it happen. Whatever it costs. I don’t care. Just get me that mare.”

Even now, if I close my eyes and concentrate, I can smell the wild roses, hear the shaky sound of Gin’s voice vibrating in the early morning night air.

“Yes, yes,” Gula said wearily. “Be patient. You’ll have your mare.” He walked from the front door to the edge of the verandah, looking over at Gin, who was standing a few feet away from him at the top of the steps.

“So you say, but where is she?” said Gin with childlike impatience. “You’ve been promising me now for months.”

“What are you suggesting? That I don’t keep my word?” Gula’s tone was stark and inhospitable.

“All I know is that I want what I want when I want it and I want my breeding pair yesterday. I need a brood mare. I’ve made promises. I’ll look like a fool if I don’t deliver on them. This is very important to me.” Gin was behaving like some sort of thwarted infant god in the throes of a tantrum.

There were loud footsteps as Gula surged across the porch in a singular violent lunge, knocking into Gin’s chest with his own. Gin reeled backward, crying out in surprise and fear. He briefly struggled with his balance and then fell down the stairs, tumbling to the ground. Hanzi fearfully scrambled back into his crate and peered out at Gin, who lay in a distorted heap.

“You want? What you want? You talk to me this way? Me?” Gula shouted, looming over him as Gin cringed, curling up as if he had been kicked.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Gula.” Gin held his hands up in a posture of submission. “I know you’re doing the best you can. Sometimes I’m too single-minded for my own good.” Tentatively, he straightened up into a half-sitting, half-lying position. “Are we friends? I hope so. We’re still on? Are we?”

Gula stared down at him as Gin kept up a steady stream of conciliatory chatter. “Oh, I’m so relieved. We’ve come so far. Once I get my mare I can work to develop the Gypsy horse here in North America. It will all be worth it. I know I’m terrible. I do know that. I’m spoiled. I am. My mother spoiled me. She really did and, you know, I went along with it. Well, why not? I never could stand to be disappointed. It’s just the way I am. Come hell or high water. My father used to say to me, ‘Gin, are you really so eager to reap the whirlwind?’ Of course, I didn’t have a clue what he was taking about. Still don’t for that matter. I just know what I want and I know how to get it. Is that so terrible? Some people might even consider it a talent.”