“I mean it, me! It’s been days now and you
guys done shit! ”Public servants!“ You ain’t nothing but—”
“
Celie
,” Jack and Paulie both said.
Land broke free of Royce. She turned back, her, to Celie. “Your
concern for your town’s safety is natural, ma’am. The warden ‘bot and
any sick wildlife are not in my jurisdiction—they fall to District
Supervisor Samuelson—but when I return to Albany I’ll do everything in
my power to see that the problem is solved.” She looked straight into
Celie’s eyes, real steady, and it was Celie who looked away first, her.
Celie didn’t say nothing. Land smiled, her, and turned to her crew,
think we’re done here, Royce. I’ll meet you outside.“ She walked to the
door, back straight, head high. And the only reason I ever saw anything
different was because of where I stood, me, sideways to the door,
between Annie and any trouble. Congress-woman Land reached the door and
she was a smiling pretty cocksure politician, her. Then she went
through the door and she was a woman with tired, tired eyes.
I glanced at Annie to see if she saw. But she was clucking at Celie
Kane. Annie might of grinned, her, at Celie’s balls, but deep down
inside Annie don’t approve of sassing public servants.
They can’t
help being donkeys
. I could almost hear her say it, me. /
Lizzie said in her clear young voice, “That Congresswoman can’t
really help get the warden ‘bot fixed in Albany, can she? She was just
pretending, her.”
“Oh hush,” Annie said. “You never will learn, you, when to keep your
mouth quiet and when not.”
==========
Two days later, two days of everybody staying inside, us, and no
warden ‘bot tech from Albany, we made a hunting party. It took hours of
talk that went around and around in dizzies, but we made it. Livers
ain’t supposed to have no guns, us. No warehouses stock a District
Supervisor Tara Eleanor Schmidt .22 rifle. No political campaigns give
away a Senator Jason Howard Adams shotgun or a County Legislature Terry
William Monaghan pistol. But we got them, us.
Paulie Cenverno dug up his granddaddy’s shotgun, him, from a
plastisynth box behind the school. Plastisynth keeps out damn near
everything: dirt, damp, rust, bugs. Eddie Rollins and Jim Swikehardt
and old Doug Kane had their daddies’ rifles, them. Sue Rollins and her
sister, Krystal Mandor, said they’d share a family Matlin; I didn’t
see, me, how that could work. Two men I didn’t know had shotguns. Al
Rauber had a pistol. Two of the teenage stomps showed up, grinning, not
armed. Just what we needed, us. Altogether, we were twenty.
“Let’s split, us, into pairs, and set out in ten straight lines from
the cafe,” Jack Sawicki said.
“You sound like a goddamn donkey,” Eddie Rollins said in disgust.
The stomps grinned.
“You got a better idea, you?” Jack said. He held his rifle real
tight over his bulging green jacks.
“We’re Livers,” Krystal Mandor said, “let us go where we want, us.”
Jack said, “And what if somebody gets shot, them? You want the
police franchise down on us?”
Eddie said, “I want to hunt raccoons, me, like an aristo. Don’t give
me no orders, Jack.”
“Fine,” Jack said. “Go ahead, you. I’m not saying another goddamn
word.”
After ten minutes of arguing we set off in pairs, us, in ten
straight lines.
I walked with Doug Kane, Celie’s father. Two old men, us, slow and
limping. But Doug still knew, him, how to walk quiet in the woods. Off
to my right I heard somebody whooping and laughing. One of the stomps.
After a while, the sound died away.
The woods were cool and sweet-smelling, so thick overhead that the
floor wasn’t much overgrown. We stepped, us, on pine needles that sent
up their clean smell. White birches, slim as Lizzie, rustled. Under the
trees moss grew dark green, and in the sunny patches there was daisies
and buttercups and black-eyed Susans. A mourning dove called, the
calmest sound in the whole
guys done shit! ”Public servants!“ You ain’t nothing but—”
“
Celie
,” Jack and Paulie both said.
Land broke free of Royce. She turned back, her, to Celie. “Your
concern for your town’s safety is natural, ma’am. The warden ‘bot and
any sick wildlife are not in my jurisdiction—they fall to District
Supervisor Samuelson—but when I return to Albany I’ll do everything in
my power to see that the problem is solved.” She looked straight into
Celie’s eyes, real steady, and it was Celie who looked away first, her.
Celie didn’t say nothing. Land smiled, her, and turned to her crew,
think we’re done here, Royce. I’ll meet you outside.“ She walked to the
door, back straight, head high. And the only reason I ever saw anything
different was because of where I stood, me, sideways to the door,
between Annie and any trouble. Congress-woman Land reached the door and
she was a smiling pretty cocksure politician, her. Then she went
through the door and she was a woman with tired, tired eyes.
I glanced at Annie to see if she saw. But she was clucking at Celie
Kane. Annie might of grinned, her, at Celie’s balls, but deep down
inside Annie don’t approve of sassing public servants.
They can’t
help being donkeys
. I could almost hear her say it, me. /
Lizzie said in her clear young voice, “That Congresswoman can’t
really help get the warden ‘bot fixed in Albany, can she? She was just
pretending, her.”
“Oh hush,” Annie said. “You never will learn, you, when to keep your
mouth quiet and when not.”
==========
Two days later, two days of everybody staying inside, us, and no
warden ‘bot tech from Albany, we made a hunting party. It took hours of
talk that went around and around in dizzies, but we made it. Livers
ain’t supposed to have no guns, us. No warehouses stock a District
Supervisor Tara Eleanor Schmidt .22 rifle. No political campaigns give
away a Senator Jason Howard Adams shotgun or a County Legislature Terry
William Monaghan pistol. But we got them, us.
Paulie Cenverno dug up his granddaddy’s shotgun, him, from a
plastisynth box behind the school. Plastisynth keeps out damn near
everything: dirt, damp, rust, bugs. Eddie Rollins and Jim Swikehardt
and old Doug Kane had their daddies’ rifles, them. Sue Rollins and her
sister, Krystal Mandor, said they’d share a family Matlin; I didn’t
see, me, how that could work. Two men I didn’t know had shotguns. Al
Rauber had a pistol. Two of the teenage stomps showed up, grinning, not
armed. Just what we needed, us. Altogether, we were twenty.
“Let’s split, us, into pairs, and set out in ten straight lines from
the cafe,” Jack Sawicki said.
“You sound like a goddamn donkey,” Eddie Rollins said in disgust.
The stomps grinned.
“You got a better idea, you?” Jack said. He held his rifle real
tight over his bulging green jacks.
“We’re Livers,” Krystal Mandor said, “let us go where we want, us.”
Jack said, “And what if somebody gets shot, them? You want the
police franchise down on us?”
Eddie said, “I want to hunt raccoons, me, like an aristo. Don’t give
me no orders, Jack.”
“Fine,” Jack said. “Go ahead, you. I’m not saying another goddamn
word.”
After ten minutes of arguing we set off in pairs, us, in ten
straight lines.
I walked with Doug Kane, Celie’s father. Two old men, us, slow and
limping. But Doug still knew, him, how to walk quiet in the woods. Off
to my right I heard somebody whooping and laughing. One of the stomps.
After a while, the sound died away.
The woods were cool and sweet-smelling, so thick overhead that the
floor wasn’t much overgrown. We stepped, us, on pine needles that sent
up their clean smell. White birches, slim as Lizzie, rustled. Under the
trees moss grew dark green, and in the sunny patches there was daisies
and buttercups and black-eyed Susans. A mourning dove called, the
calmest sound in the whole
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