The Big Seven by Jim Harrison Page B

dropping in. He could always clarify it by an hour of fishing but he had long since abandoned fishing when it was 40 degrees or under. His brain mud which started in a fit of insomnia the night before was comprised of the idea of taking Monica to Marquette to get her away from her awful life but what would it look like with him living with a nineteen-year-old girl. It wasn’t illegal and she was unlikely to walk around saying, “Yes, he’s fucking me.” But what would Diane think? Though they were no longer married, and perhaps it wasn’t her business except in his mind. The second intrusive thought that stopped him from falling back into the sweet sleep that is the last hour of every morning was about the Seven Deadly Sins. He wished he had ten bucks for every time they arose in his mind and then he could buy a new car. After that youthful exposure they could be labeled post-traumatic stress disorder for all of the mental damage they had done. He had only gotten back to sleep by planning to write them down and see how he fared in an honest assessment, and was awoken again with thoughts of writers and Lemuel. Now as Lemuel approached the back door he strewed some papers on the table to make it look like he was busy.
    He poured Lemuel a cup of coffee and he glanced at the table.
    “Am I interrupting something?”
    “I was doing my monthly books.” This was an outright lie as Sunderson never did books. Diane had kept track of his finances except for his checkbook which was always such a mess she didn’t want to touch it. For some reason a check stub was beyond his filling out. The bank always called when he was overdrawn. Diane pointed out that his yearly overdraft penalties were enormous. That didn’t help. He hated to be in a grocery line when someone ahead of him was laboriously filling out a check stub at the counter.
    “This is a chapter on Bert I thought might interest you.” He handed Sunderson a sheaf held together by a big paper clip.
    Before his long decline after Vietnam Bert was a key worker. We were very friendly when young, hanging out together fishing and hunting. He told me when he got home he had killed some wrong people by mistake. That’s why he couldn’t hunt anymore. He couldn’t even eat venison because it reminded him of dead bodies. Bert started each day with a big glass of vodka before breakfast.
    Lemuel got up hastily to leave glancing again at Sunderson’s strewn papers.
    “I’ve always hated paperwork,” he said.
    “Me too.” Sunderson in fact had very little of it since retirement and generally ignored it.
    With Lemuel gone Sunderson pushed the Bert material aside for the time being. With minimal exposure he disliked the man intensely. He had heard that once on a hot day Bert had tethered his daffy wife to a post in the yard and left her there until a kid came along and cut her loose with a jackknife. He had chased the kid down and beat him. Meanwhile Lily had driven her mother to the ER with heatstroke.
    He carefully made out a list of the Seven Deadly Sins on a long, yellow legal tablet: Pride, Greed, Envy, Lechery, Gluttony, Anger, Laziness. He resolved to be honest and as brief as possible in his self-evaluation.
    Pride. Most men are prideful for no particular reason. They carry themselves as if they were directing the United Nations when they are real estate agents or bookkeepers. Real estate developers are particularly prideful as if they were the economic key. Early on when I was the only ace detective in the U.P. I would put on a clean shirt and beam in the mirror. The thought of it now embarrasses me. By and large I flunk on pride. No matter how bad my behavior I am still full of pride even after my wretched but justified divorce.
    Greed . I can give myself a fairly high mark on this one having been raised the way I was. My father made enough for the basic support of the family, no extras, and that was that. I made my own small amounts of money by mowing lawns, washing