old brown pick-up truck pulled on to the section road from Fisk’s driveway. Moments later it clunked past us, heading for the highway.
‘Who was that?’ I turned to follow the truck. It seemed to sway from side to side, like a foundering boat.
‘Old Man Louper,’ Lynk said.
‘The guy with the dogs?’
‘Yeah. Fuckin’ meanest dogs you ever saw. Just like Louper himself. The guy’s half nutso.’
‘Wonder what he was doing at Fisk’s?’ Roland mumbled.
I glanced at him. He seemed distracted for some reason. I had sensed it as soon as I got off the bus. He walked slowly now, almost aimlessly, as if he had lost interest in his destination.
I took a deep breath, then said, ‘This is boring. There’s gotta be something else we can do.’
Lynk swung his cudgel at a clod of mud. ‘Like what, asshole?’
Something in me snapped. ‘I’m getting fucking tired of you calling me an asshole, Lynk.’
Everyone stopped. Turning to face me, Lynk raised his stick. He grinned. ‘And what the fuck’re you gonna do about it, asshole?’
‘Drop that toy pecker of yours and I’ll show you,’ I said slowly, anger curling my hands into fists.
Our gazes locked. Lynk’s grin appeared frozen on his narrow face. The stick moved up between us. ‘I’ll fuckin’ bash your head in,’ he rasped.
‘Well, before you do,’ Roland drawled, ‘let me go home and get my bat.’ He turned to me, but did not smile. ‘You wanta borrow my bat, Owen?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, grinning at Lynk. ‘Either that or we do it now, Lynk. With our fists.’
We stood there for another minute, then Roland walked between us. ‘C’mon, we’re wasting time.’
No one spoke until we were past Fisk’s farm, and then Lynk, trailing the rest of us by a few yards, called out. ‘Hey, look! Old Man Fisk’s gonna burn some mink guts!’ He pointed.
We saw the man standing there at the edge of his field. Beside him was a black mound and a tall, barren metal pole.
‘That guy gives me the creeps,’ Roland said.
I nodded.
‘Aw, fuck that,’ Lynk said, though without his usual bluster. ‘He’s just a fuckin’ weirdo.’
‘He can probably hear you,’ I hissed. There was no more than fifty yards separating us from Fisk. ‘So shut the fuck up, asshole.’
‘What’s he holding?’ Carl asked in a small voice.
‘Kerosene can,’ Roland muttered. ‘He’s gonna douse the pile.’
‘Maybe he already has,’ I said, as if the distinction were somehow important.
‘Can you smell it?’ Roland asked, glancing at me.
‘What? The kerosene?’
‘No. Mink guts.’
With his words I became conscious of the odour, sweet and faint on the wind.
‘And he’s standing there.’ Roland shook his head. ‘Right beside it.’
‘A fuckin’ weirdo, man.’
Fisk took a sudden step forward, raising one arm. ‘Get outa here!’ he roared.
We stepped back.
‘Get outa here! You goddamn vultures!’
As one we turned and ran. I could think of nothing but escape. My legs pumped wildly, flinging clumps of mud high into the air. Though on the edge of panic, something in the back of my head remained calm, and it sent out a stream of clarity that made the world around me seem all at once brighter, sharper. Lynk moved past on my right, his stick gone – left behind. That detail stayed with me, and I clung to it the way my eyes clung to Lynk’s back as he pulled farther away. He’s panicked, I gasped to myself. Look at him go! With that thought I began to slow, my fear dissolving, laughter overtaking me.
Roland stopped a few paces ahead and turned. Seeing his sudden wide grin, I whooped with laughter. All along I had been carrying my school books under one arm. Now they toppled forward, falling at my feet. Papers skirring out in all directions and then settling down on the mud suddenly seemed to me to be the funniest thing in the world. Tears coursing down my cheeks, I fell to my knees.
Roland did the same a few feet away. I glanced up at
‘Who was that?’ I turned to follow the truck. It seemed to sway from side to side, like a foundering boat.
‘Old Man Louper,’ Lynk said.
‘The guy with the dogs?’
‘Yeah. Fuckin’ meanest dogs you ever saw. Just like Louper himself. The guy’s half nutso.’
‘Wonder what he was doing at Fisk’s?’ Roland mumbled.
I glanced at him. He seemed distracted for some reason. I had sensed it as soon as I got off the bus. He walked slowly now, almost aimlessly, as if he had lost interest in his destination.
I took a deep breath, then said, ‘This is boring. There’s gotta be something else we can do.’
Lynk swung his cudgel at a clod of mud. ‘Like what, asshole?’
Something in me snapped. ‘I’m getting fucking tired of you calling me an asshole, Lynk.’
Everyone stopped. Turning to face me, Lynk raised his stick. He grinned. ‘And what the fuck’re you gonna do about it, asshole?’
‘Drop that toy pecker of yours and I’ll show you,’ I said slowly, anger curling my hands into fists.
Our gazes locked. Lynk’s grin appeared frozen on his narrow face. The stick moved up between us. ‘I’ll fuckin’ bash your head in,’ he rasped.
‘Well, before you do,’ Roland drawled, ‘let me go home and get my bat.’ He turned to me, but did not smile. ‘You wanta borrow my bat, Owen?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, grinning at Lynk. ‘Either that or we do it now, Lynk. With our fists.’
We stood there for another minute, then Roland walked between us. ‘C’mon, we’re wasting time.’
No one spoke until we were past Fisk’s farm, and then Lynk, trailing the rest of us by a few yards, called out. ‘Hey, look! Old Man Fisk’s gonna burn some mink guts!’ He pointed.
We saw the man standing there at the edge of his field. Beside him was a black mound and a tall, barren metal pole.
‘That guy gives me the creeps,’ Roland said.
I nodded.
‘Aw, fuck that,’ Lynk said, though without his usual bluster. ‘He’s just a fuckin’ weirdo.’
‘He can probably hear you,’ I hissed. There was no more than fifty yards separating us from Fisk. ‘So shut the fuck up, asshole.’
‘What’s he holding?’ Carl asked in a small voice.
‘Kerosene can,’ Roland muttered. ‘He’s gonna douse the pile.’
‘Maybe he already has,’ I said, as if the distinction were somehow important.
‘Can you smell it?’ Roland asked, glancing at me.
‘What? The kerosene?’
‘No. Mink guts.’
With his words I became conscious of the odour, sweet and faint on the wind.
‘And he’s standing there.’ Roland shook his head. ‘Right beside it.’
‘A fuckin’ weirdo, man.’
Fisk took a sudden step forward, raising one arm. ‘Get outa here!’ he roared.
We stepped back.
‘Get outa here! You goddamn vultures!’
As one we turned and ran. I could think of nothing but escape. My legs pumped wildly, flinging clumps of mud high into the air. Though on the edge of panic, something in the back of my head remained calm, and it sent out a stream of clarity that made the world around me seem all at once brighter, sharper. Lynk moved past on my right, his stick gone – left behind. That detail stayed with me, and I clung to it the way my eyes clung to Lynk’s back as he pulled farther away. He’s panicked, I gasped to myself. Look at him go! With that thought I began to slow, my fear dissolving, laughter overtaking me.
Roland stopped a few paces ahead and turned. Seeing his sudden wide grin, I whooped with laughter. All along I had been carrying my school books under one arm. Now they toppled forward, falling at my feet. Papers skirring out in all directions and then settling down on the mud suddenly seemed to me to be the funniest thing in the world. Tears coursing down my cheeks, I fell to my knees.
Roland did the same a few feet away. I glanced up at
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