Northern Lights (37 page)

He was getting fat again.

A kind of mushy, nervous atrophy that settled in like a disease, and he could see it in round numbers on the bathroom scale. Sleeping, eating, television and Harvey’s expensive gin.

He was defenseless.

He had until the end of June to phase out his county operations, but the deadline only added to the sleepy edginess. So he took his time. Cleaned out the files, working slowly and systematically, preparing stacks of paper work which he tied into neat bundles to be either burned or stored in boxes for shipment to Duluth. Without planning or forethought, he was going through a motion that would sooner or later make its own decision. On one productive Thursday afternoon he stacked four years’ worth of futile farm loan applications, carried them to the incinerator and burned them up without regret. It even made sense.

A job, he thought. Preacher, guide, confidant, teller of winter tales, saved from the deep forest.

Near the middle of May, he bought new glasses. For more than three months he had gone squinting under the illusion that he no longer needed them, and while there were no ill effects, Grace kept pestering until one sunny day he mistook the ditch for his own driveway. Next day he got the glasses. They were fancy wire-rims. “You look older,” Grace said. “Like a professor.”

“A preacher?”

“No,” she said. “Like a teacher. They make you look wise.”

“I am wise,” he said.

“Tell me something wise, then. Explain everything to me.”

“You want a child,” he said wisely.

“Yes?”

“You want love and a warm home and a child. You want serenity. You want a loving husband,” he said.

“Yes!”

“Patience, then,” he said wisely.

And she had patience. It was as though nothing had changed or ever would change, and partly she was right. In the winter, in the blizzard, there had been no sudden revelation, and things were the same, no epiphany or sudden shining of light to awaken and comfort and make happy, and things were the same, the old man was still down there alive in his grave, frozen and not dead, and in the house the cold was always there, except for patience and Grace and the pond, which were the same, everything the same. Harvey was quiet. Like twin oxen struggling in different directions against the same old yoke, they could not talk, for there was only the long history: the town, the place, the forest and religion, partly a combination of human beings and events, partly a genetic fix, an alchemy of circumstance.

The days of waiting were quiet. Grace attended him with love, and they drank gin on the porch and listened to Harvey’s
dreams and Addie’s teasing, and they were a comfortable waiting band, knowing it would change, but knowing they would not see the change, but rather the effects.

The new glasses sometimes gave him headaches, even dizzy spells. At night the glasses would seem to emit their own special rays, millions of dots of hard white light, and he would be suddenly back in the forest, looking into the cold sky and seeing the universe with such horrible and chaotic brilliance that he got sick. On Memorial Day, there was a parade. Harvey decided to participate.

“You’re being a dumb scout,” Addie teased, but it did no good. Grace ironed his army greens and they drove together into town. Harvey held a fifth of gin in his lap. “What this town needs for its parade is a genuine war hero,” he kept saying. Perry parked in front of the bank and Harvey dashed up the street to where the parade was forming. The sky was dark and it was going to rain. Perry and Grace and Addie had coffee in the Confectionery. They sat in a booth and watched the clouds mass. Perry ordered cream pie.

“Positively fat”; Addie said. “I won’t go to the badlands with any fat man, I’ll tell you that right now.”

“All the better, then.”

“Such a day. It’s depressing. Look, there’s Jud. Look at him.”

Jud Harmor was standing all alone in the middle of the street. His straw hat was in place and his hands were on his hips. Alternately, he was scanning the gray sky and the parade route.

“Poor Jud.”

“Jud’s all right. Poor Harvey, you mean. Where does he get these obstinate ideas about parades?”

“He’s a character, all right. He does look dashing in his uniform, though,” Grace said.

“Positively silly.”

“Addie.”

“I must stop teasing.” She frowned at Perry. “But really! That pie. You’re becoming a can of Crisco, really.”

They drank coffee until noon. Then they heard the drums booming and they went out to the street.

Clouds were rolling and massing and the air was cold. Grace sent Perry to the car for a jacket. It was a dreary, nothing kind of day. Perry wished he were sleeping.

The parade started at the northern end of Mainstreet and went south, ending at the cemetery for the commemorative services. Half the town lined the street to watch the other half march. Addie stood with her arms folded, smiling. She wore a skirt and a T-shirt. A few drops of rain fell as the drums took up the cadence, and Perry stood between Grace and Addie. Addie grabbed his hand like a child. “Here, look. Here they come,” she said.

The high-school band led the parade. Perry recognized some of the kids. Grace recognized all of them, and she waved and called out their names. Even with the clouds and chill, most of the town was there. There was respect and polite applause and civic pride.

The Lake County VFW commander rode by in a new Chevy. He waved and Grace waved back.

Then a troop of World War II veterans. Lars Nielson and many others. They wore their old uniforms, olive drab and khaki and navy white and flier brown and blue. Many of the coats were open at the belly. Two of them held rifles over their shoulders. A third carried the flag.

Then the junior high band.

Then the American Legion float.

Then the DFL and Republican county chairmen, riding in separate cars, both waving.

Then the Korean War veterans, then the Girl Scouts.

Then Harvey. Marching alone in his uniform, following the troop of green Girl Scouts.

The Girl Scouts carried a large banner and sang campfire songs. Harvey was behind them chanting “A-left. A-left. A-left, right, left.” He marched erect, the only veteran of Vietnam. He did not seem much different from all the others, except that he fit his uniform and he was alone.

Addie shouted and gave him wild applause. Harvey went by without looking. “Such a scout,” she cried. “Now
that
. That is what I call a frontier scout.”

Jud Harmor finished the parade. He, too, marched alone. He carried a sword in his right hand. On his chest dangled a single faded battle ribbon. He wore instead of his straw hat a World War I doughboy’s helmet.

“Good Lord,” Perry said.

“We haven’t heard the last of him,” Addie said.

Grace took Perry’s hand. He was holding the hands of two women.

“Let’s get a drink somewhere,” he said. “Where’s Harvey?” Then he saw him coming back up the street.

“Miserable parade. No class at all.”

“You’re supposed to march out to the cemetery.”

“Miserable parade.”

Addie took Harvey’s hand, and, linked together, they went to the car. The rain came. Harvey opened the gin while Perry drove out towards the cemetery.

“Fine miserable parade,” Harvey said. “You ought to have had more sense, letting me march in the miserable parade. I swear. Addie, give me that bottle. I swear, I swear they have better parades on the losing side of wars. We all ought to move to Italy. What do you think? Seriously. Italy. I hadn’t thought of it before. We could live cheap, really. They’ve got all kinds of inflation
over there and we could probably be kings and queens and all that rot, what do you think?”

Perry steered the car up Mainstreet. The rain was white. Orange and blue crepe paper lay plastered in wet gobs on the street.

“Yes. Italy. I think that’s it. Addie, give me that frigging bottle, will you? Italy! I can see it. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“You hate tomatoes.”

“What? I love tomatoes. I love sausage and tomatoes and noodles. I love women with big tits. No offense, Addie. Really. Ha! Touché! I love pizza and Van Gogh and women with big tits!”

“Van Gogh?”

“Sure. And I love losing wars and I love lasagna. I love big boobs and Fascists and inflation, I love it all. Addie, give me that bottle or I’m going to …”

“Let’s go home,” Grace said.

“No! The cemetery. We must honor the dead. Onward. First the cemetery. Then Italy. Addie!”

“Hip-hip!” Addie crowed.

“Look at that bloody rain. Does it rain in Italy like this? Who cares?”

“Harvey.”

“Yes, that’s it. Italy. No question about it. I’ll get the passports tomorrow. How much does a villa cost? No problem, I’ll find that out, too. Italy, it is. Will you just look at that bloody rain? Some miserable parade. I still haven’t gotten a decent parade out of all this. Some miserable town, not giving me a decent warm sunny parade. Italy! I think that’s the final answer. Yes. Addie? I don’t know about Addie, though. Grace will fit in just fine in Italy, but Addie, I don’t know. Poor Addie. I don’t think the Fascists allow in half-breeds, do they? I don’t know. I’ll find that out tomorrow.”

The car filled with wet air. Perry turned the wheel and they went up the dirt road towards the cemetery. They passed two orange school buses filled with kids in wet band uniforms. Cars and pickups were parked along the muddy road.

“Got to hurry,” Harvey said. “Can’t miss the ceremony to honor all the dead.”

“Calm down.”

Harvey opened his window and rain poured in. “Miserable parade,” he moaned. “Some miserable way to honor the dead and wounded.”

“You were magnificent, Harvey.”

“I did my best. But a miserable parade except for me.”

“Jud was good, too.”

“Me and Jud. We’ll maybe have to take Jud to our new villa in Italy. But he pays his own bloody way.”

“Hush up.”

“Some totally rotten way to honor the dead. Where are my medals, for God’s sake?”

Perry turned into the cemetery. He parked and they trooped out into the rain and thunder. Grace was shivering and Perry took her arm. Harvey quieted down.

The band played the national anthem. Then Hal Bennett the dentist climbed on a raised platform in the center of the burial ground and gave a speech of some sort, and the veterans stood in groups according to their war. Later, Reverend Stenberg offered a prayer and everything was wet and peaceful, then Jud Harmor got up and gave a short speech, then the band played “Yankee Doodle” and it was over.

“Some miserable way to honor the dead,” Harvey said.

“Let’s go now.”

Harvey coughed. “First I must honor all the fucking dead. Look at all those dead people, will you just look? Take me all day.”

The band was playing taps.

“Let’s go,” Perry said. “We’ll build a nice fire and have supper.”

“No, I’m gonna go around here and honor all these dead and deceased.”

Perry tagged after him. He was cold. Grace and Addie went to wait in the car.

The graves were arranged in long rows. The dead people were buried head to head, then an aisle, then another long row of dead people buried head to head. Randomly, Harvey stopped at some of the graves. He knelt down to read the epitaphs and names and dates. At last they stopped at their father’s grave.

“I guess …”

“Let’s go, Harv.”

Harvey removed his army cap. Perry stood blankly and waited.

“The old man’s pretty dead by now,” Harvey said.

“Grace will put some flowers here tomorrow.”

Harvey’s face was red. “I don’t know. He was a bastard, wasn’t he?”

“It’s raining, Harv. Come on.”

They dropped Addie at her boarding house and went home. Grace drew a bath for Harvey. Later the three of them had sandwiches and cocoa. It was still raining.

“Well,” Harvey glowed, “I want to thank you for a fine day.”

“Lovely.”

“We have to have more miserable parades. Afterward everybody gets so cheery. Now. Who’s coming into town with me?”

“We all have to go to bed,” Grace said.

“Too cheap. Much too cheap and easy. No, we all must honor with the rest of the partying mourners.”

“If you had any sense …”

Harvey wrapped an arm around her. “You’re a wonderful mother, Grace. And we love you. I love you. But you know how honoring the dead goes. Many sacrifices.”

Harvey borrowed a raincoat and went into the storm. The headlights of the car fanned briefly across the kitchen window.

In the morning, it was still drizzling. Perry drove Grace to the cemetery and walked among the headstones while she planted flowers at his father’s grave. She was absorbed in her work. Placid and quiet, she was digging out weeds along his father’s headstone. She was on her knees in the rain, her face set in its sane and perfect way, her hands deep in the mud. She’d dug three holes for the plants, and when the weeds were gone, she set the plants in and covered the roots and packed the mud down. “There,” she said. “That should do it.” She stood beside him. The plants had dark red flowers growing. “That should do it,” she said.

It was Friday evening. The stores were open till nine. Though it was not quite dusk, some of the shops had already turned on their evening lights. Perry watched through his office window: greetings, buying and selling, handshakes and nods, jerky movements. He watched a giant shadow grow in from the western forest, gradually engulf the town and move off to the east. The office was dark. It smelled of manure dropped from farmers’ boots, stale corn and pine. The day’s stacks of paper work were lined up on his desk. One pile was for burning, the other for boxing and shipment. Without reason, he swept the floor. Then he sat in the dark and waited for Harvey. The office already seemed deserted and worthless. A picture of the President
looked down on him from a plastered wall. He waited until nearly six, and when Harvey didn’t come he locked the office and stepped outside, glancing by reflex through the familiar window, then walked up to Wolff’s drugstore. He brought Grace a birthday card and candy. It was too early to go home.

He waited until six thirty. When he went back onto the street, it was again drizzling. He tucked the card and candy under his coat and trotted to the car. He drove past Addie’s boarding house, but her windows were dark.