The Feud (2 page)

Huff grinned. “I was just down the dump, potting a few rats with this new gun of mine. I just bought it from Bud.”

“Bud’s Hardware?”

Huff said, “There ain’t much left of any rat who gets it with double-0 buckshot. I splattered a few across the landscape.”

“Bud’s Hardware sells guns?”

“I guess they all do, don’t they?”

Dolf had never owned a gun, not even an air rifle. He had never cared for the outdoor sports. His game was duckpins.

“I got this gun for rabbit,” said Huff. “I got the double-0 just to hit rats, to break in the gun. There was some kids downere with twenny-twos. They couldn’t hit a thing. They like to shit when they seen me blast a rat…. Reverton, huh? He wouldn’t be that cousin of Bud’s, would he?”

“Sure he is: guy with little beady eyes and he wears a full suit of clothes, shirt and tie, and a felt fedora.”

“I guess I’ve seen him around. I never knew he was a railroad dick.”

“He claims to be,” said Dolf. “If you see him, tell him I’m looking for him.”

“I think Reverton’s his first name,” said Huff, “now that I think of it. He was Bud’s uncle’s son on his mother’s side. His last name would be Kirby.”

Dolf scowled. “Well, you do know him, don’t you?”

“Only a little. Bud’s wife and mine are sisters. Bud Bul-lard’s my brother-in-law, but I don’t keep up that much with his side.”

So here was a guy who came out of nowhere, a fellow Dolf knew only at work and not well even there, and he turned out to have none-too-distant family ties to the enemy. Huff would now go into the store and hear from his brother-in-law, and nephew as well, the story of Dolf Beeler’s humiliation.

“What should I tell him you want him for?” Huff asked. “Or is it confidential?”

“That’s right,” said Dolf.

“Well, I’ll tell him.”

“You know him pretty well?” Dolf was developing a hatred for Huff.

“I forgot. Me and him seen them play softball down at the Legion field.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Dolf, “if you two turned out to be real close.”

“Naw.” Huff started to grin, then checked the impulse. “I don’t know him that well.”

Dolf wondered whether he was being made a fool of. “Listen,” he said. “I want to give him a five-spot.”

Huff whistled. “By George, he will sure be glad to hear about that.”

Dolf nodded and got into his car, which was parked at the curb a step away. If Huff went into the store and learned of the incident, it would be all over the plant on Monday morning.

When he reached home he left the car in the driveway outside the garage: washing it was among his son Tony’s duties on Saturday. Tony, a thickset lad of seventeen who wore glasses, was raking the leaves that had fallen from an elm in the corner of the yard. He was a responsible boy and had never given Dolf any trouble, perhaps because of his poor vision. Boys that had some physical defect were almost invariably hardworking and good-natured: Dolf knew that for a fact.

“Say, Tony,” he said, walking to the boy, “you know many kids from Millville? I know you know some, from that summer job at the plant. And maybe playing football?”

Despite his glasses, Tony played left guard on the high-school team, wearing a mask over his specs, which furthermore he taped to his head at the temples. He was a powerful lineman who could cast fear into the opposing players.

“A few I guess,” he said now to his dad. “Any one in particular?”

“I was wondering if you knew anybody named Bullard?” As a young fellow Dolf had had a build something like Tony’s, and when he was near his son nowadays he stood a little straighter and sucked his belly in somewhat, though he considered himself too old and too fat to be able to make much difference. He felt both pride and envy when he supposed that already Tony could probably take him. Though not yet as tall as his father, Tony was more muscular because of the weight lifting he did daily.

Tony now said, “I’ll have to think about that.” Behind the glasses he had his mother’s face, more sensitive than Dolf’s. He banged the tines of the rake on the ground, so as to free the leaves stuck there. It was not the implement made specifically for leaves, but rather the iron-spiked rake used to scratch the ground for gardening.

Tony asked, “Does it have to be a guy?”

Dolf raised his eyebrows. “I guess not.”

“Well, there was this girl,” said Tony. When seen through the thickest part of the lenses his eyes always seemed to be staring intensely.

“Girl?”

“They have those park dances on Friday nights over in Millville,” Tony said. “I went over there once or twice.”

Dolf lowered his head. “What was her name?”

“It might of been Bullard.”

“Oh yeah?” Dolf decided he wasn’t interested in the womenfolk of that family.

“I think her name was Eva Bullard.”

“You wouldn’t know if her father owned that hardware store over there, would you?”

“Naw, I don’t know.”

Dolf asked sharply, “You didn’t take her out or anything?”

Tony looked down and kicked the ground with the rubber toe of his gym shoe. “I only danced with her Once.”

Dolf thrust out his chin. “You didn’t try…” He left the rest unsaid.

Tony colored violently. “No, nothing like that.”

Dolf said, “I don’t know if you have ever heard of what they call a social disease,” said Dolf. “I’ll tell you this, you wanna be an athlete or get an appointment to Annapolis, or be respected in life, you have to watch yourself. I’m sorry I got to use this kind of language, but you ought to get to know what a cundrum is and how to use one.” Now Dolf could feel himself color, and in reaction he said angrily, “Goddammit, Tony, you got to realize them Bullards are no good!”

“You know them?”

Dolf imposed a calm upon himself. He did not want to lose his dignity before his son. “I had a run-in with a few of them just now. They’re not much. But they’re sneaky, and they know all the dirty tricks. They’ll spit in your eye and hit below the belt.” He breathed awhile, looking past his son. They’re all skinny little monkeys, and they re yellow and crafty.”

“What did they do to you?”

Dolf was offended by the form of the question, which implied that he had been whipped. “I didn’t let ‘em get away with anything, but”—he shook his finger—”I’m going to teach them a lesson they won’t soon forget.”

Tony hesitated for a moment and then he said, “Dad, I’m sorry about that Bullard girl, but I didn’t know—”

“Tony, there wasn’t nothing wrong with that at the time.” Dolf patted his son’s broad shoulder. “I never heard of these Bullards until today, though as it turned out, they’re related to a guy name of Walt Huff, who works over at the plant in the stockroom.”

“Huff?” asked Tony. “Would he have a boy about my age?”

“This guy wouldn’t be old enough, I don’t think. But maybe he’s got older brothers or sisters.”

“I had a fight with a kid named Al Huff last winter,” Tony said. “After the basketball game with Millville, in that empty lot back of school? He bumped into me when we was all leaving, and he called me a four-eyed slob.”

Dolf asked fiercely, “Did you whip the son of a bitch?”

“I think I hurt him. I don’t see too good with my specs off. I hit him a coupla good ones, I know that. It was his friends stopped the fight.” He looked worried. “I wonder if he’s related to the Bullards?”

“I hope so,” said Dolf. “The goddam dirty trash! … Tony, you’re a good boy. I wanna give you something, a little piece of change. Maybe you can get yourself a date with some nice girl tonight. Not a pig like that Bullard, but some real nice girl like Mary Catherine Lutz.” He pointed diagonally across the back alley to the Lutz residence, in the back yard of which was an empty dog house: their Airedale, a valuable, supposedly pedigreed animal, had broken his chain last year and run away in pursuit of a mongrel bitch in heat and never returned. Dolf found a dollar bill in his pants pocket and surrendered it to his son.

Tony backed away.

Dolf pressed the bill on him. “Come on, you got it coming. You’re a good boy, and I’m proud to call you son.” He had a very fine feeling with regard to this interchange: there weren’t many lads in this day and age with the kind of principles to refuse offered money.

Tony finally took the dollar and mumbled his thanks.

Dolf socked his son affectionately in the meatiest part of the biceps: it felt like hitting a country ham. Too bad about Tony’s bad eyes: he would have made a real prizefighter.

Dolf had climbed the back-door steps and was about to go in the kitchen door when his wife opened it to come out.

She backed up. “I was just going to holler that lunch is ready.”

The idea of food was suddenly repulsive to him, he who usually packed it away. He said, “Say, Bobby, when I finally get around to stripping your old dresser, what do you know? I get in a fight.”

She put her hands on her broad hips. “You didn’t get hurt?”

“Not me! You oughta see the other guy.” Having made the weary joke, he went to the oilcloth-covered table that was in the ell of the big kitchen and took the chair at its head. He lowered his face into his hands and then took it out to look at his wife, who was still watching him carefully. He proceeded to tell her the truth about the incident at Bullard’s hardware.

“Well,” said she in her comfortable and comforting voice, “you can’t call that a fight. There wasn’t nothing much you could do with a gun in your belly.”

“That might be right,” said Dolf. “It might not of been my fault, any of it, but
God damn it
, I feel real bad. I feel like somebody threw filth on me for no reason. I’ve got to pay them back, Bobby.”

“What I was wondering,” said she, standing in the middle of the kitchen, “was is it legal for somebody who isn’t a real policeman to pull a gun that way on a person who isn’t doing anything wrong?”

Dolf shook his head. “You mean, I should hire a lawyer? I don’t have that kinda money. Why, he’d charge me five bucks just to answer the question. Anyhow, that’s the yellow way out.”

Roberta said, “What I mean is you could go to the police in Millville, the real ones, and prefer charges.”

“I tell you what that would lead to,” said Dolf, with a gesture of hopelessness. “Just their word against mine, and there was tw6 of them, not even counting the kid. Anyway, the local police always favor a merchant in their own town: that figures.” He shook his head. “For that matter, they might have a relative on the force.”

Bobby crossed her big arms, which were bare below the elbow. Except for church services on Sunday she wore loose housedresses she made herself. She had a good deal of gray in her hair, but her plump cheeks, flecked with permanent freckles below the hazel eyes, had a youthful color and sheen.

“But you would be telling the truth.”

Dolf groaned, “Aw, I don’t know, Bobby.” But talking with his wife as usual made him feel better, and when she said, “Let me get some soup in you before you do anything,” his appetite suddenly returned.

Roberta went to call their other boy from upstairs. Meanwhile Tony came in unsummoned from outside. Seeing him vigorously wash his hands at the sink reminded Dolf that he should make his own ablutions, and he did so, accepting from the patiently waiting Tony the coarse, outsized off-white towel, a former flour bag that had been hemmed up.

Bobby returned to the kitchen and served four large bowls of thick vegetable soup that swarmed with yellow dumplings. She waited patiently for hers to cool, but both Dolf and Tony, with much spoon-blowing, had swallowed half their portions by the time the second son arrived. His formal name was Adolf, Jr., but so as to forestall confusion he had since childhood been called Jack. He was a studious sort and spent most of his time reading books, yet, as luck would have it, enjoyed perfect vision. At fifteen he was of average size, a couple of inches shorter than his brother. His assigned chores were, according to his own preference, indoors if possible, cleaning the basement and the like, though he carried out the garbage. He and Tony, being of different temperaments, had always got on well. They were rarely seen together except on such occasions as this.

Dolf himself hardly did more than glance at the newspaper, and he resented Jack’s obsession with reading more than he himself understood, and he was usually, secretly, exasperated with him. For example, in distinction to Tony, Jack was never so eager for a meal that he came to it without being called. When he
was
summoned, however, he arrived with reasonable promptness and therefore could not be criticized.

Vapors from the hot soup put a fog onto Tony’s glasses. He removed them and cleaned them on some folded squares of toilet paper he carried in his pocket for that purpose. His face had the funny blurred look that habitual wearers of eyeglasses seemed to have when they took them off: as if the spectacles are normally worn instead by the other person. Dolf couldn’t help feeling that the boy would be defenseless at such a time, but if he had whipped the Huff kid he was far from it.

Squinting at his father, Tony said, “I thought of somebody else I know over in Millville: the oculist who makes my glasses.”

Dolf swallowed some soup without chewing the soft solids therein. That was a luxury; his teeth were not all they should be. “That’s right. But I don’t see how he would be involved.”

Tony returned the glasses to his face. “I think he’s in that family.”

“Doctor Adams?” Dolf knew the name well, having to pay the bills.

“He’s married to a Huff,” said Tony.

“I’ll be damn.” This man had made plenty off Tony, who though careful was often involved in the sort of strenuous activity in which glasses were broken.

Bobby gently reproved her husband. “I wish you could find a better word.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dolf, “I wasn’t thinking.” He looked toward Jack. You didn’t have to worry that Tony would pick up foul language, but Jack might be another case.

Jack however was interested in the greater matter. “ ‘Involved’?” he asked. “What does that mean, Dad?”

Dolf dipped his spoon in the soup. “Gosh, it’s a long story, Jack.” Telling it to his younger son would be almost like disclosing embarrassing information to a stranger.