The German (24 page)
After a morning and afternoon of agitation, I was grateful when my mother appeared in the living room, wearing her work clothes and carrying her handbag and a sack supper. Between the threat of the Cowboy and the telegram from the government, my mother had taken several days off work, and she apologized and told me she had to go or she might lose her job. Her supervisor was already grumbling about her absences, making threats, and she wished she could stay home with me but she couldn’t, and I said it was okay because I wanted her to go. I had plans of my own.
I waited ten agonizing minutes after my mother left to make sure she was well on her way to the factory and wouldn’t be returning because she’d forgotten her kerchief or compact, and then I hurried outside to my bike. I was so eager to learn my role in the night’s events I wasn’t paying attention to the road and nearly got run down at the intersection by a delivery truck.
Hugo met me outside of his house, a two-story farmhouse with peeling lime green paint and a tattered roof, and he told me we would talk outside because his daddy was home with his little brothers, and he didn’t want anyone overhearing. There wasn’t much to hear.
“I want you to get him out of his house,” Hugo said.
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“He doesn’t know you’re on to him,” Hugo said. “Ask him to help you with a favor. We just need him out of his house for ten or fifteen minutes.”
“When?”
“Ben and Austin are meeting me after supper. We’ll drive over to the lake, probably park a couple of blocks away and walk it so he doesn’t see the car. Just keep an eye on your front window. When you see us walk past, you get him out of the house and you keep him busy.”
“Then what?”
“Send him on home. Leave the rest to us.”
I frowned at this, feeling that I was being left out.
“You’ve got the most important job,” Hugo said immediately. “If you don’t get him out of the house, the whole plan is shit. Now head on home and keep your eyes peeled. If he goes out on his own you call.”
“Okay,” I said, uncertainly. “But what are you going to do?”
“You’ll know soon enough,” Hugo said. “Now head on home.”
He turned around and walked inside. Much of the excitement I’d brought with me remained there on the front lawn. My job seemed so small and hardly important, no matter what Hugo said, and I didn’t have any idea what kind of excuse I’d use to get the German out of his house. I couldn’t exactly invite him to go swimming or to have him over to supper.
I pushed my bike to the intersection, feeling dejected. These feelings rapidly changed when I took the corner and saw a familiar face.
“Are you crazy?” Bum asked.
“What are you doing here?”
“What are
you
doing here?” he replied. He fixed me with a frown, and I shook my head at his childish expression. “Since when did you and Hugo become best pals?”
“Go home,” I said. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing. It’s no big deal. He was just apologizing for hitting me the other day.”
“I thought he did that at your house?”
“Well, he wanted to apologize again. Why are you following me anyway?”
“Because you’re my friend,” he said.
“Friends don’t spy on each other.”
“They don’t lie to each other either,” he said, sounding wounded. “Is this about your father?”
“It’s about a lot of stuff, and you should mind your business.”
“You’re acting like a damn fool,” Bum said. “Now tell me what’s what.”
“No.”
“You’re up to something, and I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what it is.”
I knew how stubborn Bum could be, and I knew he’d recognize a lie the moment it left my lips. My only chance to get rid of him was to tell him something he would believe. So I made him swear an oath on his Ma’s life, and then I told him what was what.
~ ~ ~
Bum tried a dozen times to talk me out of helping Hugo as I sat at the window. His thin, insistent voice grated at my ears, and I wanted him to shut up, but he kept on. Then I saw Hugo and the others strutting down the street, talking and laughing, and Ben Livingston swung a stick through the air like a baseball bat, and Austin Chitwood covered his mouth, suppressing a laugh, and Hugo seemed to be ignoring them both, marching ahead like a general, leading unwieldy troops.
“Don’t go over there,” Bum said. “Please, Tim, just stay here and listen to the radio, and if they come to the house send them away.”
“Somebody’s got to stop him,” I said.
“Mr. Jones already reported him to Sheriff Rabbit,” Bum pointed out. “You think if there was a doubt in his mind the sheriff would let Mr. Lang loose?”
“Sheriff Rabbit is as dumb as a mule’s ass.”
“Now you just sound like Hugo.”
“Well maybe Hugo is right. You saw what he was doing to that man. You saw it.”
“But he didn’t kill him,” Bum said. “You watched that man walk right out of his house and drive away.”
“Did you ever think they might be in it together?”
My nerves were on edge, and I wanted to get moving, get it over with, like jumping into a cold lake all at once so my body would adjust to the temperature. Bum could flap his jaw all night long and it wasn’t going to change what we’d seen or what needed to be done. How could my best friend be so blind? It seemed he just didn’t want to see the truth. I decided Bum was afraid, and I understood that, but my daddy wasn’t a coward and he hadn’t raised a coward.
“You should just go home,” I said. “You’ll just make a mess of things.”
Bum was stricken by my words. His face fell and it looked childish to my eyes.
“I’m not going anyplace,” Bum said. “Somebody’s got to look after you.”
“I can look after myself,” I said. “But if you come along just stay out of the way, and you remember the oath you took. You don’t tell anybody about what we’re doing until Sheriff Rabbit arrests him. We’ll be heroes and there’ll be plenty of time to tell our story then.”
“Heroes,” Bum whispered, unconvinced.
“If you’re staying help me get the leg off of that table.”
~ ~ ~
Hugo’s instructions looped in my mind like a scratched phonograph recording –
get him out of the house, ten or fifteen minutes, get him out....
My hands shook violently as I crossed the street and climbed the German’s porch steps. Next to me, Bum looked around the neighborhood anxiously, probably worried that a neighbor would see us, but I wasn’t concerned about that. Folks were eating dinner. They wouldn’t come out to their stoops until sunset, once the hellacious heat of the day had subsided. I felt scared enough, but my fear was focused on what lay behind Ernst Lang’s door, not the interference of nosy neighbors.
The German opened the door and seemed surprised to see Bum and me, and a bolt of dread ran through me. My thoughts scrambled and when the German said, “Hello, boys,” neither Bum nor I replied. His brow clouded and he opened the door further. He stood on the threshold looking over our shoulders at the street. “Is something wrong?”
“No, sir,” Bum muttered.
Hearing my friend’s voice brought me back to myself. He sounded so guilty and scared, I had to cover for the both of us.
“You look upset,” the German said.
“No,” I said, finally able to unknot my tongue. “Well sort of. I just…we kind of goofed. We didn’t mean any harm, but we sort of broke something.”
“What did you break?”
“A table. We broke one of its legs and we don’t know how to get it back on, and I know you make those great chairs, and….”
“How did you break this table?”
“Bum fell on it,” I said.
I didn’t turn to see how Bum took this excuse, but the German laughed. “Yes, your friend could break many tables I think.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound as amused as the German. “We were just messing around and I kind of shoved him and he fell. It wasn’t his fault or anything. And like I said, we tried to fix it, but I’m afraid we’ll just ruin it.”
“I could come over in the morning,” he said.
Suddenly I was afraid that the German was on to us. He looked suspicious, uncertain as if being asked to jump into a hole the bottom of which he couldn’t see. I spoke quickly.
“Oh, Jeez. If Ma found out we wrecked her table she’d kill us. It was a present from her daddy, and she’d probably tan me for a month if she knew I broke it.”
The German nodded slowly as I spoke. He looked from me to Bum and then said, “Yes. Good. You come in. I have supper on the stove, and I do not want it to burn.”
I stepped over the threshold, but Bum didn’t move. He visibly trembled, and his face was drained of color. Why hadn’t he gone home the way I’d told him to? He was going to ruin everything.
“Your friend is afraid of me,” the German said, bemused. “Am I so very scary?”
“Bum, come on, we don’t want to keep Mr. Lang all night.”
“I’m sorry,” Bum said, but he remained frozen on the porch.
“Are you sure everything’s all right?”
“Yeah,” I said, too quickly. “Everything is fine. He’s just really worried about breaking Ma’s table. Bum, come on. You’re being rude.”
“Boys,” the German said, “My supper is burning, so you just come in when you’re ready. Or, if Ernst is too scary for your friend, wait here and I’ll be right back after I turn off the stove and gather some tools.”
Then, the German turned away from the door and walked across the living room, leaving me on the threshold to convince Bum. He didn’t want to be convinced.
“He’s been nice to you,” Bum whispered. “He’s done a bunch of chores for your ma and your neighbors. He’s the one who mended you up after Hugo gave you a licking. Why are you doing this?”
“I can’t believe you’re on his side.”
“I’m not on his side. There is no side because this shouldn’t be happening.”
“He called you fat.”
“Everyone calls me fat,” Bum replied. “I am fat. So what?”
“I don’t see what’s got you so knotted up,” I said.
“What does Hugo think he can do that the sheriff can’t?”
The German returned from the kitchen and said, “Would one of you boys go in the backyard and pick up my hammer while I get a few things from my workshop? It should be beside the chicken coop.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Oh,” he announced, startling me. “I am very sorry to hear the news of your father, Tim. We’ll hope he is in good health.”
“Thanks,” I said, turning away. The angry ticking in my head exploded into absolute rage, and it burned a path down my neck.
We walked through the German’s house and continued outside. I looked at the chicken coop and it had been demolished. Scraps of splintered wood littered the dirt. The entire roof had been torn away and lay in the middle of the yard; the rest had been reduced to useless jagged planks. I turned away in confusion and was surprised to see Hugo and the other two already pressed up against the back of the German’s house. Thoughts collided in my head as I gaped at the boys. Ben and Austin crouched, each holding lengths of board, but Hugo stood tall with a Colt revolver trained on the kitchen door.
“Tim,” Bum muttered at my side, seeing exactly what I saw.
The sight of the weapon sent icy rivulets down my back. Hugo had said nothing about guns. The possibility had never occurred to me, and it scared me as I came to realize this really was adult business, like war, and people died in wars. Quickly I turned back to the pile of broken lumber, searching the mess for the German’s hammer, so my neighbor wouldn’t come outside. I tossed boards stained with white bird shit aside but found no sign of the tool I’d been sent to fetch.
“What are you doing?” Bum asked. His voice trembled horribly. “We can’t be here.”
“Just help me find the hammer,” I said.
The German came out and said, “No luck?” He laughed at this and shook his head, walking down the two steps toward us. He didn’t think to look around his yard.
“What happened to your coop?” I asked, hoping to keep his attention on me.
“Happened?” the German replied as if he couldn’t see the demolished shack with his own eyes.
“Mr. Lang?” Bum said, sounding frightened to the core.
“Bum, shh,” I said.
Behind the German, Hugo crept forward, the gun trained on the back of the man’s head.
“No, Tim,” my friend argued.
“Boys, what is going on?” the German asked. Then he must have heard Hugo, because the German spun around to face him. Taken off guard, Hugo’s step stuttered and he came to a stop, but he kept the revolver aimed at the German. “What is this?”
“It’s what you deserve,” Hugo said.
My neighbor turned back to me with a question on his brow, and Hugo skipped forward to place the muzzle of his pistol against the man’s head. The German spun quickly, slapping Hugo’s gun hand to the side and planting a fist in the boy’s chest. Hugo tripped backward, landing hard on the ground. His gun had found its way into the German’s hand, and dread filled me. The brawny man looked at the weapon and tossed it high, sending it soaring over the fence. Through all of this Ben and Austin remained motionless at the back of the house.
