“So you know that stealing Seth’s toy was wrong.”
He nodded again, more reluctantly than ever. By then he was practically hiding behind his father’s leg, as if he were three instead of eight or nine.
“Mrs Wyler, I hardly think it’s necessary to browbeat the boy,” his old man said. Unbelievable prig! He’s willing to let me turn the kid over my knee amp; whale on his ass like it was a snare drum, but when I want the kid to say out loud that he did wrong, all at once it’s abuse. There’s a lesson in this, but I’ll be damned if I know what it is.
“I’m not browbeating him, but I want you to know that the last few days have been very difficult around here,” I said. It was the adult I was answering but still the kid I was really talking to. “Seth loves his Power Wagons very much. So here is what I want, Hugh. I want you to tell me that what you did was wrong, and it was bad, and you’re sorry. Then we’ll be done.”
Hugh glared at me, amp; if looks could kill, I wouldn’t be writing in this book now. But was I scared? Please. When it comes to pissed-off kids, I live with the champ of champs.
“Mrs Wyler, do you think that’s really necessary?” Hobart asked.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “More for your son than for me.”
“Dad, do I have to?” he whines. He’s still giving me the Death-ray look from behind his smeary glasses.
“Go on and tell her what she wants to hear,” Hobart said. “Bitter medicine is best swallowed in a single gulp.” Then he patted the kid on the shoulder, as if to say yes, she’s being mean, a real bitch, but we have to put up with it.
“It-was-wrong-it-was-bad-I’m-sorry,” the kid says, like he’s back on the cue-cards. Glaring at me the whole time-no more tears or snivelling. I looked up amp; saw the same stare coming from the father. The two of them never looked more alike than they did right then. People are amazing. They came up the street, scared but sort of exalted at the idea of getting crucified, just like their boss did. Instead I made the kid admit what he was, amp; it hurt, amp; they both hate me for it.
The important things, though, are these: 1) D.F. is back, and 2) the Hobarts won’t talk about it. Sometimes shame is the only gag that works on people. I must think up a yarn to tell Seth, then tell the same one to Herb. The truth just isn’t safe.
Feet upstairs, going down to the bathroom. He’s up. Please God I hope I’m right about him not being able to see into my thoughts.
Later
Big sigh of relief. And maybe a self-administered pat on the back, as well. I think The Dream Floater Crisis is past, with no harm done (except for some broken dishes amp; my beautiful Waterford glasses, that is). Seth amp;Herb both sleeping. I intend to go up myself as soon as I’ve written a little in this book (keeping a journal under these circumstances may be dangerous, but God, it can be so soothing), then put it back on top of the kitchen cabinet where I keep it.
Seth getting up when he did, before I had much of a chance to think what I was going to tell him, turned out to be a blessing in disguise. When he came downstairs, still with his eyes mostly puffed shut, I just held D.F. out to him. What happened to his face-the way it opened up in surprise amp; delight, like a flower in the sun-was almost worth the whole damned horror show. I saw both of them in that glad look, Seth and the SLB. The SLB just glad to have his Power Wagon back. Seth, I think, glad for other reasons. Maybe I’m wrong, giving him too much credit, but I don’t think so. I think Seth was glad because he knows the SLB will let up on us now. For a little while, anyway.
There was a time when I thought, good college girl that I am, that the SLB was just another aspect of Seth’s personality-the amoral part Freudians call the id-but I’m no longer sure. I keep thinking about the trip the Garins took across the country just before Bill amp; June
amp; the two oilier kids were killed. Then I think about how our father talked to us when we were teenagers, and going for our drivers” licenses, Bill first, then me. He told us there were three things we were never supposed to do: drive with our tire-pressure low, drive drunk, or pick up hitchhikers.
Could it be that Bill picked up a hitchhiker in the desert without even knowing it? That it’s still riding around inside of Seth? Crazy idea, maybe, but I’ve noticed that this is when most of the crazy ideas come, late at night when the house is quiet amp; the others are asleep. And crazy does not always mean wrong.
Anyhow, with no time to lie fancy, I lied plain. I found it in the cellar, I said, when I went down to see if there were any more vacuum cleaner bags. We’d already poked around down there, of course, but I said it was way back under the stairs. Seth accepted it with no questions (I’m not sure he even cared, he was so happy to have “Dweem Fwoatah” back, but it was really the SLB I was talking to, anyway). Herb only had one question: how did the PW get down there in the first place? Seth never goes in the cellar, thinks it’s spooky, and H. knows that. I said I didn’t know, and-miracle of miracles-that seems to have closed the subject.
All night Seth sat in the den in his favorite chair, holding Dream Floater on his lap like a little girl might hold her favorite doll, watching the TV. Herb brought home a movie from the Video Clip. Just some old black-and-white thing from the Bargain Bin, but Seth really likes it. It’s a Western (of course) from the late “50s. He’s watched it twice already.
Rory Calhoun’s in it. It’s called The Regulators.
June 29, 1995
I think we’re in trouble.
William Hobart over this morning, in a rage. Herb had left for work about twenty minutes before he showed up, thank God, and Seth was out back in the yard.
“I want to ask you a question, Mrs Wyler,” he said. “Did you or your husband have anything to do with what happened to my car last night? A simple yes or no will suffice. If you did, it would be best to say so now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, and I must have sounded convincing, because he calmed down a little bit.
He led me down the front walk (I was happy to go, the further away from Seth in the back yard, the better), amp; pointed, down at his house. He drives one of those four-wheel things, an Explorer, maybe, something like that. It was standing on four flat tires, and all the windows had been broken. Including the windshield and the big one in back.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I said. I was, too, although maybe not for the reasons he thought.
“I apologize for my accusation,” he says, just as stiff as starch. “I suppose I thought… the toy Hugh took… if you were still angry… “A vehicle for a vehicle, I think he meant, like an eye for an eye.
“I’ve put the whole thing behind me, Mr Hobart,” I said. “And I’m not what you’d call a vengeance-minded person under any circumstances.”
“Vengeance is mine saith the Lord, I will repay,” he says.
“Right!” I said. I don’t know if it is or not, but by then I only wanted to get rid of him. He’s creepy.
“
“It must have been vandals, he said. “Drunkards. Surely no one on the street would do such a thing.”
I hope it was vandals. I hope it was. And how could it have been Seth-or the Stalky Little Boy, if you prefer-if I’m right about his powers having a short range? Unless his abilities are growing. His range widening.
I don’t dare tell Herb about this.
June 24, 2995
When I came downstairs this morning to start breakfast, I saw the Reeds out on their walk, still in their robes. I went out. It’s been hot, but it rained in the middle of the night-hard- amp; the air was cooler this morning, with that sweet wet smell it gets after summer rain. Early Saturday morning, or the whole street would have turned out, I think. There was a police car parked in front of the Hobart house, where there was broken glass everywhere, in the driveway amp; on the lawn, twinkling in the sun. William and his wife (Irene) were standing on their front stoop in their pj’s, talking to the cops. The little thief was standing on the stoop behind them, sucking his thumb. A little old for that, but it must have been a bad morning at chez Hobart. Every window in the house was out, it looked like, upstairs as well as down.