Thursday 21 June 2012

Univited Guests


Uninvited Guests

Shari heard it first, long before the others.  “Mr. W, I hear the sound of a motor.  No, not a motor, more like two or three.”

I couldn’t hear a thing, and neither could anyone else.  We sometimes wondered if maybe Shari was possessed, or something worse, a little crazy.

“They’re motorcycles and I’m pretty sure that there are three of them.  They’re not on the highway.  They’re coming this way,” she went on.

“Are you positive that’s what you hear, Shari?”  I didn’t want to go into protection mode, unless it was absolutely necessary.

“I’m sure.” 

The expression – Better Safe than Sorry – came to mind.  “Okay everyone.  Now’s the time to put our preparation to the test.  Remember, this is to protect us.  Don't be afraid to use lethal force if necessary.”  I emphasized the word necessary.  I also don't want you to forget that these could be friendlies.  Now go.  Do what you’ve prepared to do.”  Doctor Manning and Tammy stayed with me while the other three headed for their stash of weapons.  Meanwhile we prayed that this wouldn't turn into anything more serious than a brief get-together with some strangers, and possibly an opportunity to expand our current population.  It occurred to me that we could be meeting with some future friends and allies and equally, that we could be facing our first mortal enemies.  I would not be naïve and taken off guard.

There was the sound of motorcycles, just like she had said.  They would shortly come around the twist in the escarpment and become visible.  Sure enough, there were exactly three of them, one with a side car.  I hadn’t seen one of those for a while.  As they dismounted their bikes, I took note of their long leather coats.  They headed our way.  It reminded me of a scene from The Matrix. 

“Hello strangers.  Welcome to our camp.  It’s really good to see some more human faces.”  Although I maintained a friendly appearance, inwardly I was less so.

The one in the front appeared to be their leader as the other two flanked him lagging just slightly behind and off to either side.  It reminded me of an air show where the jets would fly in formation nearly wingtip to wingtip.  “Hi.  How ya doin,” the leader shot back. 

“Not bad, fellas.  What can we do for you?”  I couldn’t get my eyes off the coats.  They were oversize for the riders.  They were nearly on us by now and I was getting a uneasy feeling about those coats.  The leader stopped about three feet in front of me while his cohorts circled around behind, a bad sign.  He spoke to me again, “We just came to pick somethin up.”

I ignored his remark as my radar began to pay more attention.  How could he have something to pick up, unless he'd been here before?  “Wouldn’t you like to stay and have something to eat?” I asked and then questioned, “Pick something up? And what would that be?”

One of the two others grabbed Tammy as the coats opened, suddenly revealing two shotguns and a rifle, the latter pointed directly at my face.  This was the worst case scenario that we had planned for; hoping that it would never take place, but now we were in the middle of the dance and the music would just have to play out.  I just hoped that these three were not entirely stupid.

“We don’t need anything to eat.  We’re just taking this.” He used his head to indicate Tammy, without taking his eyes off of me.  “And we’ll be gone.”  He began to step back just a little.

I was incensed that he would have the gall to refer to Tammy as “this,” as if she were a commodity for sale.  “Tammy.  Are you interested in going anywhere with these fellows?” I asked calmly. 

“No,” was her quick, adamant reply.

“Now you see, she doesn’t want to go anywhere with you.  Now why don’t you just let her go and stick around for something to eat?  There is no reason for us to be hostile to each other.  After all, this world is really short on people.  We need each other.

He ignored me, continuing to point his weapon at my chest.

Since that had no impact, I attempted to inform the three of them of their situation.  “I don’t think you understand the danger you’re in right now,” I hoped that this would lead to a bit of negotiation. 

“Danger?  Mister, I’m not the one looking down the business end of this here rifle.”  He wasn’t smiling and I knew that he couldn’t be trusted.  I was sure he felt powerful as long as he held the rifle.  The others also kept their weapons trained on the three of us.  Because they were quiet, I wasn’t sure about them, but I did respect the guns.

“I’m just trying to warn you.  In a second or two, you’ll receive a more…how shall I put it…a more pointed message.  I had hardly finished speaking when an arrow suddenly appeared in front of his feet.  I suspected that it was Bruce who was doing the shooting, it was so accurate.

“Is that the best you’ve got?  You playing cowboys and Indians out here are ya?  Let me tell you a thing or two.  This gun will blow your head off.  Tell your people to back off.”

“No, my friend.  It is you who needs to back off.  Your life is in great danger right now.  Let the girl go and you might live.  All of you,” I said, turning briefly to the other two, “need to lower your weapons or at least aim them away from our people here, or you are going to experience what it is like to be on the receiving end of an arrow.”  One of the three at least dropped the muzzle of his shot gun so that no one was in danger from his gun, but the leader and the other young man, who had Tammy now by the neck, was keeping his up and swinging it around.  “You don’t have much time,” I reminded.  “This is your last warning.”

“Come on.  Bring the girl,” he ordered.  He took another step backward and as he did, two arrows struck him, one in the neck and the other in the chest.  He momentarily lowered his rifle, but realizing that he might be mortally wounded decided to take me out with him.  But suddenly a small hole appeared in the side of his head, followed by the immediate crack of a gunshot.  He fell to the ground, dead.  I felt sick.  This was the first time I had been responsible for taking someone’s life.  It was not something that I felt proud of and I desperately hoped that we could avoid a repeat performance.

I turned to the other two.  The one, who had lowered his gun, dropped it onto the ground.  “Don’t shoot,” he begged.

His friend shouted at him.  “Pick it up, you idiot.  It’s our only defense again these people.  Don’t you see that they’re going to pick us off one by one?  Pick it up.”

The more sensible of the two moved away from his weapon in the direction of Dr. Manning.  Fear was written all over their faces, but more so, on the one who still held Tammy.  “You know, that girl’s friend is out in the woods.  He’s an expert marksman with both the bow and the rifle as you have already seen.  We don’t want to hurt anyone.  We are just defending ourselves.  If I were you, I would put that shotgun down on the ground and let the girl go, because I would guess that right now, he has you in his sights and is ready to take a shot.”  My words had the opposite effect that I had hoped.  He seemed to try to hide behind her, putting her between himself and the woods.  But knowing Bruce, this would not be a problem.  Suddenly, the young man let out a howl.  Another arrow had appeared on the scene, this time protruding through the captor’s calf.  He dropped the gun, slumped to the ground, rolled on his back, and grasped his leg, crying in pain.

Now free, Tammy did the sensible thing and moved the guns out of their reach, then added a well placed kick to his good leg, and a second to his now vulnerable crotch, presumably to let him know how she thoroughly detested him.  With the two subdued, the rest of our family returned from the woods and Dr. Manning tended to the wounded man’s leg.  Our visitors were quickly tied up, à la Bruce, who was none too kind when it came to how tight the knots should be.  We had to loosen them off later, for fear of gangrene setting in. 

With our human invaders secure, it was time for an interview.  The wiser of the two men decided to cooperate and answer a few questions. 

“What’s your name?” was the first obvious question to ask.

“Daniel.”  He was careful at first, not wanting to say anything to get himself into any further trouble.  I figured that we'd have to ask many questions to find out the whole story, but as we proceeded, he began to realize that he wasn't going to be tortured, have a bullet fired into his brain and then have his body dropped into a pit.

“What did you expect to do with this girl, Daniel?”

“We needed someone to look after us.  To cook.”

“Oh, you poor thing.  You couldn’t look after yourselves?”  Tammy was about ready to give him a boot as well.

“It was Frank’s idea.  He said that we needed someone and that it wouldn’t be hard to get one.”

“Interesting!  And just how did you know about us.  About our being here, Daniel?”

“We saw the girl and that guy,” he was pointing to Bruce, “in town one evening at a Karate Domo.”

“What did I tell you?” interjected Tammy.

“Not necessary, Tammy.  We already believed you.”  I smiled as I looked at Dr. Manning, whom I knew did not completely share my confidence in the pair.  Then, turning to the fellow before us, “Continue Daniel,” I ordered.

“Frank followed them back here.”

“That trip into town was a long time ago.  What took you so long?”

“Frank was a little afraid at first.  We didn’t just happen to see the two of them at the karate place, but we sneaked up on them and watched through the window.  He was afraid of Bruce.”  I glanced at Bruce who was smiling at that remark.

“And well he should have been afraid.  So you took your time and planned this out carefully.”

“Yeah, but I was never comfortable with the idea, but I felt obligated to help.”

“And why should you feel that way?”

  “Frank saved our lives.  He got us into the sewer, under the ground when the invasion started.  We almost got caught, but we killed one of them and got away.  We lived down there until we thought it was safe to live up top.   Look!  I wouldn’t have hurt anyone.”

“Right!”  Bruce’s tone dripped with contempt.  “You came here with guns.  Just what do you think guns are for?  You weren’t out hunting for food.  And you had the gall to put them in our faces.  My Daddy taught me never to aim a gun at anything I didn’t intend to kill.”

Daniel squirmed a bit and looked at me for some evidence of protection.  I changed the subject back to my previous topic.

“What else was the girl supposed to do for you?”

He didn’t answer, but just lowered his head in shame. 

“Come on, Mr. W.  Just let me shoot him and be done with it.”  Bruce was getting really angry, so I motioned to Dr. Manning, who took both him and Tammy by the hand and led them away from the interrogation.

“Didn’t your mother and father teach you better than that?”

“Please sir.  It’s as I told ya.  I wouldn’t have harmed her.  I didn’t want to do it in the first place.  It was Frank’s idea from the start.  I never held a gun before in my life.  I don’t know no gun rules, and my father never taught me anything like that guy.  I hardly knew my father.”

“What about your friend?  What did he think of the idea, Daniel?”

 “I’m not sure about him.  He seemed to get a little excited when Frank suggested that we do this, and it wasn’t for the cooking, either.  That worried me a lot, but I was afraid that if I said anything, Frank, might take out his frustrations on me.”

“Well,” I said, “your friend, Frank, is no longer with us.  I don’t like what you guys were up to.  If I didn’t believe in giving people a chance, I would've turned you both over to Bruce and let him take care of you.  As it is, I have an aversion to seeing people killed, especially in this God forsaken world where I suspect that we may need as much of the world’s genes as possible to keep the race going.”   I studied the young man a little longer.  “How old are you Daniel?”

“Twenty-two,” he said matter-of-factly.

“All right, twenty-two year old Daniel, here are your choices as I see them.  One, you leave this place and never show you face here again.  Two, I turn you over to Bruce.  Or three, you stay here, locked up behind bars until we decide what we can do with you.”

Daniel started to say something, then closed his mouth and sat in deep thought.  “I guess I have to leave,” he said at last.

I left Daniel and proceeded to the second captive.  His name was Gary.  He was a little younger than Daniel at twenty, but very aggressive.  I had to do a lot of reading between the lines with Gary, as he was not forthright with his answers.  Again, my experience and instinct as a principal came into play.   He came from a gang background, had been in and out of trouble through his school years and as a result, never finished high school. 

He would probably fit the profile of a dangerous offender, if he had a record, something I doubted that I could research with all the communications systems down.  I didn’t like the idea of his staying around, so I made a mental note to leave out that option when we were finished.  Yet, at the same time, I knew that if we just let him waltz out of our camp, that he might be the type to come back armed to the teeth and make more trouble.  But at the same time, we couldn’t keep him locked up forever.  Another mental note: take this to a council meeting.  We would convene in the morning.

It was getting late in the day, so we decided to keep the two of them over night.  We still had rooms available.  At last count, we had located about five more openings.  Some were shallow with little extension under the escarpment.  We put the two of them in one of these and barricaded the entrance.  It seemed secure enough.  Later that night I was awakened by a ruckus outside.  At first, I wasn’t sure what was going on, but it soon became clear that Gary and Daniel had broken free.  Gary had somehow removed Shari from her bed without waking the other two girls and now had her outside.  He might have been able to get away with it, but someone had sounded an alarm. 

When I determined that Gary was armed, (we later figured that he must've had more weapons at his bike for the gun he had didn’t belong to any of us.), I slipped back into my room and retrieved a hand gun of my own.  Bruce had told me that this weapon was much more accurate than the revolvers that I'd used years ago and this had proven to be true.  I slipped it behind my back and proceeded to get as close to Gary as possible.  Seeing Daniel, I ordered someone to hold him.  Gary made no objection to this, although he pressed the barrel of the hand gun into Shari’s neck just a little harder.  Here we were going at it again, a repeat of earlier.  I wondered if Gary’s brains had been fried or something.

If there'd not been a full moon overhead, I probably wouldn’t have been able to do what I would do next, for Gary would've been nearly invisible.  “Drop the gun.  Let the girl go,” I ordered.  “I'm not even slightly inclined to play any games with you right now,” I added.  “Let her go or face the consequences.”

“I came for a woman; I’m leavin with a woman.  Now get out of my way.”  He waved his gun towards us.  He was given a wide berth by everyone but Bruce and me.  Bruce was not armed, but he stood his ground anyway, between Gary and the bikes. 

“Bruce, step aside,” I said, hoping to avoid getting him hurt.

“Over my dead body will I let any piece of trash take my friends away.” 

I realized that he was not going to move, but Gary was also not going to back down.  He didn’t know I had a weapon of my own, so he became more emboldened.  That meant that I had no choice.  It was Gary, or Bruce and Shari.  I reached behind me, pulled the gun from my belt, simultaneously raised it and turned off the safety and took careful aim. 

“Mr. W, you shouldn’t really aim that gun like that.  You might hit Shari.”

“That’s a chance I am going to take.  Last chance, Gary.  Drop the gun, let the girl go.”  He began to make his way forward towards both Bruce and me.  I leveled the gun, and squeezed the trigger.  I was surprised at how little recoil there was.  It was an automatic and much of the recoil was used to cock and reload the gun.  I wasn’t surprised by the expression on Gary’s face.  His mouth was partially open, his eyes much more so.  A small dark spot graced his forehead where a dark substance now ran down to his eyes.  He slumped to his knees and fell over on his face.  The back of his head showed the deadly work of the bullet that had penetrated the front and exited the back taking most of the interior with it.

Are you all right, Shari? 

"I'm okay, sir."

"Lock him up,” I said, referring to Daniel.  Bruce quickly and roughly grabbed him to drag him back to his cave.

“Mr. W.  He’s the one who made all the noise and called everyone to help me.  He didn’t do anything wrong.  He even tried to free me, but that other guy aimed the gun at him and told him to get away or he was going to kill him, too.”

“All right, we’ll talk about this tomorrow.  Bruce, take him to the cave, block it and please watch him.  Okay?”

“I’ll keep an eye on him, sir.  You can count on that.”  Bruce did just that, staying up the entire night, feeding a little fire to occupy his time.  But Daniel made no other attempt to escape.

***

I hadn’t moved since pulling the trigger.  I was still holding the gun in both hands, safety off.  Dr. Manning noticed my shaking.  Before I pulled the trigger, I had been calm and steady.  Looking down at the mess of the dead young man near my feet brought feelings that I had never experienced before.  I knew before I did it that I would protect my family, no matter what, but the aftershock was more that I imagined it would be.  I felt her hand on my arm as she led me away from the scene to a quiet spot away from the clearing.  She took the gun while I took a couple of steps further and emptied my stomach.  Dr. Manning didn’t leave, but directed me to another location where we sat together against a tree while she put her arm around me and just held me until my sobbing and shakes ended and I regained a level of self control and speech returned.

“That was messy business wasn’t it?” she asked.

“Doc, I can’t believe I shot him. He was just a kid.  I’ve never hurt anyone before.  It’s just not me.”

“You did what you had to.  You protected our girls.  And Warren, he was not a kid.  If you hadn't stood your ground, we might never have seen Shari again.  I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks for the words of encouragement, but pray to God I don’t have to do this again.  I don’t think I could handle it.”

“Where our family is concerned, a father or a mother will protect the nest no matter the cost.  I do wish the boy hadn’t been so stupid though.  Things could have turned out differently.  If only they'd been reasonable.  We could've adopted them into our family.

“I was hoping all the while I was speaking to 'im that he wasn’t a moron.  To think he thought he was going to take Shari away.”

“We’ve still got Daniel to deal with.”

“I guess I'd better clean up the mess.”

“I’ll give you a hand.”

Winter Marches On


Christmas arrived right on time, and with it a fresh fall of snow.  The weather was perfect for a ski trip around the circuit and there was plenty of time before we needed to return for group breakfast and the giving and receiving of our gifts.  If I had had my way, the gifts would have been given out the night before, but this was their tradition, so I honored it.  Upon our return, we were greeted by warm mugs of hot chocolate that heated the inside and warmed the heart.  Breakfast consisted of pancakes and maple syrup.  There was plenty of syrup to go around.  Bruce and Tammy had raided the store and removed every bottle they could find. 

After eating and cleaning up, we retired to our rooms for a short time.  The girls wouldn’t let us into their place, so we had nothing else to do other than take another trip around the ski trail, but no one wanted to do that, so we just counted the seconds until we received the invitation.  As I exited my room, and closed the door, I noticed Bruce leaving the girls’ apartment.  “Odd,” I thought.

Bruce saw me looking at him and began coming my way.  “How’d you enjoy the skiing this morning, Mr. W.?”  He asked seemingly sincerely. 

“The air was crisp.  Just the way I like it.  How about you, Bruce?”

“Couldn’t have been better.  I found the trail fast, almost icy.  It really tests your sense of balance, don’t you think?” he questioned.

“That’s a fact.  There is one tree that needs to be moved, or we need to change the trail slightly.  I nearly crashed into the large maple just before the elbow.”

Bruce knew exactly to what I was referring.  The trail went downhill at that point and near the bottom, right where the trail took a ninety degree turn to the right, stood a solid maple tree much older than I, with a large diameter.  It was obviously a widow maker.  Not that anyone in our group could actually pass for that, since no one was married, but we had been fortunate enough to have had only minor accidents so far, one being my shoulder wrenched out of it socket as I grabbed a small tree with my right arm as I sped out of control down the slippery tracks. 

“Maybe I can work on that for a Christmas present.”  He grinned and continued walking past my place and disappeared around the corner of the escarpment. 



***

The coldest days had been late January and most of February.  We were getting rather tired of the winter by then.   With the coming of March, to everyone’s surprise, also came the end of the snow and most of the cold.  One problem developed immediately with the arrival of heat.  The snow turned to slush; the slush turned to water.  The riverbed we had built wasn’t working; water began to rise above the ditch.  It seemed that the snow and slush had filled the ditch and frozen leaving the ditch ineffective. 

Quickly, we had to come up with a plan “B.”  This involved going into town and retrieving some kind of rig that could cut a large path through the snow away from our homes before they filled with water.  We settled on a small rig with a scoop in the front that I had seen removing snow from my school parking lot during some of the more serious winter snowfalls in Border City.  We fueled it up, packed it on the back of a small flatbed and hurried it back to the hideout. 

We arrived none too soon, as the water level was nearly even with the doorways.  I climbed on the vehicle and searched for the keys.  I wondered how I was going to get it off the flat bed.  Presently, I noticed that Bruce was standing beside me. 

“Sir.  If you’ll allow me?” 

I stepped off the rig and Bruce hopped on in my place.  He would operate the machine.  He began by making a path parallel to and about thirty feet in front of the escarpment.  He didn’t want to create small tsunami waves that would surge against our doors.  From this path, he cut another single one, at a right angle that led the accumulated water downhill away from the camp.  As the water began to recede slightly, he began to widen the original path closer to the caves, but as the water was not hurrying downhill, he abandoned this and cleared more of the snow following his original right angled path.  With this done, the water began to ebb rapidly, so Bruce was able to remove most of the remaining snow and slush piled close to our shelters.  We used shovels to move what was left around our doorways.  I could not praise Bruce enough for his amazing ability to not only drive the machine, but also his instincts in making sure that our homes were not put in danger.  More and more, I began to realize that Bruce had what it took to be a great leader.  If the alien attack had not taken the opportunities away from him one wonders what he would have become.

***

For about a week or so, we had to exchange our regular footwear for rubber boots as the ground began to thaw, leaving a mucky mess everywhere.  Until the ice melted thoroughly beneath the surface, we would have to put up with this situation.  It was a normal part of spring thaw, so although not appreciated very much, mostly because of all the filth it added to our clothing and bodies, we knew that it would pass and we would be able to go about our regular routines without all the mud.

The trees’ tiny limbs began to grow green, the leaf buds began to swell and then open as the days warmed and grew longer.  Something about spring and the rebirth of nature seemed to give us all hope.  It wasn’t New Years, with its return of the sun that boosted our spirits, but rather spring, with its burst of new life. 

With the milder weather and dry surface, winter sports turned to summer fun, with soccer, football and baseball taking their turns to keep everyone amused and happy.  Our daily routines also returned.  The targets returned to the trees and practice continued as Bruce resumed where he had left off in the fall.  He planned for different scenarios which would require alternate responses.  We would not be taken off guard.  

Knowing my personal preference for a good rifle and scope, Bruce made me an impressive gift that changed my mind about hand guns, a Performance Center 945-1.  The name meant very little to me, but it reminded me of a military handgun usually assigned to officers.  This was probably the most accurate handgun I had ever had the privilege to hold.  It had an adjustable rear site that I had not seen on pistols.  I really didn’t want to take the weapon, for as I soon learned, this had been his father’s pride and joy, but Bruce was insistent.  I kept it in my room, loaded, within easy reach, two violations of laws that my country’s people-pleasing leaders had put into place many years earlier, a contravention that I would soon enough be pleased that I had disregarded.

Christmas


Celebrating Christmas that first year seemed unimportant to me and I wouldn’t have had anything to do with it if it hadn’t been for the girls; they were so excited.  “We have to have a tree.”  Finding and chopping down a suitable evergreen was not how I planned to spend the season, as any Christmas without my family was meaningless to me, but with a bit of arm twisting and begging on the part of the girls, they were able to get Bruce to cooperate.  In retrospect, he had been willing to do it all along, but just wanted the girls to give him a little attention.

It was easy to find a pail to hold the tree.  And, there was sand and gravel lying about that added heft to the pail, so it would not fall over from the weight of the tree placed inside.  Once Bruce had added all the rock and sand he could find, then he added water to try to keep the plant alive during the two week season.   

When depression arrived and for me, this was depressing, I often turned to the past as I privately relived enjoyable memories with old friends in other parts of the country.  These were at least some happy moments I could escape to, even for a short while, away from the here and now.  Bruce’s treatment of the tree had sparked a memory of long ago.  I sat in a corner, staring at a naked spruce tree and felt myself drifting off to that place in the Eastern part of the country where I had briefly lived.   

I remember that property well.  We'd been living outside of town, near the Bay of Fundy, on an old farm that shared both sides of a narrow, winding road that bordered the bay.  We rented the place for a year.  The man of the house had died, leaving a widow to look after things and eventually, she had to live with someone else for she was unable to care for herself and the large house, to say nothing of the barns and adjacent fields.  The fields had begun to sprout alders and other obstacles on this once beautiful country property. 

The large, white house itself was really two buildings attached together.  There were two and a half stories above the ground and a basement below the southern portion of the home.   That basement was unique in my experience, for there was a very small stream of water that flowed through a tiny canal from the west end of the floor to where it disappeared under the eastern wall.  Needless to say, it was a damp cellar.  We were told that it was spring water.  That was possible.  One had to be careful when handling the freezer that was located there.  It was an old one that didn't use the now standard three prong plug and it was not uncommon to feel a small surge of electricity pass through the hands and arms when lifting and closing the lid. 

The kitchen wasn’t large, but the dining room, on the other hand, was huge.  The only Christmas we celebrated there we shared with my cousin and his family seated around the largest dinner table I had seen up to that time.  Having a cell phone would have made it easier to talk to the person seated on the far end. “Could you please pass the bread?  What is that you said?”  We dined on a very large goose, potatoes & gravy, carrots, salad, and dessert.  I do remember that it was a very greasy meal.  I think it was the last goose I ever purchased. 

I briefly returned to the present as I observed Tammy, Shari and Lise jumping around with glee, now ecstatic because the tree was going to be sharing their apartment.   It was the only one large enough to hold it and still allow navigation in and out of the door.  I smiled briefly and returned to my internal memoires.

We'd been given permission to make use of part of the barn across the road from the house for some hens.  I had purchased four birds, leghorns, earlier in the summer while staying further north visiting some of Lynn Eve’s relatives.   These white birds, I was told, were the most efficient layers of all breeds, producing one egg per day.  Whenever you see birds living in cages, with their heads sticking out pecking at a moving tray of grain, most likely it is this bird you are looking at.  Being very skinny, they are not very useful for meat, but I did hear a story about how a certain soup company would buy up the older birds and use them for their chicken noodle soup.  What was it they said, “One bird per one hundred cans of soup?”   Another breed I purchased as pullets, Buff Sussex, didn't produce as many eggs, and they used more feed, but they were particularly friendly, often following us around like puppies eating whatever we disturbed in the grass.  They also ate out of our hands and didn’t mind us picking them up. 

In the fall, I purchased hay to keep the dirt floor of the hen house dry.  As I picked the bales apart, I noticed that there were small dry flowers, most likely clover, mixed with the grasses.  The birds clucked and danced as they pushed closer to me trying to get this tasty treat into their mouths.

And the eggs!  For another moment, I began to feel sorry for myself as I remembered those bright orange yolks.  The eggs from the store had yellow yolks and little flavor.  What I would do for one of those now!  I can still remember my mother visiting and after cooking a couple of eggs fresh from the barn saying, “This is the way to eat an egg.”  I hadn’t seen my mother dip a piece of toast into a runny yolk for as long as I could remember. My, she enjoyed it!

I remembered that the birds would not cross the road until they saw our vehicle pull into the driveway.  It was comical to see them poke up their heads and turn them sideways to get a good look before sauntering over.  One Saturday afternoon after eating, Lynn Eve and I were resting in the small bedroom off the dining room when we heard car horns blaring.  I jumped off the bed and sped to the window to see a peeved driver waiting impatiently for our pets to trot across the roadway.  I have to add that for the entire year that we spent there, we didn't lose a single member of our flock.  The people who drove that road knew what to expect when they crested the hill by our dwelling and peeved or otherwise wouldn't run over the birds.

Besides the green grass on our side of the lane, there was also the brook that flowed down the hill and under the road where they loved to scratch and pick up small stones to fill their gizzards.  Many people don’t know it, but birds must swallow stones to help grind the food they eat.  It may also supply calcium for the shells they later put on the eggs.

Ah, the brook.  That was what Bruce had reminded me of.  The brook never froze.  Unlike all the other streams in the area, it never froze over, but like that canal in the basement, continued to gurgle and flow throughout the year.  I had chopped down a tree from the far side of the property, where it wouldn't be missed by anyone except maybe a passing sailboat and dragged it back to the house.  I had no professional stand in which to secure it, so I found a metal pail and stood the tree in the middle of it in a little room off the kitchen.  It wouldn't stand up on its own, so I took some fishing line and attached it to a couple of places in the room and went looking for something substantial to keep it vertical.  That’s when I spotted the brook.  There was fresh water and lots of fine gravel and sand.  After placing this into the pail up to the top, the tree needed no other support.  It also needed no other care, for it remained watered until New Years.  Only after stupidly leaving it for another two weeks without addressing its needs, did I realize my folly.  Whereas at New Years, the needles had been firmly affixed to the limbs, now, they dropped like pepper from a shaker.  By the time I had wrestled the tree out the door, there wasn't a single, visible needle attached to the now naked skeleton of this once beautiful specimen.

“How are we going to decorate?” Shari asked. 

“How about with popped corn.  I heard that they used to do that ages ago,” Tammy replied.  “What do you think, Lise?” Tammy gave her a questioning look.

“I’m not too much into Christmas trees, at least it was not a big deal in Africa.  But here, we decorated our tree with all the things that we kids brought home from school.”

“I like that idea.”  Shari smiled.

“So do I,” added Tammy.  “But I’d like to have an angel or a star at the top.  We always had one of those at home.”  I noticed Tammy’s face cloud over and I thought she was going to cry, but she suddenly shook it off and got back into the planning.  “Maybe we can add some other things that we find around here.  There are pine cones.  They would look nice.”  I looked at the tree and surprisingly, there were no cones on it.  Two of the girls raced for the door and disappeared outside. 

Lise remained.  She approached me and seemingly reading my thoughts, tenderly placed her warm hand on my upper arm.  “Come on, Mr. W.  We can use your help.  And you could use a change of scenery.” 

“Go on without me.  I’d just get in the way.”  I tried to brush her off, but she was unrelenting. 

“I might need you to reach some things that are too high for me.  Besides, when have you ever been in the way?”  She grabbed my hand and began to pull.  She had an awful grip, more like a man than the woman she was becoming.

I liked Lise.  I like her a lot.  She didn’t like to see me alone or without a smile.  She seemed to make it her job in life to make sure I was happy and busy.  In spite of myself, I enjoyed her touch, not something that I would have wanted anyone else to know, even here in our small camp.  Teachers who enjoyed such things did not long remain in the teaching profession.  They were a risk that school boards could ill afford.  But here, alone and innocent, her touch did something to me.  It was almost like it was saying that everything was going to be all right, that I didn’t have to worry any more.

I gave in to her tugging and followed her out the door as we headed to the surrounding woods to gather cones and whatever else the woods might offer to decorate a Christmas tree.  I was surprised at the junk that lay around the camp and what use we could make of it.  Some objects had missed the trip to the dump.  Plastic could be reshaped with a little heat to represent an ornament.  Aluminum cans retrieved from our dump, could be easily cut up into strips and twisted into spirals that could pass for icicles.  And so the group project took shape.  The only person seemingly not involved was Doctor Manning.  Where was she?  Finally, when the job was nearly complete, the good doctor made her appearance.  Admiringly, she gazed at the tree.  There was not one ornament that came from a store, but everything had some meaning to the ones who had chosen them and hung them in place. 

Carol nodded her head, then, quietly withdrew from the room.  She reappeared a couple of minutes later and handed something to Bruce, who stretched himself to his full height and placed a homemade angel on the top.  Carol had made it from cloth, medical supplies and some dried grass that she had collected.  The tree was complete.  We all sat down, to enjoy its beauty. 

That was not enough for Shari.  She wanted to sing some carols, which we did for about fifteen minutes.  Then, it was time to leave.  Lise stuck close to me again as I began to make my way to the door.  She took me by the arm as if she were escorting me.  But after leaving the girls’ room, Lise reattached herself more firmly and proceeded to walk me the short distance to my place.  “You don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to,” she said. 

I wasn’t too sure what to make of her remark.  Did she think I’d let her stay with me in my room?  Even if all she meant was to just talk or keep me company, that would not only appear indiscrete, but could bring trouble on both of us as well.  But knowing Lise as I did, I decided that she was just concerned about my mental state at the moment, for she had discerned rightly that the carols had rekindled memories that were better left buried.  And after all, she hadn’t said she wanted to keep me company in my room.  “I’ll be okay,” I lied.

“If you change your mind, you know where you can find me.”  She hugged me good night and as I returned her affection, she gave me a slight kiss on the cheek.  Before I had time to react, she had turned and was gone.  I didn’t know how to respond to her actions.  I put my hand to my cheek and held it there, as if by the simple pressure of my fingers I could contain her gentle caress and maintain the warmth of her lips on my face. 

I lay awake in my bed, unwilling to drift off, even though I was tired.  What was Lise saying to me?  In word?  In action?  Why did my heart skip a beat as I began a mental debate of the opposing propositions?  Lise was my student.  Or what she?  I was old enough to be her father.  That much was true.  Talk about an age difference!  What was the rest of the world doing?  Was there a world out there?  Were we all that were left of humanity?  If so, did any of the rules even matter?  Was the teacher-student relationship still forbidden?  It was as if I were caught in a tug of war.  On one side was my mind with all it had learned over the years about right and wrong.  On the other, was my heart.  But as I thought about this, I also thought about how silly I was being.  Maybe Lise was just being nice to an old fool.  I would put these thoughts out of my head and lead my normal everyday life, just as I always had.  This old boy was not going to act the part of a teenager and make a play for a young lady.  As I thought over that theme for a moment, I realized that I really had to put the idea to rest.  Lise was not even 18 yet.  And, I was barely a widower.  How tragedy can mess with one’s mind!

On the floor, beside the far side of my bed was a new bottle of ice wine.  That would keep me company and warm my insides on this dark, lonely night.  I lit a candle, found my cork screw and enjoyed the sweetness before falling asleep.