12 October 1982
But How Can I When They’re So Beautiful?
“Feathers is gonna freak out if Maggie goes and he can’t go,” Nat said as Nathan parked the car off the roadway in the dirt.
“I still think we should leave him in the car. He’s not a trained hunting dog. He’ll scare the ducks away.”
“He’ll probably bark or howl the whole time.”
“It hardly matters. No one lives within miles of here.”
“OK,” Nat said, and reached into the back seat to pat the dog’s head. “You heard him, boy. Maggie comes, you stay.”
Nathan stepped out of the car and took both shotguns from the floor of the back seat. He looked up to see Nat standing beside him in the pre-dawn dark.
“I know,” Nat said. “Check the safety. Plus carry the gun so it’s not pointing at anything. Like ahead and down at the ground. Just to be double-safe.”
“That’s some pretty good remembering,” Nathan said, handing him one of the shotguns.
“Depends on whether I’m trying.”
They set off down the trail to the lake together, by flashlight, Maggie bounding ahead. Nathan could hear the plaintive howls of Feathers, abandoned in the car.
He waited to see if Nat would stop at the spot, or respond to passing it in any way.
He saw Nat miss one step as they passed the tree in question. But that was all.
? ? ?
They crouched behind the blind together, in the freezing morning, perfectly silent and perfectly still. Nathan was aware of Maggie nearly trembling in her readiness.
He listened until he heard the sound of beating wings in the distance.
“Hear that?” he whispered near Nat’s ear. Nat nodded.
“When they come in and land on the lake, I’m going to fire on one. When I do, they’ll all rise up into the air again. I’ll take one more if I can. That’s the time for you to try a shot.”
The mallards came into view, nearly filling the dawn sky. Maybe seventy-five of them touched down on the water, their wings open for landing. It was just light enough to see the full color on the bright teal-green heads of the drakes.
Nathan rose slightly, steadied himself, and squeezed off a shot, feeling the familiar kick of the shotgun butt against his right shoulder.
The ducks rose from the water as if they were one huge, multi-faceted body. Nathan could hear their webbed feet beating the surface of the lake as they took a running step or two before achieving flight. He aimed one more time. Squeezed off another shot.
He heard Maggie hit the water.
He did not hear Nat fire his shotgun.
They stood watching as Maggie swam to retrieve the first duck.
“She’s old for this,” Nat said. “Huh?”
“Very. She’s nearly fourteen. I should have retired her years ago. But she’s still in good shape. And she loves her work so much. I can’t bring myself to break her heart.”
Nathan vacillated over whether or not to mention Nat’s absence of a shot. Was Nat concerned about his motor skills? But they had practiced how Nat would hold the gun. And the practice session had appeared to go well enough.
He decided against mentioning it.
Maggie brought the first duck ashore, a big drake, and gently laid it at Nathan’s feet. Then she dove back into the water for the second bird.
Nat squatted over the dead animal. Stroked the bright green feathers of its neck and head.
“It’s so beautiful,” he said.
“Yes,” Nathan said. “They’re a lovely bird.”
“Is it OK if I can’t bring myself to shoot one?”
“Of course it is.”
“I’m not saying it’s wrong that you do. And I know it’s stupid to get you to bring me all the way out here. But I didn’t know how I’d feel about it. You know. Until I tried.”
“Pulling the trigger on a living being is a very personal decision. If you’re not a hundred per cent right with it, I don’t suggest you do.”
“I’m sorry, Nathan.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.”
Maggie laid the second duck on Nathan’s foot, a more subtly colored hen, and Nat stroked it as he had the first.
“I’m still glad we got to go hunting together,” Nat said.
“Yes,” Nathan replied. “That would be the more important thing.”
? ? ?
“Is that the shotgun?” Nat asked as they walked along the trail back to the car. “The one your grandfather gave you?”
Nat carried the canvas sack of ducks slung over his shoulder, and his borrowed shotgun, leaving Nathan to carry only his own gun.
“It is.”
“So you finally got it back from evidence.”
“Finally. It took me nearly a year and more than half a dozen requests. But it’s back.”
“If I had known that one was more important, I’d have taken one of the other ones.”
Nathan did not reply. How exactly would one reply to a statement like that, about which of your guns someone should have stolen to commit armed robbery?
“I can’t believe I put you through all that crap,” Nat said.
“You put yourself through a lot more.”
“Yeah. But I can see how I could do all that crap to myself. I just have no idea why I would do it to you.”
? ? ?
Nat pushed back from the table and wiped his mouth on his napkin.
“I don’t know what it is about a duck dinner, but it hits the spot every time.”
“I think it’s because it’s so fresh,” Nathan said. “When’s the last time you had a good home-cooked meal?”
“Last time I ate at your house.” He smiled as he said it. Then the smile faded. No, more than faded. Fell. “I guess I kind of wish I didn’t have to go back to that tiny little hole.”
“You can stay tonight, if you want.”
Nat seemed to mull that over for a moment. He pursed his lips, as if it would help him think harder. Then he shook his head.
“Your house is so comfortable,” he said. “But that’s the problem. It’s too comfortable. It’s like that magic dream land where you never have to do anything. No responsibility. Like being a little kid. It’s addictive. Now that I tore myself out of that, and kind of pushed myself into the whole life thing … well … I can feel how easy it would be to slide right back again. Now that I’m started, I better keep going. Easier than starting all over again.”
“All right,” Nathan said. “Good decision, then. Grab your coat. And your dog. And I’ll take you home.”
1 June 1988
The Code You Don’t Ever Break
Nathan watched out the den window, waiting for Manny Schultz to arrive. When Manny finally appeared, he came in a car. A fairly late-model car. Drove right up and parked, as if he’d been an automobile owner all his life. He must be doing well, Nathan thought.
Ever since Manny had phoned, Nathan had felt restless to hear the news. Manny had indicated good news. Nathan just hoped it had something to do with Nat. There hadn’t been much good news regarding Nat lately. Nathan had been waiting so long to hear something positive about Nat.
He met the little man at the front door and ushered him in.
He looks so old, Nathan thought. But then it hit him. We are old. He’s an old man, and I’m an even older one.
Nathan sat on the couch and indicated a place beside him. Before even sitting down, Manny took an envelope out of his pocket and extended it to Nathan.
“My good news,” he said. “The last payment.”
“Really. The loan wasn’t supposed to be paid off until August.”
“What can I say? Things are going good.”
He sat down on the sofa beside Nathan, the smell of tobacco, both old and new, wafting up from his hair and clothes.
“What about Nat? How are things going with Nat?”
Manny’s face fell, and Nathan wished he could grab the words by the tail and pull them back inside again.
“Ah, Nathan. Not so good. I wasn’t even gonna say this. He did this thing but I wasn’t even gonna repeat it. But you asked, and I gotta get this off my chest. ‘Cause it just cut the heart outta me, what happened. The other day, this kid come in. No more than twelve. Right off the bat, reminded me so much of Nat the first day he walked in. Even though they don’t look nothing alike. This kid is black, and real big. Could even grow into a heavyweight. But I mean, in other ways he reminded me. I guess you don’t know the story about how Nat met Jack.”
“No. I don’t. You said it was a story better left untold.”
“I meant the end of Jack’s story, actually. But the day Nat walked into that gym. He was thirteen, fourteen years old. Had these new gloves and didn’t even know how to put ’em on or lace ’em up. Didn’t even know what to hit or how. Didn’t have probably a nickel in his jeans. So I says to Jack, ‘Hey, Jack, you got time for a kid who don’t know nothing about nothing?’ Jack comes over, sizes him up. Nat looked a little bit like this kid Jack was working with who went and got himself killed, so I think that’s why Jack took a liking to him, you know? Anyway, he took him on.
“Some people’ll do that and some won’t. Personal decision, I guess. But it seems to me that the people who do, it’s because they had it done for them. You know? I took Jack on. He didn’t have no money, either. So Jack took on Nat. And then I took on Nat. I must be boring the crap out of you. I didn’t mean to make a short story long.”
“No, it’s OK. But I am a little anxious to hear what Nat did that was so bad.”
“So this kid walks in. ‘Bout the same age as Nat was. No money. Even lives with his grandmother, if you can believe that. ‘Course these days that’s not so uncommon. Anyway, it just felt so made in heaven. Like God was smiling right down on our heads, and that’s coming from me, who most of the time don’t even believe in the son of a bitch, pardon my French. And even when I do believe, we’re hardly on speaking terms. So, anyway, it was the perfect setup. Just picture perfect, made in heaven. So I says to Nat, ‘Hey, Nat. You got time for a kid who don’t know nothing from nothing and don’t have two nickels to rub together?’”
Nathan waited anxiously for him to continue. Still wanting to get the bad news over with. “What did he say?”
“He said no.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s like the law, you know? It’s like this code you don’t break. Not ever.”
“Did he say why?”
“Yeah, I took him over in a corner where this poor kid wouldn’t have to hear. And I told him Jack would roll over in his grave to hear him say that. And he knew what I meant all right. He remembered the deal. He said Jack had it to spare. He said, ‘I don’t have anything for this kid. Jack had something, so he gave it. I got nothing to spare.’”
They sat in silence for a moment or two. The weight of the moment seemed to further bend Nathan’s shoulders.
“What happened to the boy?”
“Oh, he’s still around. I put him on a bag and gave him some pointers.”
“Maybe Nat just needs more time.”
Manny laughed his odd laugh. That spitting, spewing sound. “It’s been eight years, Nathan. Eight years since he got hurt. I just kind of think that maybe if you don’t come back in eight years it’s because you can’t. And I used to think everybody got over everything. We always say we never will. But then we do. Because, really, what choice do we have? But I don’t know about Nat any more. I think he packed it in.”
“I never like to make absolute predictions,” Nathan said. But he noticed his own words sounded considerably less than confident.
“Yeah, I guess. If we’re not dead yet, who knows? Well, anyway, I didn’t mean to take up your whole day here. I just had to get that off my chest.”
The little man rose suddenly to his feet, and Nathan walked him to the door.
“One thing I’ll say for sure,” Manny said on his way out. “If he never comes around, it’s not for lack of trying on your part. You did everything for that kid.”
“Everything I could.”
“And him not even any kin to you. Why’d you do all that for him, anyway? All that above and beyond stuff?”
He peered up into Nathan’s face, waiting for his answer. Suddenly, intensely serious.
“Why not?” Nathan asked. “What else have I done with my life that’s above and beyond?”