Upload
pagelforjudge
View
222
Download
0
Embed Size (px)
Citation preview
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
1/34
fer de Lance
A crowd had begun to gather outside of Philip fer de Lances house.
Some held signs. Some held candles. Some held an imploring look. Some were
implacid. Some were crying. Some held babies. Most did not. All looked a little scared. All
looked a little confused.
Not many of them talked amongst themselves as they sat on the sidewalk, or in their cars
along the street, or paced up and down. None crossed into Philips yard, none walked through
the small gate that did not quite latch tight in the white picket fence he had a white picket
fence, some thought to themselves when they arrived, how could the house look that innocent?
that surrounded a front yard that was entirely unremarkable. Unremarkable except for the crowd
that had begun to gather and not talk amongst themselves.
The ones who had been there for a day, or a week, none longer than two weeks yet, had
haltingly compared notes on why they were there. Or, more accurately, how they knew to be
there, outside Philip fer de Lances house in a small suburb of Lincoln, Nebraska, on a side street
that did not even really need to exist, a small offshoot of two other side streets. And none were
sure why except they knew somehow they had to be there.
As the crowd had begun to gather they had seen signs of activity in the small Cape-Cod-
style house. This morning Philip had shut the drapes in the living room. He did not appear to
see the 15 or so people who were on the sidewalk and in cars in front of his house; he did not
shut the drapes against them but had appeared to do it because the sun was coming in.
And they had seen the light on in the upstairs window, the one on the left as you faced the
1
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
2/34
house from the street (which they all did, most of the time) last night, until shortly after five
oclock. The light had gone on around 4:30 p.m., as the sun had begun going down. The house
faced east, and so the office would get almost no light in the afternoon, and as September passed
into October as it was now, the evenings were gloomy. So the light had gone on and they had
seen it go on and stay on until just after 5 oclock, at which time the light had gone off and they
had seen the kitchen light shine out of the side of the house onto the small side yard that led into
the back of the house. (They could only imagine the backyard. Shrubbery kept them from
seeing into it, but they could see the hickory tree that loomed over the house, three of them in
fact, the type of trees that are always dropping not just nuts but twigs and branches.)
The light on in the upper window past five oclock meant that Philip had worked a little
late, and those among the crowd who knew that felt, depending on why they were there, either a
small shudder, or a yearning to ask a favor.
Now, today, the crowd watched as the blinds were twisted open a little, to allow light to
get in from the midday sun, still bright enough that Philip could probably work without a lamp
for a while, as he settled down after his lunch to his desk. They could not see into the room the
blinds helped protect, Philips upstairs attic office.
Upstairs, in that attic office, Philip sat down to his afternoons work.
He pulled out his yellow legal pad, 8 by 13 inches, with the neatly-ruled lines and a few
slivers of paper near the top where hed torn off previous drafts. He pulled out a few pens and
laid them on his desk alongside the yellow paper, and turned on the small radio that sat on the
desk.
Philip was 67 years old and had followed this routine nearly every day for 24 years. Up
until a few months ago, he had followed this routine at his office a few miles away, and after his
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
3/34
retirement he had followed it at home. His desk, an old one hed had brought home from the
office many years ago (with the permission of the editor-in-chief and publisher at the time, of
course) was one of the older, massive, wooden desks that used to populate offices, and it dwarfed
Philip. His chair was a wheeled, swivel, arm chair, likewise made of wood and without any
installed padding. He did not use padding; work was not supposed to be padded. The desk and
chair would not have looked out of place in a Superman comic issued in 1947, and were
probably made around that time and served as a model for the desks and chairs drawn in the
comics at that time (and since.)
In the drawers of the desk were the usual office supplies including some more modern
ones likepost-its but nothing too electronic or modern. There were ballpoint pens; Philip was not
so old-fashioned as to insist on fountain pens, not when getting one nowadays marked you not
just as eccentric but also cost quite a bit, too, and he had not liked fountain pens the first time
around and gladly jettisoned them when ballpoints came out. The drawers contained a ruler, and
a small office dictionary and thesaurus, and his files of both work-in-progress and completed
efforts.
On the desk itself were the radio (he did like to listen to music, quietly, while he worked),
a desk lamp, and a pen-and-pencil holder, as well as a desk-calendar/blotter. And, now his legal
pad for rough drafts, and his pens. Philip sat at the desk for a moment, sipped the cup of tea he
had made for the afternoon, and then bent forward.
At the top of the legal pad, Philip wrote in a neat hand a name: Jane Sylvia Ruthering.
He sat back and thought about that for a moment, and then nodded. He underlined it and sat
back again, sipping his tea. What had Jane been like he wondered, and closed his eyes, and
thought and sipped his tea as the crowd outside watched the blinds for a hint of what was going
3
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
4/34
on.
Some of the crowd outside had newspapers, each day a few of them would go into town
and get some newspapers. Some of them had laptops, and would go to the coffee shops
downtown where the wireless internet had reached even Lincoln, and would search for
information to confirm why they were there. They mostly did not talk about it.
Inside, Philip opened his eyes and leaned forward. He picked up his pen and
wrote again: born 1947 died 2006. He went on: Jane Sylvia Ruthering passed away on
Tuesday after a short illness. Jane Sylvia was known as Jane or Janey to her friends. She was
born in East Cambridgeshire, England on September 12, 1947, to her parents Thomas and Edna
Ruthering. She lived in East Cambridgeshire until she was 21, when she moved to London and
took a job as a receptionist at a recording studio.
Philip dotted the i instudio and put the pen down again, massaging his hand. He sipped
at his tea, now just lukewarm, and re-read what he had written. He began thinking again. He put
his tea down and began writing. Jane married her husband, Daniel, at 23 after a short
engagement. She had two sons, here he thought for a moment, Stephen and David. She is
survived by her sons, her husband, and her grandchildren. Flowers may be sent to the East
Cambs Funeral Home. Visitation will be from ten to noon Thursday, with the service and burial
immediately thereafter.
Philip again put his pen down. His writing was deliberate and slow and the short
obituary had taken him the better part of an hour to write. He leaned back a little. He was not as
fast as he once was.
After a while, he turned his chair to the left and pulled the typewriter on its little cart over
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
5/34
towards him. He inserted a piece of clean white paper into its reel and rolled it down. He put the
yellow legal pad up on a prop-stand next to him and put his glasses on, reading it over again.
The final typewritten product took him about forty-five more minutes, neatly typed after
several mistakes (and each time he made a mistake he started over, taking out the paper and
crumpling it up) in a one-inch column down the left side of the paper, left-justified. At the end,
Philip typed -30- and pulled the paper out carefully. He read it through one last time for typos
and grammatical errors, pondered for a few minutes whether he should add more detail but
decided against it.
He swiveled his chair again and opened the drawer down on his right side. There were a
series of hanging folders, each tabbed with a letter of the alphabet. He flipped through until he
got to R and then pulled that one out. He then put Ruthering, Jane Sylvia into that folder,
which contained no other documents yet. He tucked the R folder back into the desk drawer,
and looked with a muted satisfaction at the neatly-filed papers before closing the door.
He sat a moment longer until the song on the radio was finished, then clicked it off. At
least today I got a little break, he said, and got up to go downstairs and watch the afternoon
gardening show he usually missed.
The crowd continued to gather without being aware, really, that they were
gathering.
Throughout the afternoon, while Philip watched his gardening show, the people outside
the house milled and fretted and wasted time. They did not, yet, think of themselves as a crowd,
and none of them, if questioned, would have readily admitted why they were there.
Certainly not Tammy Hudson, previously a mother of two from upstate New York.
5
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
6/34
Tammy sat in her Hyundai Elantra, parked in front of the neighbors house and watched Philips
window flicker, that night, as the television beamed its light to Philips eyes. She could see him,
through the drapes, sometimes, a small head unsteadily getting up once or twice, in shadow relief
against the drapes outlined in the blue-white glow a television emits no matter what show is on.
Every morning, Tammy moved her car to the opposite side of the street; this town had an
alternate-side parking rule in effect and she didnt want to get towed.
She didnt read the paper each day.
She didnt listen to the radio.
She didnt eat much. She had some groceries in the back of her car, things shed bought
three days ago just after shed first pulled up. When shed pulled up on the street shed known
that she was in the right place, and had gone to get some food and drink that wouldnt spoil. She
hadnt even pondered how long she might want to stay there, but shed known shed want to.
Shed come back and parked her car just up the street, where she could sit behind the wheel and
watch his house. That whole day shed sat there and watched his house, seen the telltale signs of
movement, the lights going on here or there, the lights going out finally. When the last light had
gone out, and when shed watched another half-hour and was convinced that Philip had gone to
sleep that night shed let herself sleep.
When shed woken the next day, there had been a few more cars there. And some people
whod walked up the street and slowed in front of Philips house and then turned around. They
were braver than she was, she knew. She didnt want Philip to notice her yet.
But she wanted to tell Philip why she was there.
She had in her pocket a crumpled piece of paper, a newsprint-smudgy remnant that shed
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
7/34
clenched in her hand the entire drive from Buffalo to Nebraska. Shed clung to that paper the
entire time. She pulled it out each morning and read it.
Thomas Jon Hudson, age 5. Parents Tammy and
Steven. Thomas Jon was born in Buffalo, New York
on May 20, 200_ and passed away on Tuesday at
Niagara Hospital. Thomas Jon was preparing to
enter the first grade. He is survived also by his
sister Louisa Tamara. No memorial service will be
held. The family requests no flowers. Donations
may be sent to the Thomas Jon Fund, c/o 1stBank of
Buffalo.
She pulled that out each morning and read it and wondered why it had been written, and
how.
She tried not to read the other story that she carried with her. And she sat in her car and
waited, each day, watching to see if Philip would come outside and what she would do if he did.
And she kept her cellphone on the seat by her, plugged into the cigarette lighter and fully
charged at all times. She called nobody.
Now, today, the fourth day she was here, she looked around the street. There were
twenty-seven cars on the road, all parked on the same side, as hers was. None of them appeared
to belong to anyone who lived on this street, not the least because each of them had a person or
people in it, which was quiet and full of big trees and had sidewalks that were cracked and worn
and showed the signs of an aging suburb. The houses were post-World War II houses that,
7
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
8/34
although kept up nicely on first glance also showed signs of aging: a number hanging upside
down on the door, a mailbox leaning a little, grass not trimmed around the fences. Most of the
people on this street were probably quite old, maybe all retired, all living in their houses and
trying to keep up and spending time waiting for their children to come and help out by mowing
the lawn or fixing the clothes dryer so it didnt take forever.
In addition to those cars, there were two groups of people sitting on the sidewalk outside of
Philips house. Not groups, maybe. Clusters? One was of four people, and none of them
appeared to know the others and they did not talk. The other was of three people and they did
seem related, a husband and wife and a mother-in-law, maybe.
One was of three girls, each about college age. They held the signs. The cluster of had
the two with candles.
Those people sat there. Others would come up, hang around outside the house for a few
minutes, and then go, or sit further up the street. Sometimes the car people would get out and
look at the house.
Tammy turned her car back off and pulled out a can of soda, warm from sitting in the
backseat. She sipped at it carefully, watching Philips door. It was her fourth day of watching,
and she was not out of food yet.
Inside, unaware that it was Tammys fourth day, Philip awoke.
He got up, and got out of bed. He scratched his armpit under his long nightshirt and
slipped his feet into brown slippers that were cracked and old. He pulled on a bathrobe and
shuffled to the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and stared at his face in the mirror for a
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
9/34
while.
Another big day, Phil, he told his reflection. It was what hed said every day to his
reflection for as long as he could remember. He paused for a second before leaving, and tried a
smile at himself. It was maybe too early for that.
He went downstairs and into the kitchen, where he pulled the towel off of the birdcage
that sat on a pedestal next to the sink. Good morning, Charlie, he said, and peered into the
cage. Pretty boy. Pretty boy? He was supposed to say that to the bird as much as possible.
The pet store man had said that was how you taught them to talk. He also said this every
morning to Charlie:
Another big day, Charlie. The bird chirped and Philip reached inside to pull out the
seed cage. He busied himself with feeding Charlie and cleaning the cage, as he did everyday,
taking his time over it because he had plenty of time. Then he prepared his own breakfast, and
turned on the radio to the talk radio station he listened to. He sat at the table, listening to the
morning news while he ate oatmeal and watched Charlie hop around.
He lingered over breakfast but finally had no choice but to admit it was over. What
should we do today, Charlie? he asked his friend, and got a chirp, to which he responded
Pretty boy. The pet store guy had said most birds could say that. Philip washed up the bowl
and his glass and set them on the towel on the side of the sink to dry.
He spent another hour of the morning showering, and shaving, and getting out his
clothes, and getting dressed in a white button-up shirt and black pants, and his socks and shoes,
the outfit he always wore to work. Because it was Friday, he wore one of his funny ties.
When hed talked to the retirement counselor at the VA, the counselor had suggested
varying his routines. Youre retired now, Phil, hed said. Philip wished he would not be called
9
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
10/34
Phil. You should take advantage of that. Break out of the old routines. Do some gardening.
Maybe take a trip. Do you have some family or friends somewhere you could visit?
He didnt. He hadnt had family to visit in at least ten years, but he didnt tell the
retirement counselor that. He didnt listen to the rest of the suggestions, either. Philip fer de
Lance had gone to work every day for 50 years, and had spent the last forty of those at the
obituary desk. He knew how to do that, and so he did that.
And so he did that today, again, walking up the stairs to his desk in the upstairs office,
where he went through the ritual again: legal pad, pens, radio, thinking, writing, listening to the
radio, writing more, typing, and filing.
He wrote this:
Anessa Eva Wedford, 200_-200_. Anessa Eva was the daughter of James and
Ella Wedford, both of Portland. Anessa was born with a congenital heart defect
and passed on after an unsuccessful surgical intervention. Memorial services
will be held at the St. Thomas Church Monday afternoon.
It always made Philip sad to write about the babies, and this one took him longer than
usual. He dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief which he carefully folded and tucked into his
suitcoat pocket then, and filed the manila folder away.
He began down the stairs and thought he should perhaps get in a little gardening this
afternoon. It did not occur to him that it was unusual for him to be writing obituaries for people
in Oregon, or England, or New York. He just did his job, and when it was done, as it was now,
he changed out of his work clothes and into an older outfit, never shorts and never jeans, jeans
were for factory workers, and an older shirt not a t-shirt and always with a collarand pulled
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
11/34
out his work gloves from the cabinet under the sink.
He stopped a moment, pulling on the gloves, and looked into Charlies cage. Pretty
boy? he asked. Pretty boy have a big day? He glanced at the clock. Little later than usual,
right? Pretty boy? Charlie? Charlie edged closer on his perch to the old man, eyeing him from
one side of his beak, then the other. He chirped, but did not talk. One of these days, I bet,
Philip said, and went out the side door of his house.
A slight shudder went through the collected people out front of his house
when they heard the door open.
Tammy sat up a little straighter when she heard the murmur. Crowds, or small groups,
have their own language: buzzes, murmurs, a tensing, a loosening, they become something
organic and organized whenever people gather together for a reason, and just like flexing a
muscle in your back causes a reaction in the rest of your body, one member of a crowd doing
something causes all the others to react. So Tammy noticed that the side door opened, but there
was a lilac bush on the side of the house and she could not see who (what? No, who, she was
sure) came out. She looked and saw the door close and watched but whoever came out (Philip
fer de Lance had come out, she knew but her mind was not, about this adventure, going to make
things simple or accept them at face value, since accepting things at face value meant that she
would not even be here, so her mind had to complicate things and think that maybe there was
something other than an old man living in a small house in Nebraska who was responsible for all
this, because the actual truth made no sense, right?) whoever came out had gone around the side
of the house into the backyard.
11
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
12/34
Tammy got out of her car. She opened the door and stood up and stretched her back and
her legs and felt muscles which were used to the carseat position rearrange themselves slowly,
flowing like pudding. She shut the car door quietly but not quietly enough for the others around
to fail to notice.
The husband-wife-mother in law group was nearest her, and the husband and wife turned
towards her. She met their eyes, each in turn, and nobody said anything. Nobody ever said
anything to anyone out here. They could not talk, yet about why they were out here.
Tammy remembered Godzilla movies. She was just in between the ages of people who
would remember them well, would remember them because they saw the originals (for people
older than Tammy) or would remember them because they had made fun of them in newer
movies (for people older than Tammy) but shed watched a Godzilla movie, once, the one that
had been in theaters in her lifetime, and had wondered, as she watched it, how people could have
reacted in real life to that. Here and there, in crowd scenes, there would be an extra who would
see this giant lizard walking through a city, New York she thought, and that person would look
around at the others onscreen but would not say anything. That extra would not point, or shout,
or scream, or duck, or do anything, but would just stare. Tammy thought that was how you had
to react to Godzilla, because Godzilla could not happen, and so if Godzilla did happen, it was
best to not let others know that you saw it because you might not be sane. What did they do, in
real life, to people who said Theres a giant lizard terrorizing New York!, after all? They
locked them up, because giant lizards do not terrorize New York in real life.
And in real life people do not gather outside Philip fer de Lances small house. And if
they do, they do not point, or run, or shout, or duck, or scream. They just stand and stare because
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
13/34
nobody wants to be the first to admit that things have gone awry.
So Tammy did not talk to the husband and wife, and mother-in-law, and they did not talk
to her, and nobody around intruded on the little tableau as Tammy stood there. Her opening her
car door alone was excitement enough. First Philips door opened, then Tammys. Not that
anyone there knew Tammys name, but they all knew Philips. Or she assumed they did. She
knew it, and she was there. They were there, so they must know it.
She looked away from husband, wife, mother-in-law. She looked towards the side door
that had opened and closed. She looked at the lilac bush that had blocked her view, saw that it
would have blocked the little trios view, also, and looked at the treetops over Philips small
house. She looked at the neighbors house, as the sun began to set. No lights on, and nobody
had come home today or left this morning or the day before. Maybe nobody lived there, or
maybe they were away.
She looked again at the top of the side door, again at the treetops, as though they could
tell her something. In her hands, she held the two newspapers. She had come here for a reason,
and now that she was here she did not want to admit that reason.
Nobody home at the neighbors, right? So she stepped around her car, and onto the
sidewalk, and walked over to sidewalk in front of Philips house, paused at the little gate that led
through the picket fence. All eyes were on her. As she stood there, all eyes stared at her,
wondering what she was going to do.
She paced back along the fence, in front of husband and wife and mother-in-law, and
stopped at the edge of the fence, where it served as a border between Philips yard and the absent
neighbors yard. She stood there for a few minutes. There was no wind.
She had come here for a reason even if she did not want to think about that reason. She
13
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
14/34
needed to see a monster. She stepped onto the neighbors grass. The crowd tightened up a little
bit, the crowd-equivalent of the hair on the back of your neck standing up. She walked slowly
across the grass, barefoot, under the tree spreading across the yard, alongside the white fence.
Her hand trailed along the fence but did not touch it, floating above it, leveled and fingers
extended and slightly spread apart. She leaned slightly forward, peering along the fence and the
lilac bushes that began at the edge of the house and overpowered the fence which continued
along to Philips backyard.
She walked up to the first bush. She was almost even with the neighbors house and
ordinarily would have shot a glance at the picture window, hoping that nobody was inside to
come out and yell at her, but she did not do that right now. Her entire attention was focused on
Philips backyard, on listening for sounds. She took another few hesitant steps, and was past the
front edge of the neighbors house, was now in between the two houses and next to the beginning
of the lilac bushes. From the road, they were an impenetrable barrier. Up close, they were
sparser, with gaps and holes to see through.
Her other hand now, too, was spread-eagled out. The left had pulled back a little, was
still reaching out as though to caress the fence. The other, now, stretched to her right, fingers
splayed, and she put one foot in front of the other, carefully, standing more upright but knees
bent.
To those at the road, watching, rapt, she appeared to be on a tightrope or balance beam.
Tammy took three more steps and heard a small chunking sound. She stopped. She held
her breath. Her head bobbed a little as she tried to see through the cracks. She had driven all
those miles, had driven across the country, had driven through the Great Plains, too see this, and
she held her breath and stood in her tracks.
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
15/34
She saw Philip, kneeling down on an old cloth, wearing a pair of khaki work pants that
were somewhat threadbare. He had a white button-up shirt on with the collar undone and the
sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had black socks on and a pair of loafers. The chunking
sound was of a hand-claw, a small garden tool, that Philip thrust into the dirt between two rose
bushes, pulling at small tufts of grass and weeds that were growing there.
Tammy did not point, or run, or shout, or duck, or scream. She just stood and stared.
Philip continued working for some time, and then backed up a little. He had a small pail
with him and he was putting the weeds into the pail. When he backed up, he stood up creakily.
He picked up the pail and walked slowly back to the separate garage behind the house. He
emptied the pail into a garbage can and put the tools into it. He went into the garage.
Tammy still stood and stared.
Philip came out of the garage and locked the door behind him. He brushed off his gloves
and took them off as he walked towards the side door. Tammy could not move. But Philip
walked right by her, never looked her way, and she was not moving or breathing, so he would
have heard nothing anyway. He made his way up the stairs, three of them, and opened the screen
door. There was a groan from the metal spring that kept it from slamming shut, and Philip went
inside as Tammy watched, and Philip stood there as Tammy saw him, piecemeal through the
gaps in the bushes, and Philip watched as the door slowly slid closed. Tammy heard him lock it,
a slight click!, but did not see that. The inside wooden door was then closed, and she heard a
chain slide.
She still stood and stared.
The kitchen window was open. Through the window she heard a low voice, then a chirp,
then a low voice, and then, in a chirpy singsong: Another big day.
15
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
16/34
Tammy finally ran back to her car.
On Saturday, two things happened almost at the same time.
Nobody had come and talked to Tammy when shed run back to her car and gotten
inside and locked the door. Theyd stared at her for a while, then had gone back to staring at
Philips window.
Overnight, the crowd had grown. By the time the sun rose on Philips house on Saturday
morning, there were 20 new people. About ten of the new ones were sitting on the lawn or were
pacing. Two were in a new car on the side of the street. Then there were four each by
themselves in their own cars. They had all traveled different distances to be there, judging by the
license plates on the cars and in one case the sweatshirt a young man was wearing.
One more would arrive a little later in the day. He would arrive too late for the early
morning excitement, excitement being a relative word.
At 9:00 a.m. on Saturday morning, the front door to Philips house opened. He came
outside dressed in his Saturday clothes.
Hed woken up early today, excited by the prospect of a new development and a
weekend. The new development was that Charlie had learned to talk, and that alone had him
ready to hop out of bed. He wondered if maybe it was that he did not get many conversations
these days, and the voices on the TV were not realvoices, they were broadcast voices. That
might be, he thought, but he didnt spend a lot of time pondering it because he wanted to
celebrate and that meant getting an early start. Charlie deserved a treat for his first trick, and
Philip would have to do that before grocery shopping, hed have to go to PetCo and get a treat, or
a few toys. He could pamper Charlie.
He went downstairs and before beginning preparations for breakfast, stood outside
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
17/34
Charlies cage a moment, its towel hanging over it. Charlies day had not begun, did not begin
until Philip pulled the towel off, just as it did not end until Philip put the cover back on each
night. Philip stood there a second, and slowly crossed his bony fingers. Then with his other
hand he pulled the towel off, trying to do it with his usual flourish but too nervous to do that.
Charlies head perked up and Philip looked at him. There was a silence. Philip crossed
his fingers tighter.
Another big day Charlie chirped, and Philip almost fainted, realized hed been holding his
breath. Good boy, pretty boy, another big day, another big day, he kept saying, over and over,
unable to stop smiling. He gave Charlie food, fresh water, kept saying over and over another
big day, and pretty boy, and Charlie treated him to the phrase twice more as he ate breakfast:
another big day.
It is, indeed, he said, and he began to think what type of surprise to get Charlie. He
pondered that happy question while bathing and shaving and getting dressed in his weekend
outfit, an ensemble that looked like his gardening outfit without the ground-in dirt and grass
stains.
Dressed, armed with his list, and having heard Charlie chirp another big day once more,
Philip went out the front door of his house and blinked in the sunlight.
A cluster of eyes locked on him and he paused.
There were people just outside his picket fence. There were cars up and down the street.
All of the people looking at him.
These people over here, this little group of a man and a woman and an older woman, they
stared at him, they actually leaned towards him. They did not say anything.
17
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
18/34
Philip only used the front door on the weekends. He tried to think back to last week.
Had they been there? His memory strained. Maybe someone, but not that little group of three.
What did they all want? Nobody was saying anything.
Inside, he heard chirping, and remembered Charlies surprise today. He took a few steps
forward. He kept a watchful eye on the people as he came off the porch. They all just stood and
stared.
Two on the right held candles, shielded from the breezes by plastic cups. They wore
clean white polo shirts and khaki pants and while he watched they crossed themselves and their
lips began moving. Praying, he realized. Praying at him. Why?
The group of three just sat. As he looked back at them the older woman shrank back a bit
and leaned into the younger woman whom she resembled. He looked away from the look in her
eyes, which he did not recognize. He looked ahead of him, where a small group of people stood.
They were not necessarily together, he realized, although they were a group. They had not come
together, maybe, but were here together.
Philip was afraid. He could hear Charlie chirping and if not for the need to get Charlies
surprise would have turned around to go back inside and call the police. But he could not miss
the bus. The bus left in 10 minutes and that was what it took to get him to the end of the street.
He walked forward again and looked down at the ground instead of at the people.
Nobody was doing or saying anything. Maybe they werent here for him, he tried to convince
himself, but he knew they were.
At the gate, he put his hand on the latch and stopped. He didnt want to open that gate.
The people, as they saw his hand tense, tensed themselves. His hand clenched, and they
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
19/34
clenched, and his hand loosened and they loosened.
There were signs. Placards. He remembered the protests hed seen, and the placards
those people had held. Those were larger groups, theyd had chants, there had been a reason
theyd been there. Why were these people here?
He looked to his left, saw a woman sitting in a car, her fingers on the steering wheel.
Under her fingers were folded, crumply pieces of paper. He looked to his right. The praying
duo were there, and clusters of people. He unlatched the gate. He swung it open.
The people stood there, looking at him. They did not point, or run, or shout, or duck, or
scream. They just stood and stared. He moved out into them. He kept his head down. He put
his hand to his chest pocket where his grocery list was. He moved as quickly as he was able to
move through the crowd and around them and breathed a sigh as he got past the edge of his yard,
where they were the thickest. The people behind him, he knew, were turning to watch him go.
He heard their feet shuffling, the sussuration of the simultaneous movement of groups, but he did
not look back.
He walked up the street, keeping his feet moving. The people did not follow him, but
they did not stop watching him as he stood at the bus stop. He watched them out of the corner of
his eye and they watched him back. They did not approach but they did not leave.
The bus came, and he got on and sat down in the sideways-facing seats for the elderly,
showing his monthly pass to the driver, the same driver that was on the bus every Saturday, and
Philip leaned back and felt thankful for the return of the routine. He glanced at the people in
front of his house, but grew scared again, and when the bus turned the corner he lost himself in
the familiar route he took every Saturday, watching the drivers expressions, the ones he made
every Saturday, and the traffic that was more or less the same every Saturday. He hoped the
19
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
20/34
crowd would be gone when he got back and that he would not have to deal with them.
Back at Philips house, a cab pulled up and an angry-looking man got out. It
was not, Tammy thought as she looked at him, that common that people actually looked angry.
What shed previously thought were mad or upset looks on peoples faces paled in comparison to
this mans face. The cab had pulled up not long after Philip had left, turning the corner just after
the bus had pulled away, in fact, and Tammy had seen them both. Shed noted the cab because
they were not common in this little subdivision. The cab slowed as it approached and stopped in
front of the house. The back door on the drivers side, facing Philips house, swung open hard
enough to rebound back and the man got out. He paused as the door moved lightly into him and
pushed it back more, and began walking across the street.
Hey, yelled the cabdriver, and the man stopped. He did not take his eyes off of Philips
house, but he stopped. The fares fifty-three dollars, the cab driver said. Tammy wondered if
that was a lot. It seemed like a lot. She looked at her small change purse sitting among the
crumpled plastic bags and coffee cups that were the containers her food had come in lately. She
only had about twenty dollars left and had no idea what shed do when that ran out. Fifty-three
dollars just for a drive to this house seemed like an awful expense.
Tammy did not think that she would be concerned about money for very much longer.
Not given what she planned to ask for.
The man backed up, but stayed staring at the house. He pulled out his wallet and glanced
through it. The cab driver held out his hand and the man finally had to look down as he fumbled
around with money, seeming confused for a moment. The reason for that became obvious when
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
21/34
he spoke.
Sorry, mate. Dont know your money. He had an English accent, Tammy heard. He
handed a few bills and looked at the cabdriver. sat enough? he asked. The cabdriver looked
at them, at him, and then pulled out one of the bills. Tammy could not make out what it was.
Gave me too much. Ill keep a little for a tip, but thiss too much. Cant take advantage
of you, can I? Not with what youve been through. The man took the bill and stuffed it into his
coat pocket carelessly, having turned his attention back to the house. The cabdriver watched his
gaze, then looked from the man to the house to the man. Sure hope youre wrong, he said,
and drove off.
The man stood in the road for a few second, and then without glancing around marched
up between the people on the sidewalk and to the picket fence. He pushed on the gate, staring at
the front door, and only took his eyes off the door when he had to look down and figure out how
to open the gate, which he did quickly. He strode forward again and up to the door and peered in
through the small square windows scattered across the solid door. He put his face right up
against the screen door, and Tammy could see it pushed in from his nose.
The man looked to his right, saw the doorbell button and pushed it several times.
Without waiting, he then began to knock on the glass above the screen in the outer door. Then
he opened his hand and slapped the glass harder, one, two, three times.
Ey! You! Out here! he yelled. He continued slapping the door and yelling for the
occupant to come out.
Hes gone, someone from the sidewalk said, quietly during a pause for breath. The
man stopped, hand in mid-air. He turned around, looking at the people gathered around the
21
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
22/34
house and then to the cars with people in them and it looked to Tammy like hed actually not
noticed them before that moment. He stared at them all.
What do you mean, hes gone? he asked. His accent was not heavy at all, but it gave
his voice a strange quality, like the man did not belong here. We all shouldnt be here, Tammy
thought to herself. Hes died?
He left this morning. He went out.
Out? Out? This bloody this hes gone out?
The speaker, the mother in the group of three, just nodded, pulling back within herself.
The man looked around.
And you all saw him go?
A few others nodded. Most just watched.
And nobody stopped him?
At that, the people gathered round reacted in one of several ways. A few looked at those
near them, those people being mostly those who had come with someone else. Some, like
Tammy, looked down, suddenly finding interest in their own shirts or shoes. Others looked off
into the distance.
Whered he go? The man still stood on the stairs, elevated above them. He had the
podium, as it were. Nobody answered. Do you know? Nobody answered again. Tammy had
not been there long enough to know where Philip might have gone. She wondered if the people
that had been here before her knew.
The man turned back to the door, looked in through it. He revolved around, took in the
crowd again, and then took a step down off the porch, contemplating the house. He walked over
to the large front picture window, stood up against it and peered in, shading his eyes. When he
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
23/34
stepped away, Tammy could see the outline of a smudge where hed breathed on the glass. The
crowd felt to her like it was holding its breath, more in suspense than when shed gone to look at
Philip in the backyard. She kept glancing from the man to the street, to see if Philip would come
walking back and see the man. She wondered what he would do.
The man then walked over to the other side of the house. He turned the corner and she
watched as he went to the side door, or so she imagined because she lost sight of him for a
second. Just as she wondered if hed go into the backyard the man came walking back out. He
walked to the front porch again and then turned to face the assemblage again. He did not talk,
though. He looked at them. He looked at the candles, the signs, the faces, and then walked
down the path. He still looked angry. His jacket looked bulky. Tammy wondered if he was
armed. He looked angry enough to be armed.
He let himself back out through the picket fence but did not bother trying to latch the
gate. He walked up to the college-aged girls with the signs. He did not talk to them right away,
and they did not talk to him. He took the sign in his hands and held it up to them.
Stop The Killing, he said. He put a question mark on the end of his comment, one that
was not on the sign. You really think he can do that? The girls just looked at him. He stepped
back and looked at the other two signs: No more death. Celebrate life. The last one he snorted
at. The girls looked offended but scared to say anything. The man turned around, looked at the
small family group.
What bout you? You here to try to stop him, too? They shook their heads.
We want to ask him a question, the older woman said, after a moment. The man
cocked his head at her. She went on: I want to know if Im going to go into remission again.
The man just looked at her. Or if this time it will kill me, the woman said. The man was about
23
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
24/34
to say something, it seemed, but he turned away. Then he paused and turned back and looked at
the woman.
Howd you find out? he asked her sharply.
The woman bit her lip and answered quietly. There was a man who comes in for chemo
the same time as me. His wife told me. The younger woman by her touched her hand. The
older woman was crying. His wife told me, she repeated I dont know how she knew.
Was. The man said. So thats how. The woman nodded. The man lost a little steam,
then, looked as though he was thinking. His mouth pursed and he looked around and he turned
back to the house. Ive come to kill him, he said.
Tammy sucked in her breath.
The man heard and looked at her. She sat there, in her car, hands on the steering wheel,
and met his gaze. Under her left hand was the obituary, under her right was the other article.
The man looked hard at her, and walked over, stood in front of the car. Met her eyes. Then he
turned around again and walked away. Tammy breathed out.
So whatre you all doing here, then, just sitting? Just doing nothing? Just watching him
come out and go off to the movies or to get a burger, and you dont stop him? Nobody stops
him? Nobody said anything. Nobody in the cars rolled up their windows, either. Nobody
walked away. They looked at the man, and looked at Philips house, and looked down at their
hands or their steering wheels. But nobody answered him. You all know what the hell hes
doing in there, right? Thats why youre all here, isnt it? Because he did it to you well not to
you but to someone you knew.
The man was stalking from group to group and getting louder and more excitable.
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
25/34
To someone you knew, maybe someone you loved and didnt want to go. Maybe to
someone like your mum, who has the flu, the fucking flu, just a bug that everyone gets in the
world and they throw up once or twice and then they take some pills and theyre fine, only your
mum this time she wasnt fine, was she? He had passed back over the little group a few times
and was standing at the picket fence, back to the crowd now, hands clenched on the fence the
way that Tammy gripped her steering wheel. She saw his hands clench as he said again This
time she wasnt fine after the pills, no she wasnt.
And as he started crying looking down at the fence Tammy abruptly got out of the car
and moved up to him. His shoulders shook as he cried quietly, the way large men do, his chest
heaving up and up and up and then down all at once into his belly, and repeating that. And
when she doesnt get better she says Maybe Ill go see the doctor tomorrow, Stewart, and before
she can she dies.
Tammy hugged him from behind, still clutching her papers. He wouldnt let go of the
fence. She hugged her head into his back, thinking that he did not remind her at all of her ex-
husband. She hugged him so tightly she barely heard him say And when you watch her die,
suddenly you see this fucking house in your mindand you know.
He pulled away abruptly and looked down at her. You know. He said again. She
nodded. He backed away from her.
I know, she said. He looked at her. She stared back. The rest of the crowd, the rest of
the people, did not say anything but they had all moved a little closer, drawn to the man, maybe.
What happened with you? the man, Stewart, she guessed, asked.
25
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
26/34
Tammy looked down at the article and the obituary. She shook her head. She just stared
at her fists. Her lip quivered and she dropped her head lower, closed her eyes against the tears.
After a moment, even though she knew she could not cry anymore, she kept her eyes closed.
Her chest sunk in and her hands shook and her nose sniffled, but there were no tears left. She
stood there shaking her head slowly back and forth, felt the man pry out the obituary. He read it,
quietly, but loud enough that she could hear the words, the words she saw constantly and could
recite by memory. No memorial service will be held.
The man looked at her. He did that? She nodded. A kid? A little boy? She nodded
again. She kept her eyes closed. In a moment, she felt him take her other hand. She kept it
balled tightly into a fist. The man held her hand. He didnt pry. He just held his large hand
around her small one, gently, cupping it. Finally, she opened her hand. She could feel others
around her, a little closer. The man read again, and this time his voice trailed off near the end
but she still knew this one by heart, too.
Police seek area man and daughter. Buffalo police issued an Amber Alert late
last night for Molly Hudson, age 3, and her father, Steven Hudson, age 33.
Hudson is described as stocky, 55, with shaggy black hair, a beard and a tattoo
of a parrot on his right forearm. Hudson is believed to have fled after assaulting
his ex-wife in her home two days after their divorce was finalized. An arrest
warrant has been issued for him on charges of first degree murder.
Police found Hudsons son Thomas at the house after they were called
The mans voice trailed off as Tammy found her tears. She felt a hand on her shoulder.
Christ, Stewart said. He did all that and she took the stories back from him, clenched
them in her hands. So whatre you going to do to him? Stewart asked her. You must want to
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
27/34
kill him.
Tammy looked up in surprise. She sniffled and spoke through a mouth that was clammy.
That story was written more than a week ago. Ive had my cellphone with me the whole time.
Stewart just stared at her. She had to finish the thought. Im not going to do anything to him,
she waved one hand, the one with the newspaper article, at Philips house. I want him to do
something for me. I want him to kill my ex-husband.
Stewart seemed a little taken aback at that. You want to use him?
Its been over a week. Nobodys heard nothing. Ive heard nothing. I know what
happened to Tommy Jon. And I know what happened to Molly she paused. And Ill know
what happens to that bastard, too. She said that last quietly.
There was silence. They all stared at her. Nobody moved until there was the sound of a
shuffling footstep behind them. When Tammy looked up, Stewart stepped back and Philip was
standing there.
Philip was carrying a small paper bag, with handles, in one hand, and a
plastic bag in the other.
Tammy could see some celery sticking out of the paper bag, and in the plastic bag she
saw round shapes, little play-balls. When Philip took another step there was a tiny, tinkling
sound from the bag. As the crowd turned towards him, Philip pulled the paper bag up to his
chest, protecting himself with it. No, Tammy thoughtprotecting the bag.
They stood like that for what seemed an absurdly long time, Philip just to one side of the
gate, clutching his plastic bag of pet toys to his chest. Tammy and Stewart in front of a semi-
circle of people all staring at him. Philip just kept looking from one to the other. Finally, he
27
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
28/34
moved. He edged towards his gate, put one bony old hand onto the latch.
Stewart roused himself. None of that, then, he said. Youre not going anywhere.
Philip looked at him, and said in a soft voice I dont think all of you should be here.
All of us? Why do you think were here?
Philip looked at them, at each of them that he could see, and then back to Stewart. I
honestly dont know.
You say you fucking dont know? Stewart yelled, suddenly. You dont fucking
know? He was hollering, and advanced a step towards Philip, who took a step back and put the
plastic bag behind him. He dropped his grocery bag, too, and Tammy heard a clank that sounded
like glass.
She hoped, for some reason, that nothing had broken. Maybe it was the way Philip stood,
or the way Stewart seemed to loom over him. Maybe it was just that shed been crying. Or that
she neededPhilip. Maybe more than anyone here. She said Stop.
Stewart looked at her.
I will not, and I wont let you talk to him.
You cant stop me from talking to him, she said. Dont you try, she added.
Youve certainly done a right job of it so far, he said, sitting here for a week. And its
wrong what hes doing, there was a squeak and Stewart whirled around, grabbed Philips hand
on the latch that had squeaked and Stewart hissed Dont try to get away,
Philip tried to puff himself up then, and pulled at his hand, which Stewart kept clamped
tightly to the gate. Philip tried, though, Tammy could see, to be tough, and said in a louder
voice, Let go of me or Ill call the police. He very obviously had to pause to think what it
was one does when a stranger in a crowd wont allow you to let go of your gate. What are you
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
29/34
all doing here?
Doing here? What are we all doing here? You know perfectly well what were doing
here, old man. Were all here because you because you Stewart faltered.
Tammy knew why. Tammy knew hed faltered for the same reason nobody had talked
earlier. The same reason theyd all avoided contact with each other up until now. The same
reason Stewart had veered away from it in his rant earlier.
Because you are killing people with your work, she said, calmly. Stewart turned to her.
They all did. They were surprised. They were surprised that someone would actually cross that
line, say what they were all thinking, because (Tammy felt and knew they felt) saying it out loud
meant that your old life, your old world, was gone, and you were now part of something new,
something horrible. Part of a world where a man could write some words and kill people. Or
part of a world where you were crazy and did not even know it. But how much worse could her
life get, she thought? Maybe Im the only one crazy enough to have said that, but I dont care,
she told herself. Maybe that makes it real or horrible, but I dont care. She looked straight at
Philip.
You write things down and the people die. We all know it.
Philip looked around at them, shook his head. Youre all wrong, youve got it
backwards. People die and I write about them. I write obituaries. Thats what I do. He smiled
at her, encouragingly. Whoever youve lost, Im sorry, but I dont cause that. I just report it.
Im a reporter.
No, youre not, Tammy said. You make it happen.
Philip opened his eyes wider. Young lady, but Tammy thrust her hand forward. She
held out the articles for him. You wrote one of these, she said. You wrote one of these and it
29
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
30/34
appeared in my newspaper, but you live here, you live thousands of miles away. You live
thousands of miles away here, and that didnt stop you from doing it! It didnt stop you from
doing what you did, from saying what you said!
Do you know what you did? She grew louder, and her mouth opened wider. She
continued to shake the newspaper articles at Philip, who did not shrink back but stared at her.
Do you know how my son died? Do you?
I dont, Philip said, but Tammy didnt hear him because she was screaming. Shed
pulled the articles back, clutched them in her hands as her hands pushed at her cheeks, pressing
in on her face as though to try to stop the words from coming out.
He died when he walked into the room where my fuck of an ex-husband was beating me
up, hed come in and he was drunk and had walked into the house and I should have fucking
changed the locks but I never had any money to do that and he was beating me up and the kids
heard Tammy was not even stopping for breath now and poured ahead and Tommy Jon came
in and I was on the ground, and Steve was going to step on my neck, he had those great big work
boots on that always smelled like oil and he was going to put it on my neck and kill me and
Tommy Jon rushed forwards and Steve turned and he kicked him! He kicked him, he kicked
him, he kicked him across the room and I heard his neck break it just snapped and then Steve
kicked me and I was knocked out.
She gasped, and collapsed onto her knees, articles folded in her hands, and pressing her
hands into her stomach.
I woke up and Tommy Jon was dead on the floor and people were putting me on a
stretcher and Molly was gone. She was gone and all I hear now is the clicking of Tommy Jons
neck. And they cant find her, they havent found her and I know they wont.
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
31/34
The husband, there with the mother and law, bent down and touched her shoulder.
Theyll find her, he said.
Tammy laughed. It was so incongruous, so startling, so frightening, that the crowd and
even Philip stepped back a pace. It was not a laugh of happiness. It was the wail of a hyena that
is lost in the woods.
They wont find her. Its been two weeks. It was too late by the time I could get out of
the hospital. I couldnt find him and they cant find him and they wont find Molly. But I had
one thing I could do. I had one thing I could do, she looked towards Philip Because I knew
what all these people know, and what all the people know who will come here the longer you do
this. I dont know how you do it or what you do or why but I know you can do it and I came
here to have you do it one more time at least. I dont give a fuck about stopping war or saving
lives or anything else. I cant even close my eyes without seeing Tommy Jon fly across that
room.
Philip looked around at the crowd. He looked back at Tammy, who had reached out a
hand and now clutched Philips pants just above the knees.
Youve got to do this for me. Ill pay you whatever I can, Ill do whatever you want.
Philip looked down at her hand. I dont know what it is you want me to do.
Tammy looked him in the eye. Dont play dumb with me. Ive been waiting and
waiting, and Ive been watching these other people and watching you. I want you to write
Stevens obituary. I want you to kill him.
Now Philips eyes grew wide. Thats not I cant you dont mean to suggest.
You know what you do! You know what it is that you do, Tammy said, and pulled at
his legs. You have to know. Nobody comes into your room, nobody calls you, nobody gives
31
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
32/34
you assignments. What do you think, each day, when you go up to that roomyes, we see you
and you write these things she waved Tommy Jons obituary again What do you think youre
doing? Where do you think you come up with these things? Youre doing it!
Philip took the obituary from her, unfurled it, smoothed it, and squinted at it. He clutched
at his small bags more tensely as he did.
Im not doing anything, he said.
Yes, you are! Its you! None of these things would happen if you didnt write about
them. None of these things would occur, Tommy Jon would still be alive if you hadnt written
this! You write them before they happen!
Philip stood there looking at her, blinking. Thats preposterous, he said, finally.
Just please, you know you do this, just please, write one about Steven, Tammy begged.
Philip backed up a step. Tammy clung to him and he shook his leg. Please, do that. Hes
killed my baby boy and hes killed my girl and why should he go on living?
Philip finally shook her hand off and stepped back to the gate, sidestepping Stewart, who
simply looked at Tammy as Tammy implored Philip, repeating why should he go on living.
Philip slowly slipped the gate open and began to back into it, and said to Tammy,
It doesnt work that way. I dont do these things you think I do. I dont.
You DO! Why wont you just but Tammy broke off and lunged at him, clawing at
Philips shirt, and now she was the one that was angry, and Stewart had to pull her off and the
others stood and watched and Philip flailed at her and swung his arms and slammed the gate
shut, a small trickle of blood appearing on his cheek as he backed slowly up the path.
Tammy was smothered in Stewarts arms, lifted off the ground, kicking and screaming
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
33/34
and shouting, and after a series of obscenities in the midst of her sobs she could finally be
understood, saying Dont know why you wont do it, dont know why, you can take a little
fucking boy and a little girl and you can kill them but you wont even think about getting rid of
the one who should be dead and the people around heard a door slam and Philip was back
inside his house.
Tammy went on like that for a while until she wore out and Stewart set her down, where
she crumpled on the ground. Her hand loosened on the other article and it began to slowly blow
away down the road in the intermittent breeze. The obituary was gone.
Tammy sat up, after a long time, and wiped her tears. The rest of the crowd had pulled
back but they all looked at her, some straight on, some sideways. She stared at the house.
Feeling better? Asked Stewart. She shook her head.
You sure gave him hell, Stewart told her.
Im not done. Im going to get him. Im going to make him do what I want, or Ill kill
him.
I wouldnt try anything, Stewart said.
Why? Tammy asked, but before Stewart answered, they were startled by the light in
Philips attic office coming on. They stared at it for a second; everyone outside the house stared
at it. They saw the curtain move slightly, and some thought maybe they could actually see Philip
fer de Lance peer out.
Stewart, after shaking his head, looked at Tammy. I wouldnt try anything more
because now he knowsyourname.
The light stayed on. Philip was working.
33
8/6/2019 Fer de Lance
34/34
Briane F. Pagel, Jr. 3011 Elm Lane, Middleton, WI 53562. (608) 831-8220