Jewelweed (38 page)

The kitchen area opened into a combination dining and living room, dominated by a wood-burning stove in the middle. Off to one side was a small study with walls apparently made of books, a small desk with leaning towers of more books, and a cloth-covered overstuffed chair with more books stacked to the sides and balanced in several places on the oversize arms. Blake could easily imagine Winnie reading there, and he wanted to go in and explore the titles.

Then the door closed behind him and Winnie walked in from outside, her face ashen. Jacob went to her, gently taking hold of her upper arms. “Winifred, what's wrong?”

She brushed him aside, straightened her posture, and composed her face. “We have a serious problem,” she said. “Something happened earlier today. When August and Ivan get back here we're going to have to get to the bottom of it.”

“What happened?” asked Jacob.

“There's been some trouble,” she said.

“What kind of trouble?”

Before she could answer, a blue sedan pulled up behind Jacob's old jeep. August and a boy Blake had never seen before got out of the back door. The driver waved but did not get out, and after the boys closed the door he backed up, narrowly missing Blake's motorcycle, and drove back down the drive.

Winnie waited in the open door for the boys to come in.

They slipped past her, their eyes glued to the floor after first shooting dismissive glances across the room, where Blake stood beside the stove. He was clearly outside the area of their concern.

“Go over there and sit down,” said Winnie, pointing to the sofa.

They crossed the room and sat together on the edge of the cushions. August's face was marked in several places, and one eye was swollen. His white shirt was ripped and soiled with dirt, grass stains, and blood. The smaller boy looked mostly intact.

“Now,” said Winnie, walking over and standing in front of them, “tell me everything.”

They remained silent.

Jacob had not followed Winnie into the living room. He closed the door and remained standing not far from it. The take-charge manner he demonstrated at the shop clearly did not extend to his home.

“August, tell me,” said Winnie, her voice soft but demanding.

“There was a slight problem,” said August, without looking up.

“What happened?”

“It was complicated,” he said.

“Did you give your talk on White Nose Syndrome?”

“Yes,” said August.

“And then what happened?”

“After my presentation concluded, I answered several questions as well as I could.”

“I want to know what happened,” said Winnie.

“Well, I gathered my notes and supporting material together, left the building, and began walking through the parking lot.”

He stopped again, but Winnie was insistant. “Yes?”

“Several boys walked over and questioned some of the conclusions I had drawn in my talk.”

“What did they say?”

“I'm not sure I remember exactly.”

“Try as best as you can.”

“They saw no benefit in the survival of bats—any kind of bats—and they had a vulgar way of expressing this.”

“Did you say something to antagonize them, August?”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

“I suggested that if they studied the existing literature they might naturally wish to reconsider their position.”

“What happened next?”

“One of them pushed me.”

“And is that when you struck them, August?”

“I never struck them,” said August, looking at his mother. “I promise, Mom, I never did.”

“What happened?”

“I explained to them that by resorting to physical intimidation they were essentially admitting that their position lacked merit.”

“What happened then?”

“One of them hit me.”

“Then what?”

“After I adjusted to the impact, I attempted to offer a few more words in defense of bats and the many beneficial services they provide. That's when both of them jumped me, knocked me down, and began hitting and kicking me.”

“August, is that when you attacked them?”

“I never did,” he said, hanging his head.

“Well, someone did,” said Winnie. “Those boys' parents are threatening to bring charges. That's what the sheriff said. They were beaten up pretty badly. I saw them. Tell me how that happened.”

August stared down silently.

“August, tell me. Who beat those boys?”

August remained silent.

“I'm afraid that would be me, Mrs. Helm,” said the boy sitting next to August.

“Ivan, you?”

“I'm sorry.”

“You did all that damage?”

“I didn't mean to.”

“Don't you know that violence is wrong, Ivan?”

“Yes, I do, Mrs. Helm. I really do. But when I saw them kicking August, I mean, right then I didn't know.”

“But you're smaller than August,” said Winnie. “Those boys were both bigger than August.”

“They're not that big,” said Ivan. “I used to be in their grade, before I was held back. They're bullies. I've had run-ins with them before, when they said things about my mother.”

“Violence is wrong, Ivan,” said Winnie. “Even retaliatory violence.”

“I know,” said Ivan. “I know. But I couldn't know it then. When I saw August being kicked, I knew they had to pay.”

“What would your mother say about what you did?” asked Winnie. “I'm fairly convinced from what I know of her that Danielle would never approve of such rash behavior.”

“Let's just hope she doesn't find out,” said Ivan.

At the mention of Danielle, Blake sank into the chair next to the wood-burning stove. He stared forward like someone who had been woken by a loud noise in the middle of the night.

“And apparently that's not all,” said Winnie, turning her attention back to her son. “Is it, August?”

He remained silent, staring at the floor.

“You had your bat with you, didn't you, August?”

Silence.

“You promised me you'd never take him into public areas. We talked about that many times and you promised.”

Silence.

“He bit those boys.”

“He was in my pocket,” said August. “After they started kicking me he came out. He was hurt and frightened.”

“And he bit them.”

Silence.

“August, look at me. Look at me. Do you know what this means? When a bat bites someone they have to test whether it has rabies or some other disease. It has to be done, it's the law. I talked to the sheriff and Mr. Brandson, the city council lawyer. I also talked to Mrs. Williams, the township chair. I spent most of the last hour with them. When a bat or any other creature bites someone, they have to conduct tests.”

August stared at the floor.

“You promised me, August. You promised.”

“I know I did. I'm sorry, Mom, but Milton doesn't like me to leave him at home.”

“If you hadn't taken him, August, if you hadn't taken him . . .” Winnie's voice wandered off. Then she asked August where Milton was now.

“In my pocket,” he said.

“Give him to your father,” said Winnie.

“No.”

“Don't you dare say no to me, August. Give him to your father. We have to make him available for testing immediately.”

“No,” said August. “He didn't do anything wrong. Biting is his only defense. It's an instinct. It wasn't his fault.”

“He bit a human being,” said Winnie. “Give him to your father. Now.”

“They'll kill him,” said August. “I know about those tests. I've read about them. They'll kill him and he didn't do anything wrong.”

“August, give that bat to your father. Right now.”

With tears running in his eyes, August carefully took the bat out of his pocket, carried him across the room, and placed him in Jacob's hands. Then he went down the hall and slammed the door to his room behind him.

Winnie sat on the sofa next to Ivan and put her head in her hands.

“Can I be excused now, Mrs. Helm?” asked Ivan. “August needs me.”

“Yes, Ivan, go on.”

Ivan hurried through the living room and down the hall.

Jacob walked over and sat next to Winnie on the sofa.

Blake stayed where he was, staring at the floor.

Then he stood up and walked over to them.

“I'm sorry about this,” said Winnie, looking at Blake for the first time. “I'm sorry that . . .” and her voice wandered away again.

“Forget it,” said Blake. “I've been honored just to be inside your home, Mrs. Helm. I'll come back another time. I'm going to leave now.”

He remained standing, however, and extended an open hand toward Jacob.

“Give the bat to me,” he said. “I know all about those laws and the people who enforce them. They'll kill him before they test him. It's what they always do. Give him to me. I'll take care of it. I hate bats.”

Jacob handed Milton to Blake and put his arm around Winnie, who had begun to weep into her hands.

Blake walked out the front door and rode away on his motorcycle.

O
n the drive into Madison, Lucky explained the rules to Dart.

“Stick close to me for the first half hour,” he said. “I'll point out the players. Smile a lot and keep everything simple.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dart, watching the sun sink into the horizon.

“Keep everything simple—a lot of motion, eye contact, laughing, smiling, and striking poses. Don't talk about anything that takes longer than two seconds to explain. When you're introduced say, ‘I'm Danielle with Roebuck Construction.' By the end of the evening you should have said those exact words about two hundred times. ‘I'm Danielle with Roebuck Construction.' ‘I'm Danielle with Roebuck Construction.' You don't need to tell them your last name. If someone asks for it, tell them, but nothing more than that about yourself. If asked what you do, say you're a consultant and mention Roebuck Construction again, the leading contractor in southwestern Wisconsin. If asked where you live, say, ‘Not far from Roebuck Construction's main offices.'”

“Shouldn't I have business cards to hand out?”

“No, no, no, don't be an idiot, this isn't that kind of party. Everyone who matters has already heard about Roebuck Construction. I've made sure of that. Jesus, trust me.”

“Then why am I supposed to say it all the time?”

“After tomorrow, when a certain five men and two women see the name Roebuck Construction, I want them to think,
Danielle
. And that's another thing to keep in mind—five men and two women. After I point them out you should see only those seven people in the room. None of the others matter. I don't want you to snub anyone, of course, but the
entire time you're at the party you'll be trying to find a way to talk to, make eye contact with, smile at, stand close to, or at least bump into one of those seven people. Even if you're not talking to one of them, if you're near enough to hear them say something that's supposed to be funny, laugh and smile. And laugh loud enough that they can hear you. When one of them gets away from you, move on to another. With the men, if you get a chance, touch them in some way as often as you can. Take hold of an arm, a shoulder, a hand. When you've interacted with all of them in some way, you'll know which ones are easier to get close to. You'll feel it. Follow through with that.”

“Doesn't sound like a lot of fun,” said Dart, trying to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the side window.

“It isn't,” said Lucky. “But along with a lot of work that's already been done, and a little hard cash, it generally pays off. What I'm saying is that all the important steps have already been taken. I'm just bringing you in at the end for the final touch.”

Dart wished she could see how her hair looked. The window refused to hold a reflection that stayed together long enough to inspect, and she was afraid Lucky might disapprove of pulling down the visor mirror. Then she began to wonder where the new-car smell inside Lucky's car actually came from. How did the makers get it into them? The factories themselves surely didn't smell like that. She made a mental note to look up how much his car was worth when she got back home. And she would check about the smell. It would be nice to have that in the Bronco.

When they reached the Middleton suburb, a row of streetlights lit up as they drove beneath them. As Lucky continued into Madison, Dart saw the main campus of the university sprawled along the lake. Students darted in and out of the streets with daring disregard of moving vehicles. Others rode bicycles and crowded around storefronts with book bags. A lot of them looked Asian, and Dart wondered what it might be like to be twenty and going to school in another country. When her imagination failed she went back to watching the lights.