NOTE: If you haven’t been following this from the beginning, and if you want to know the full sequence of events, start with the introduction. Click on Archives on the right.
I wasn’t sure at first if it was Diddlie contemplating something on the cross walk in the middle of Maxwell Ave. There is little traffic this early on Sunday morning and the gloom at first light leaves the figure indistinct, but for the golden rod hanging out of the top of her backpack. Getting nearer I can see a furry corpse spread out unblemished from the point of the striped tail to the point of the snout.
“How sad … looks like it’s asleep doesn’t it Fred? I mean its not flattened out or anything.”
“Must be a bumper … another road kill Diddlie.” The traffic light turns amber. The road is dry though the potholes at this intersection are full of water from last night’s showers.
“How could such a violent death leave a carcass looking so peaceful?”
“Wild life is moving back to live with us and all the hazards we bring.”
“Yeah it’s a whole new world of adaptation!”
“Don’t think this thing has been here long … no stain on the road, no insects.”
“I’ve been feeding a family for the last three years … hope this isn’t one of my raccoons … I think the foxes got one of the babies last year.”
“This one isn’t full grown.” A van pulls up as the light turns red, towing an open trailer with mowing equipment, and several bales of hay. The driver’s hand hangs down the side of the door from the open window with a cigarette between the fingers.
“Foxes I don’t mind. They are hunting to eat. These cars aren’t hunting … just inanimate casual killers! Do you think the driver even knew he hit it?”
“It would be hard to tell what they hit in the dark.”
The light turns amber again. A rhythmical click from the van’s engine suggests a loose belt somewhere. The first sunlight catches the driver’s tattooed forearm as he flicks the remains of his cigarette into the road.
“Look out Diddlie, the light is going green!”
“Oh I don’t want them to run it over!” She runs over to the van waving. “Hey there … don’t run over the raccoon okay!”
“It’s dead lady.”
“I don’t care … just don’t … okay?” The driver guns the engine.
“Get out of the way!” Diddlie is slow to move. He veers over into the oncoming lane to avoid her and accelerates through the green light. The trailer’s small tires squash the dead raccoon’s head.
“What do you think you are doing!”
“It’s no good shouting at them.”
The faint outline of an old logo shows through a crude attempt to paint it out, in white, on the side panel. We can see the outline of a caterpillar smoking a hookah. The small square windows at the top of the back doors have been filled with cardboard attached with irregular lengths of silvery tape. After the van, it seems quiet on the street.
“Death … all this death … our lives depend on the death of other living things … we live by death then we die Fred … think about that.”
“Our eating also renews life.”
“Yeah, also renews lives like those ass-holes who have no respect. What are they renewing by running over this pathetic corpse that some other jerk left behind.”
“Well they didn’t kill anything either.”
“They are just heedless jerks, and smoking too.”
“So what?”
“They are doing hard work for low pay.”
“Well! would they smoke if they cared about life … like their own life for instance? What do you mean low pay these lawn care people charge a lot.”
“Did you look at the van, Diddlie? How much do you think they are making?”
The lighthouse gas station across the road isn’t open yet. No bird calls, there’s nothing but our voices in the air until a faint roar comes in. Echoing in waves of noise seem to tumble out of the billowing clouds growing louder as a low flying jet turns into its approach to the airport.
“That might be Bel’s flight. She’s coming in this morning from Boston.”
“They shouldn’t be coming in at this time. It is way too early. I thought there were rules against it.”
We leave the corpse behind, step up off the road and start across the gas station past the pumps, the closed doors to the repair shop, a late model Dodge pick up and a nineteen forties’ Rolls Royce limousine with the seats taken out.
“Bel strikes me as a wise one.”
“Fred, she seems to know everything. She has the gift of friendship. I mean there are a lot of people in the neighborhood who trust her, and confide in her. That’s a rare gift. How many people do you know like that?”
“Hard to say.”
“Why?”
“Because if people confide in her, in anyone, their confidence must be respected, so how would I know.”
“Bel is about my best friend … well, I mean I can talk to her about difficult stuff … I think there are a lot of others who might tell you the same thing.”
“But how do you know? I had no idea you were so close.”
“Well it isn’t the kind of thing I would normally talk about. Nobody would, but people say odd things. You know, I just have a feeling about it.”
“No, I do appreciate you’re confiding in me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean just that.”
“Let’s not get into that again okay? It really pisses me off Fred … this whole thing about you writing me and what you know … and anyway, we’ve been there already!”
“Okay, sorry Diddlie. I am not trying to score any points.”
“Oh Fred! okay, okay … I got the wrong idea I guess.”
“Are you close to Steve as well?”
“No, not like Bel, but Steve has lots of women friends besides Artie. He can set sex aside and talk to people as people. I mean he’s the same with every one, male or female.”
“I have noticed Bel has a kind of detachment. She can keep her judgments and feelings in reserve in the interests of conversation.”
“You don’t think she is always frank, you mean?”
“No I think she is genuinely interested in people and that leads her to draw them out in conversation.”
“Sounds like manipulation to me, and I don’t think she is.”
“I don’t think so either. Its not manipulative to hear people out, any more than it is to be polite.”
“So are you criticizing her or not?”
“No, to her the conversation is more important than her own immediate impulses. She always seems to know her own mind, even if she doesn’t spill it all out. Not every one can do that.”
“You mean she doesn’t compete.”
“Right, conversation is give and take, and she gives a lot.”
“Bel gives by listening.”
“That’s it. She uses a certain amount of restraint and her silence is her gift.”
“Hardly any of the men I know … no, I mean none of them can help competing! I mean some guys can never let you forget it.”
“Forget what.”
“That they are the man and I am the woman, and it’s like they have to prove something.”
“There are women like that also. Some women have to flirt, even if it’s only very subtle.”
“Well you wouldn’t want a bunch of sexless bodies in your life would you?”
“No, of course not. Sex is always going to be there between people. It’s complicated.”
“Yeah about as complicated as anything can get; and as simple when you get right down to it.”
“You mean the physical part of the conversation.”
“Not conversation, getting it on.”
“Okay, simple as in a spasm, not a thought with all its ramifications!”
“I just mean fucking, Fred.”
“Oh as in spontaneous copulation with nothing said.”
“Spontaneous copulation Fred! Is that what you call it?”
“Call it procreation if you want, but there ought to be some understanding between the parties before the act don’t you think?”
“Fred, do you ever get out of your head? I mean sometimes people just fuck.”
“You mean total strangers?”
“Could be, if they can get out of their heads.”
“Out of their minds you mean!”
“No, I don’t mean crazy.”
“Good grief, are you speaking from experience?”
“None of your business Fred, and I am not suggesting we try it.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
“Fred don’t you ever get out of your head and just do it?’
“None of your business Diddlie.”
