Click on the player to hear an audio version of this episode.
Virginia Woolf declared him the greatest of all novelists. Dostoevsky, Proust, Faulkner, Nabakov Joyce all shared this same enthusiasm for this writer. Thomas Mann once declared, “Seldom did art work so much like nature.” He wrote a novel with 580 different characters, including some real historical figures. Who was this anarchist, pacifist, christian who is widely regarded as one of the world’s greatest novelists?
We’ll find out in a moment on Biography Out Loud.
Leo Tolstoy once said, “Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.” Not only did this Russian writer change himself, but the world was never the same after his masterpiece “War and Peace”. Tolstoy was a realistic writer, trying to show the society of his time. He never thought of “War and Peace” as a novel, but told others his first novel was “Anna Karrenina” which he wrote eight years later.
Born in 1828, he toured Europe, witnessed a public execution and met with Victor Hugo and Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, an anarchist living in Vienna.
On 23 September 1862, Tolstoy married Sophia Andreevna Bers, the daughter of a court physician, who was 16 years his junior. They had thirteen children, five of whom died during childhood. Their early married life was happy and allowed Tolstoy much freedom to compose the literary masterpieces “War and Peace” and “Anna Karenina” with Sonya acting as his secretary, proof-reader and financial manager.
Tolstoy died of pneumonia at Astapovo station in 1910 after leaving home in the middle of winter at the age of 82. His death came only days after gathering the nerve to abandon his family and wealth and take up the path of a wandering ascetic,[citation needed] a path that he had agonized over pursuing for decades. He had not been at the peak of health before leaving home; his wife and daughters were all actively engaged in caring for him daily. He had been speaking and writing of his own death in the days preceding his departure from home, but fell ill at the train station not far from home. The station master took Tolstoy to his apartment, where his personal doctors were called to the scene. He was given injections of morphine and camphor, but later died. The police tried to limit access to his funeral procession, but thousands of peasants lined the streets at his funeral.
Leo Tolstoy once said, “The vocation of every man and woman is to serve other people.”
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
X-Ray Insights
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this episode.
X-Ray Insights
Personal insight can come from many ways. Those “ah-ha” moments occur without our permission, but we have to be paying attention or we may miss them. Usually a great new perspective or a head-slapping moment happens when we least expect it, but I hope you are having some in your life. They are one of my favorite experiences. Sometimes I find out things I really didn’t want to do or want to know, and sometimes it can save a life.
I’ll use x-rays as the example of those light-bulb moments in our lives, since most of us make a discovery when the x-ray is show to us. We find out something we could discover no other way, unless you have x-ray vision. Enlightenment about something we need to learn can be like this. Where we were looking through a glass darkly once, the true reflection of the experience then becomes crystal clear. I’m pretty rambunctious, and once when I was a teenager I broke my own hand by striking a two-by-four. I thought it was padded, but when you hit solid wood with the side of your hand, you may break the upper joint of your little finger. It’s not excruciating, but it really, really hurts. You could probably still drive a car, but you wouldn’t be happy about it.
I was convinced it was broken, but try as I might, I couldn’t convince the parents to get it x-rayed. When you are fourteen, your options are limited. You can’t drive yourself to the doctor, and even when you get there, no one is going to x-ray your hand because you say it hurts. But after two weeks of moaning and groaning, I finally wore them down and into the x-ray machine my hand went.
The doctor looked serious. It made me kind of happy, because I was thinking I was right. “It is broken he said,” and I thrilled at the proof. But it was short lived. He only paused momentarily and continued, “It looks like we’ll have to break it again since it had started to heal crooked.” I instinctively grabbed the injured hand and declared it had been feeling much better later. After a short consultation, we all decided it could continue to heal in an un-straightened, un re-broken way and there wouldn’t be a problem. It’s still bent, but I can tell when it’s going to rain.
It’s quite an insight to find out you were right; the hand was broken, but another interesting insight to find out you suddenly don’t want it fixed.
Another x-ray provided not such a happy insight. I’ve explained before that I often have sinus problems which vexed my doctor until he took an x-ray of my head. He was as surprised as I was to discover I have extra sinuses, which extend beyond the usual eyebrow portrayal you usually see in those sinus headache commercials. I have extra sinuses as in they extend almost to the top of my head. It was a great moment of insight for both of us, since extra sinuses could be an explanation for my almost continuous sinus congestions, headaches and infections.
But again, sometimes an insight is not such a happy discovery. He was all smiles and excited, like he had discovered another branch of the human species, “Homo Sinicus”. But the more I thought about it the less I liked it. He looked at me and exclaimed, “This explains what’s been going on with your sinuses” as if I was cured. But all I could think about was the limited space available in any head. There’s room for sinuses and there’s room for brains. Apparently, I needed more sinuses than normal, which means I have less room for brains. It’s a sad day when your doctor tells you in a round-about way that you have a smaller brain than everyone else. But it does explain much of what has happened in the rest of my life. Next time I am pulled over for a speeding ticket, I’m going to try the “less brains” defense. “Sorry officer, but I have a smaller brain than your average driver, so…” It might work.
The best x-ray in the world was the one which discovered the cancer in my wife’s ribs. She had been experiencing pain she thought was cracked ribs, and when the doctor said it was probably cancer, both our lives changed forever. Two surgeries, chemotherapy, hair-loss, hair regrowth and the passage of fifteen years has found her in official remission. She was brave; I was scared, but we both survived. Better than an x-ray, these insights discover our determination, direction, and our weaknesses. Now that we have a new truth in our grasp, what are we going to do about it?
X-Ray Insights
Personal insight can come from many ways. Those “ah-ha” moments occur without our permission, but we have to be paying attention or we may miss them. Usually a great new perspective or a head-slapping moment happens when we least expect it, but I hope you are having some in your life. They are one of my favorite experiences. Sometimes I find out things I really didn’t want to do or want to know, and sometimes it can save a life.
I’ll use x-rays as the example of those light-bulb moments in our lives, since most of us make a discovery when the x-ray is show to us. We find out something we could discover no other way, unless you have x-ray vision. Enlightenment about something we need to learn can be like this. Where we were looking through a glass darkly once, the true reflection of the experience then becomes crystal clear. I’m pretty rambunctious, and once when I was a teenager I broke my own hand by striking a two-by-four. I thought it was padded, but when you hit solid wood with the side of your hand, you may break the upper joint of your little finger. It’s not excruciating, but it really, really hurts. You could probably still drive a car, but you wouldn’t be happy about it.
I was convinced it was broken, but try as I might, I couldn’t convince the parents to get it x-rayed. When you are fourteen, your options are limited. You can’t drive yourself to the doctor, and even when you get there, no one is going to x-ray your hand because you say it hurts. But after two weeks of moaning and groaning, I finally wore them down and into the x-ray machine my hand went.
The doctor looked serious. It made me kind of happy, because I was thinking I was right. “It is broken he said,” and I thrilled at the proof. But it was short lived. He only paused momentarily and continued, “It looks like we’ll have to break it again since it had started to heal crooked.” I instinctively grabbed the injured hand and declared it had been feeling much better later. After a short consultation, we all decided it could continue to heal in an un-straightened, un re-broken way and there wouldn’t be a problem. It’s still bent, but I can tell when it’s going to rain.
It’s quite an insight to find out you were right; the hand was broken, but another interesting insight to find out you suddenly don’t want it fixed.
Another x-ray provided not such a happy insight. I’ve explained before that I often have sinus problems which vexed my doctor until he took an x-ray of my head. He was as surprised as I was to discover I have extra sinuses, which extend beyond the usual eyebrow portrayal you usually see in those sinus headache commercials. I have extra sinuses as in they extend almost to the top of my head. It was a great moment of insight for both of us, since extra sinuses could be an explanation for my almost continuous sinus congestions, headaches and infections.
But again, sometimes an insight is not such a happy discovery. He was all smiles and excited, like he had discovered another branch of the human species, “Homo Sinicus”. But the more I thought about it the less I liked it. He looked at me and exclaimed, “This explains what’s been going on with your sinuses” as if I was cured. But all I could think about was the limited space available in any head. There’s room for sinuses and there’s room for brains. Apparently, I needed more sinuses than normal, which means I have less room for brains. It’s a sad day when your doctor tells you in a round-about way that you have a smaller brain than everyone else. But it does explain much of what has happened in the rest of my life. Next time I am pulled over for a speeding ticket, I’m going to try the “less brains” defense. “Sorry officer, but I have a smaller brain than your average driver, so…” It might work.
The best x-ray in the world was the one which discovered the cancer in my wife’s ribs. She had been experiencing pain she thought was cracked ribs, and when the doctor said it was probably cancer, both our lives changed forever. Two surgeries, chemotherapy, hair-loss, hair regrowth and the passage of fifteen years has found her in official remission. She was brave; I was scared, but we both survived. Better than an x-ray, these insights discover our determination, direction, and our weaknesses. Now that we have a new truth in our grasp, what are we going to do about it?
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Future Ex-Wife Happy Birthday Sung by Rudy and Me
A short piece from “Abundance” where Rudy wanted me to sing with him to his “future ex-wife” — whatever that is. We sing “Happy Birthday”. Abundance is broadcast every Sunday from 7 to 8 pm Mountain Standard time on the internet at www.k-talk.com.
Click on the player to hear the segment.
Click on the player to hear the segment.
Wages
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this episode.
Rules of Engagement
Wages
When we see someone poor, it is easy to see their need. When we think of the richest people, we don’t really wonder what they need, or if they have any needs. If you have all the money you could ever want, what would you buy with it? Perhaps having too much money can be as burdensome as having too little. I would like to volunteer to find out how much the super-rich must suffer trying to decide between one super expensive car, house, or jet and another. I wonder if boredom would eventually set it, and make you tired of buying things. Would you want to start returning things for a refund just because you were bored?
I’ve been paid a lot for not doing much, and I’ve been paid next to nothing for working harder than I had ever worked. I’ve also done volunteer work which was more satisfying than either of those jobs.
When MCI shot a commercial here in the state, they budgeted way too much money. This is why I got a phone call a couple months after being an extra in their commercial. They somehow decided MCI was connected to the driving of the Golden Spike in Northern Utah, since the point of the commercial was the telegraph operator sent the information to the rest of the world. I was just leaning on the telegraph pole, and they recruited me to be another telegraph pole guy. When they finished the commercial and had the extra money, the redistribution began. I got a call asking if I was the telegraph guy, and I clarified I was the one with the mustache. After already being paid two hundred dollars for a couple of days of work, the guy on the phone said I was being “bumped up” to being a featured extra, and would I please sign the contract being mailed to me? I said sure, and he said he would then send me a check for three thousand dollars. There was a significant pause as I tried to wrap my mind around what he was trying to tell me. Want some money? Sign the paper and send it back. I mumbled I would be glad to take the money.
That worked out to over a hundred dollars an hour or more no matter how you calculate it. Should I divide by the hours I was asleep, too? Or should I just count the actual hours. That makes it almost five hundred an hour. How come I can’t get a full-time job that pays like that? Maybe some of you are making that much or more an hour. It boggles my mind.
The worst I’ve been paid was working for the father of friend. He was a crafty old codger, not really specifying how much I would be paid to heft sheetrock and hold it against the ceiling. He was even too cheap to rent a great little tool which helps lift and hold sheetrock up against the ceiling. If you have never held those heavy sheets of paper-covered chalk, it is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
When all was said and done, I worked for a couple of weeks for about a dollar an hour. Minimum wage at the time was about three dollars, but what can you do when your friend’s dad cheats you out of all that time and effort? You can count it up to experience and write about it later.
But I think I may even like volunteering more than being paid a pittance. I’ve done enough acting for the terrible wages most actors get, and I’ve also done a lot of acting which I call volunteer work since I’m not being paid and I’m just donating my time for the good of the organization. I can even write off much of this at a much higher hourly rate on my taxes. I’ve been in live stage productions where I’ve actually been ashamed of being paid since the show, the script, or something else was not up to par. In those times, I’ve even wished it was donated time, since then there might be an excuse for the problems.
During those times I’ve acted for free, I really have enjoyed more of the performances than when I’ve been paid. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be turning down compensation, small as it may be. I just won’t be as happy about it. It doesn’t make any sense.
But you’ve probably had the same experience with your volunteer work. Nothing is so satisfying as doing something good, and not expecting a return. It may be more valuable than anything else we do. Think of it this way. If you could have all the money in the world, or all the blessings in the world, which would you choose?
Rules of Engagement
Wages
When we see someone poor, it is easy to see their need. When we think of the richest people, we don’t really wonder what they need, or if they have any needs. If you have all the money you could ever want, what would you buy with it? Perhaps having too much money can be as burdensome as having too little. I would like to volunteer to find out how much the super-rich must suffer trying to decide between one super expensive car, house, or jet and another. I wonder if boredom would eventually set it, and make you tired of buying things. Would you want to start returning things for a refund just because you were bored?
I’ve been paid a lot for not doing much, and I’ve been paid next to nothing for working harder than I had ever worked. I’ve also done volunteer work which was more satisfying than either of those jobs.
When MCI shot a commercial here in the state, they budgeted way too much money. This is why I got a phone call a couple months after being an extra in their commercial. They somehow decided MCI was connected to the driving of the Golden Spike in Northern Utah, since the point of the commercial was the telegraph operator sent the information to the rest of the world. I was just leaning on the telegraph pole, and they recruited me to be another telegraph pole guy. When they finished the commercial and had the extra money, the redistribution began. I got a call asking if I was the telegraph guy, and I clarified I was the one with the mustache. After already being paid two hundred dollars for a couple of days of work, the guy on the phone said I was being “bumped up” to being a featured extra, and would I please sign the contract being mailed to me? I said sure, and he said he would then send me a check for three thousand dollars. There was a significant pause as I tried to wrap my mind around what he was trying to tell me. Want some money? Sign the paper and send it back. I mumbled I would be glad to take the money.
That worked out to over a hundred dollars an hour or more no matter how you calculate it. Should I divide by the hours I was asleep, too? Or should I just count the actual hours. That makes it almost five hundred an hour. How come I can’t get a full-time job that pays like that? Maybe some of you are making that much or more an hour. It boggles my mind.
The worst I’ve been paid was working for the father of friend. He was a crafty old codger, not really specifying how much I would be paid to heft sheetrock and hold it against the ceiling. He was even too cheap to rent a great little tool which helps lift and hold sheetrock up against the ceiling. If you have never held those heavy sheets of paper-covered chalk, it is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
When all was said and done, I worked for a couple of weeks for about a dollar an hour. Minimum wage at the time was about three dollars, but what can you do when your friend’s dad cheats you out of all that time and effort? You can count it up to experience and write about it later.
But I think I may even like volunteering more than being paid a pittance. I’ve done enough acting for the terrible wages most actors get, and I’ve also done a lot of acting which I call volunteer work since I’m not being paid and I’m just donating my time for the good of the organization. I can even write off much of this at a much higher hourly rate on my taxes. I’ve been in live stage productions where I’ve actually been ashamed of being paid since the show, the script, or something else was not up to par. In those times, I’ve even wished it was donated time, since then there might be an excuse for the problems.
During those times I’ve acted for free, I really have enjoyed more of the performances than when I’ve been paid. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be turning down compensation, small as it may be. I just won’t be as happy about it. It doesn’t make any sense.
But you’ve probably had the same experience with your volunteer work. Nothing is so satisfying as doing something good, and not expecting a return. It may be more valuable than anything else we do. Think of it this way. If you could have all the money in the world, or all the blessings in the world, which would you choose?
Alyosha the Pot by Leo Tolstroy
Click on the player below to hear an audio version of this short story.
Alyosha the Pot
Leo Tolstoy
ALYOSHA was the younger brother. He was called the Pot, because his mother had once sent him with a pot of milk to the deacon’s wife, and he had stumbled against something and broken it. His mother had beaten him, and the children had teased him. Since then he was nicknamed the Pot. Alyosha was a tiny, thin little fellow, with ears like wings, and a huge nose. “Alyosha has a nose that looks like a dog on a hill!” the children used to call after him. Alyosha went to the village school, but was not good at lessons; besides, there was so little time to learn. His elder brother was in town, working for a merchant, so Alyosha had to help his father from a very early age. When he was no more than six he used to go out with the girls to watch the cows and sheep in the pasture, and a little later he looked after the horses by day and by night. And at twelve years of age he had already begun to plough and to drive the cart. The skill was there though the strength was not. He was always cheerful. Whenever the children made fun of him, he would either laugh or be silent. When his father scolded him he would stand mute and listen attentively, and as soon as the scolding was over would smile and go on with his work. Alyosha was nineteen when his brother was taken as a soldier. So his father placed him with the merchant as a yard-porter. He was given his brother’s old boots, his father’s old coat and cap, and was taken to town. Alyosha was delighted with his clothes, but the merchant was not impressed by his appearance.
“I thought you would bring me a man in Simeon’s place,” he said, scanning Alyosha; “and you’ve brought me THIS! What’s the good of him?”
“He can do everything; look after horses and drive. He’s a good one to work. He looks rather thin, but he’s tough enough. And he’s very willing.”
“He looks it. All right; we’ll see what we can do with him.”
So Alyosha remained at the merchant’s.
The family was not a large one. It consisted of the merchant’s wife: her old mother: a married son poorly educated who was in his father’s business: another son, a learned one who had finished school and entered the University, but having been expelled, was living at home: and a daughter who still went to school.
They did not take to Alyosha at first. He was uncouth, badly dressed, and had no manner, but they soon got used to him. Alyosha worked even better than his brother had done; he was really very willing. They sent him on all sorts of errands, but he did everything quickly and readily, going from one task to another without stopping. And so here, just as at home, all the work was put upon his shoulders. The more he did, the more he was given to do. His mistress, her old mother, the son, the daughter, the clerk, and the cook– all ordered him about, and sent him from one place to another.
“Alyosha, do this! Alyosha, do that! What! have you forgotten, Alyosha? Mind you don’t forget, Alyosha!” was heard from morning till night. And Alyosha ran here, looked after this and that, forgot nothing, found time for everything, and was always cheerful.
His brother’s old boots were soon worn out, and his master scolded him for going about in tatters with his toes sticking out. He ordered another pair to be bought for him in the market. Alyosha was delighted with his new boots, but was angry with his feet when they ached at the end of the day after so much running about. And then he was afraid that his father would be annoyed when he came to town for his wages, to find that his master had deducted the cost of the boots.
In the winter Alyosha used to get up before daybreak. He would chop the wood, sweep the yard, feed the cows and horses, light the stoves, clean the boots, prepare the samovars and polish them afterwards; or the clerk would get him to bring up the goods; or the cook would set him to knead the bread and clean the saucepans. Then he was sent to town on various errands, to bring the daughter home from school, or to get some olive oil for the old mother. “Why the devil have you been so long?” first one, then another, would say to him. Why should they go? Alyosha can go. “Alyosha! Alyosha!” And Alyosha ran here and there. He breakfasted in snatches while he was working, and rarely managed to get his dinner at the proper hour. The cook used to scold him for being late, but she was sorry for him all the same, and would keep something hot for his dinner and supper.
At holiday times there was more work than ever, but Alyosha liked holidays because everybody gave him a tip. Not much certainly, but it would amount up to about sixty kopeks [1s 2d]– his very own money. For Alyosha never set eyes on his wages. His father used to come and take them from the merchant, and only scold Alyosha for wearing out his boots.
When he had saved up two roubles [4s], by the advice of the cook he bought himself a red knitted jacket, and was so happy when he put it on, that he couldn’t close his mouth for joy. Alyosha was not talkative; when he spoke at all, he spoke abruptly, with his head turned away. When told to do anything, or asked if he could do it, he would say yes without the smallest hesitation, and set to work at once.
Alyosha did not know any prayer; and had forgotten what his mother had taught him. But he prayed just the same, every morning and every evening, prayed with his hands, crossing himself.
He lived like this for about a year and a half, and towards the end of the second year a most startling thing happened to him. He discovered one day, to his great surprise, that, in addition to the relation of usefulness existing between people, there was also another, a peculiar relation of quite a different character. Instead of a man being wanted to clean boots, and go on errands and harness horses, he is not wanted to be of any service at all, but another human being wants to serve him and pet him. Suddenly Alyosha felt he was such a man.
He made this discovery through the cook Ustinia. She was young, had no parents, and worked as hard as Alyosha. He felt for the first time in his life that he–not his services, but he himself–was necessary to another human being. When his mother used to be sorry for him, he had taken no notice of her. It had seemed to him quite natural, as though he were feeling sorry for himself. But here was Ustinia, a perfect stranger, and sorry for him. She would save him some hot porridge, and sit watching him, her chin propped on her bare arm, with the sleeve rolled up, while he was eating it. When he looked at her she would begin to laugh, and he would laugh too.
This was such a new, strange thing to him that it frightened Alyosha. He feared that it might interfere with his work. But he was pleased, nevertheless, and when he glanced at the trousers that Ustinia had mended for him, he would shake his head and smile. He would often think of her while at work, or when running on errands. “A fine girl, Ustinia!” he sometimes exclaimed.
Ustinia used to help him whenever she could, and he helped her. She told him all about her life; how she had lost her parents; how her aunt had taken her in and found a place for her in the town; how the merchant’s son had tried to take liberties with her, and how she had rebuffed him. She liked to talk, and Alyosha liked to listen to her. He had heard that peasants who came up to work in the towns frequently got married to servant girls. On one occasion she asked him if his parents intended marrying him soon. He said that he did not know; that he did not want to marry any of the village girls.
“Have you taken a fancy to some one, then?”
“I would marry you, if you’d be willing.”
“Get along with you, Alyosha the Pot; but you’ve found your tongue, haven’t you?” she exclaimed, slapping him on the back with a towel she held in her hand. “Why shouldn’t I?”
At Shrovetide Alyosha’s father came to town for his wages. It had come to the ears of the merchant’s wife that Alyosha wanted to marry Ustinia, and she disapproved of it. “What will be the use of her with a baby?” she thought, and informed her husband.
The merchant gave the old man Alyosha’s wages.
“How is my lad getting on?” he asked. “I told you he was willing.”
“That’s all right, as far as it goes, but he’s taken some sort of nonsense into his head. He wants to marry our cook. Now I don’t approve of married servants. We won’t have them in the house.”
“Well, now, who would have thought the fool would think of such a thing?” the old man exclaimed. “But don’t you worry. I’ll soon settle that.”
He went into the kitchen, and sat down at the table waiting for his son. Alyosha was out on an errand, and came back breathless.
“I thought you had some sense in you; but what’s this you’ve taken into your head?” his father began.
“I? Nothing.”
“How, nothing? They tell me you want to get married. You shall get married when the time comes. I’ll find you a decent wife, not some town hussy.”
His father talked and talked, while Alyosha stood still and sighed. When his father had quite finished, Alyosha smiled.
“All right. I’ll drop it.”
“Now that’s what I call sense.”
When he was left alone with Ustinia he told her what his father had said. (She had listened at the door.)
“It’s no good; it can’t come off. Did you hear? He was angry– won’t have it at any price.”
Ustinia cried into her apron.
Alyosha shook his head.
“What’s to be done? We must do as we’re told.”
“Well, are you going to give up that nonsense, as your father told you?” his mistress asked, as he was putting up the shutters in the evening.
“To be sure we are,” Alyosha replied with a smile, and then burst into tears.
From that day Alyosha went about his work as usual, and no longer talked to Ustinia about their getting married. One day in Lent the clerk told him to clear the snow from the roof. Alyosha climbed on to the roof and swept away all the snow; and, while he was still raking out some frozen lumps from the gutter, his foot slipped and he fell over. Unfortunately he did not fall on the snow, but on a piece of iron over the door. Ustinia came running up, together with the merchant’s daughter.
“Have you hurt yourself, Alyosha?”
“Ah! no, it’s nothing.”
But he could not raise himself when he tried to, and began to smile.
He was taken into the lodge. The doctor arrived, examined him, and asked where he felt the pain.
“I feel it all over,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m only afraid master will be annoyed. Father ought to be told.”
Alyosha lay in bed for two days, and on the third day they sent for the priest.
“Are you really going to die?” Ustinia asked.
“Of course I am. You can’t go on living for ever. You must go when the time comes.” Alyosha spoke rapidly as usual. “Thank you, Ustinia. You’ve been very good to me. What a lucky thing they didn’t let us marry! Where should we have been now? It’s much better as it is.”
When the priest came, he prayed with his bands and with his heart. “As it is good here when you obey and do no harm to others, so it will be there,” was the thought within it.
He spoke very little; he only said he was thirsty, and he seemed full of wonder at something.
He lay in wonderment, then stretched himself, and died.
Alyosha the Pot
Leo Tolstoy
ALYOSHA was the younger brother. He was called the Pot, because his mother had once sent him with a pot of milk to the deacon’s wife, and he had stumbled against something and broken it. His mother had beaten him, and the children had teased him. Since then he was nicknamed the Pot. Alyosha was a tiny, thin little fellow, with ears like wings, and a huge nose. “Alyosha has a nose that looks like a dog on a hill!” the children used to call after him. Alyosha went to the village school, but was not good at lessons; besides, there was so little time to learn. His elder brother was in town, working for a merchant, so Alyosha had to help his father from a very early age. When he was no more than six he used to go out with the girls to watch the cows and sheep in the pasture, and a little later he looked after the horses by day and by night. And at twelve years of age he had already begun to plough and to drive the cart. The skill was there though the strength was not. He was always cheerful. Whenever the children made fun of him, he would either laugh or be silent. When his father scolded him he would stand mute and listen attentively, and as soon as the scolding was over would smile and go on with his work. Alyosha was nineteen when his brother was taken as a soldier. So his father placed him with the merchant as a yard-porter. He was given his brother’s old boots, his father’s old coat and cap, and was taken to town. Alyosha was delighted with his clothes, but the merchant was not impressed by his appearance.
“I thought you would bring me a man in Simeon’s place,” he said, scanning Alyosha; “and you’ve brought me THIS! What’s the good of him?”
“He can do everything; look after horses and drive. He’s a good one to work. He looks rather thin, but he’s tough enough. And he’s very willing.”
“He looks it. All right; we’ll see what we can do with him.”
So Alyosha remained at the merchant’s.
The family was not a large one. It consisted of the merchant’s wife: her old mother: a married son poorly educated who was in his father’s business: another son, a learned one who had finished school and entered the University, but having been expelled, was living at home: and a daughter who still went to school.
They did not take to Alyosha at first. He was uncouth, badly dressed, and had no manner, but they soon got used to him. Alyosha worked even better than his brother had done; he was really very willing. They sent him on all sorts of errands, but he did everything quickly and readily, going from one task to another without stopping. And so here, just as at home, all the work was put upon his shoulders. The more he did, the more he was given to do. His mistress, her old mother, the son, the daughter, the clerk, and the cook– all ordered him about, and sent him from one place to another.
“Alyosha, do this! Alyosha, do that! What! have you forgotten, Alyosha? Mind you don’t forget, Alyosha!” was heard from morning till night. And Alyosha ran here, looked after this and that, forgot nothing, found time for everything, and was always cheerful.
His brother’s old boots were soon worn out, and his master scolded him for going about in tatters with his toes sticking out. He ordered another pair to be bought for him in the market. Alyosha was delighted with his new boots, but was angry with his feet when they ached at the end of the day after so much running about. And then he was afraid that his father would be annoyed when he came to town for his wages, to find that his master had deducted the cost of the boots.
In the winter Alyosha used to get up before daybreak. He would chop the wood, sweep the yard, feed the cows and horses, light the stoves, clean the boots, prepare the samovars and polish them afterwards; or the clerk would get him to bring up the goods; or the cook would set him to knead the bread and clean the saucepans. Then he was sent to town on various errands, to bring the daughter home from school, or to get some olive oil for the old mother. “Why the devil have you been so long?” first one, then another, would say to him. Why should they go? Alyosha can go. “Alyosha! Alyosha!” And Alyosha ran here and there. He breakfasted in snatches while he was working, and rarely managed to get his dinner at the proper hour. The cook used to scold him for being late, but she was sorry for him all the same, and would keep something hot for his dinner and supper.
At holiday times there was more work than ever, but Alyosha liked holidays because everybody gave him a tip. Not much certainly, but it would amount up to about sixty kopeks [1s 2d]– his very own money. For Alyosha never set eyes on his wages. His father used to come and take them from the merchant, and only scold Alyosha for wearing out his boots.
When he had saved up two roubles [4s], by the advice of the cook he bought himself a red knitted jacket, and was so happy when he put it on, that he couldn’t close his mouth for joy. Alyosha was not talkative; when he spoke at all, he spoke abruptly, with his head turned away. When told to do anything, or asked if he could do it, he would say yes without the smallest hesitation, and set to work at once.
Alyosha did not know any prayer; and had forgotten what his mother had taught him. But he prayed just the same, every morning and every evening, prayed with his hands, crossing himself.
He lived like this for about a year and a half, and towards the end of the second year a most startling thing happened to him. He discovered one day, to his great surprise, that, in addition to the relation of usefulness existing between people, there was also another, a peculiar relation of quite a different character. Instead of a man being wanted to clean boots, and go on errands and harness horses, he is not wanted to be of any service at all, but another human being wants to serve him and pet him. Suddenly Alyosha felt he was such a man.
He made this discovery through the cook Ustinia. She was young, had no parents, and worked as hard as Alyosha. He felt for the first time in his life that he–not his services, but he himself–was necessary to another human being. When his mother used to be sorry for him, he had taken no notice of her. It had seemed to him quite natural, as though he were feeling sorry for himself. But here was Ustinia, a perfect stranger, and sorry for him. She would save him some hot porridge, and sit watching him, her chin propped on her bare arm, with the sleeve rolled up, while he was eating it. When he looked at her she would begin to laugh, and he would laugh too.
This was such a new, strange thing to him that it frightened Alyosha. He feared that it might interfere with his work. But he was pleased, nevertheless, and when he glanced at the trousers that Ustinia had mended for him, he would shake his head and smile. He would often think of her while at work, or when running on errands. “A fine girl, Ustinia!” he sometimes exclaimed.
Ustinia used to help him whenever she could, and he helped her. She told him all about her life; how she had lost her parents; how her aunt had taken her in and found a place for her in the town; how the merchant’s son had tried to take liberties with her, and how she had rebuffed him. She liked to talk, and Alyosha liked to listen to her. He had heard that peasants who came up to work in the towns frequently got married to servant girls. On one occasion she asked him if his parents intended marrying him soon. He said that he did not know; that he did not want to marry any of the village girls.
“Have you taken a fancy to some one, then?”
“I would marry you, if you’d be willing.”
“Get along with you, Alyosha the Pot; but you’ve found your tongue, haven’t you?” she exclaimed, slapping him on the back with a towel she held in her hand. “Why shouldn’t I?”
At Shrovetide Alyosha’s father came to town for his wages. It had come to the ears of the merchant’s wife that Alyosha wanted to marry Ustinia, and she disapproved of it. “What will be the use of her with a baby?” she thought, and informed her husband.
The merchant gave the old man Alyosha’s wages.
“How is my lad getting on?” he asked. “I told you he was willing.”
“That’s all right, as far as it goes, but he’s taken some sort of nonsense into his head. He wants to marry our cook. Now I don’t approve of married servants. We won’t have them in the house.”
“Well, now, who would have thought the fool would think of such a thing?” the old man exclaimed. “But don’t you worry. I’ll soon settle that.”
He went into the kitchen, and sat down at the table waiting for his son. Alyosha was out on an errand, and came back breathless.
“I thought you had some sense in you; but what’s this you’ve taken into your head?” his father began.
“I? Nothing.”
“How, nothing? They tell me you want to get married. You shall get married when the time comes. I’ll find you a decent wife, not some town hussy.”
His father talked and talked, while Alyosha stood still and sighed. When his father had quite finished, Alyosha smiled.
“All right. I’ll drop it.”
“Now that’s what I call sense.”
When he was left alone with Ustinia he told her what his father had said. (She had listened at the door.)
“It’s no good; it can’t come off. Did you hear? He was angry– won’t have it at any price.”
Ustinia cried into her apron.
Alyosha shook his head.
“What’s to be done? We must do as we’re told.”
“Well, are you going to give up that nonsense, as your father told you?” his mistress asked, as he was putting up the shutters in the evening.
“To be sure we are,” Alyosha replied with a smile, and then burst into tears.
From that day Alyosha went about his work as usual, and no longer talked to Ustinia about their getting married. One day in Lent the clerk told him to clear the snow from the roof. Alyosha climbed on to the roof and swept away all the snow; and, while he was still raking out some frozen lumps from the gutter, his foot slipped and he fell over. Unfortunately he did not fall on the snow, but on a piece of iron over the door. Ustinia came running up, together with the merchant’s daughter.
“Have you hurt yourself, Alyosha?”
“Ah! no, it’s nothing.”
But he could not raise himself when he tried to, and began to smile.
He was taken into the lodge. The doctor arrived, examined him, and asked where he felt the pain.
“I feel it all over,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m only afraid master will be annoyed. Father ought to be told.”
Alyosha lay in bed for two days, and on the third day they sent for the priest.
“Are you really going to die?” Ustinia asked.
“Of course I am. You can’t go on living for ever. You must go when the time comes.” Alyosha spoke rapidly as usual. “Thank you, Ustinia. You’ve been very good to me. What a lucky thing they didn’t let us marry! Where should we have been now? It’s much better as it is.”
When the priest came, he prayed with his bands and with his heart. “As it is good here when you obey and do no harm to others, so it will be there,” was the thought within it.
He spoke very little; he only said he was thirsty, and he seemed full of wonder at something.
He lay in wonderment, then stretched himself, and died.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty six point two
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX point two
When Smitty saw Johnson crumpled on the floor, with Tommy sitting by his side, he realized the secret weapon had worked beyond all expectations. It was too bad Tommy couldn’t pass the police examination, because he had been the most valuable player in the bunch. Ray was still moaning when Smitty picked him up by his good shoulder and made him walk down the stairs. Why bother the paramedics with hauling this guy down the stairs on a gurney? Smitty even smiled when Ray winced on each step. At the bottom of the stairs, Skinner was waiting to escort the prisoner to a car, and make sure he was locked in. Even Skinner managed a smirk as he saw the bad condition Raymond Johnson was in. It was probably wrong to smile at another’s pain, but since his brother and three other people had paid the ultimate price for this man’s greed, it was the right kind of smile. The smile of justice.
Tommy followed the other downstairs, looking over at the bundle in the front room. He recognized his football, and went over to pick it up. As he walked out of the house, Greg Jones looked up and saw the giant man holding the package of money under his arm like a football, and saying, “I’m the quarterback!! I’m ready to throw the ball!!”
Tommy was waving the collection of bills, attempting to get someone to catch. Greg stepped up and signaled for the toss, which Tommy was more than happy to oblige. The “ball” sailed through the air and plopped down solidly in Greg Jones arms.
“Think we can get a shot of my favorite cop and his bundle of money for the station?” Paula asked.
Greg wrapped his arm around her and said quietly, “Only if this is going to be a Paula Rogers exclusive.” She smiled and kissed him lightly. She planned on a very “exclusive” interview.
As Smitty passed by Officer Greg Jones, Greg stopped him to clarify one question. “Harold, now how did you know Ray wouldn’t take a head shot at his friend Tommy?”
Smitty leaned in close and whispered the answer. “I really didn’t know if he would follow the pattern, but the other two officers were shot in the chest. Habit is a hard thing to break, and we figured with the surprise of the big guy showing up, there wouldn’t really be any time for Johnson to think about a bullet-proof vest. A really big bullet-proof vest. Sometimes, you just get lucky. Especially when you have a big friend who is willing to work for candy. Think the district attorney will want to use him as a star witness?”
The three laughed together, trying to picture a judge telling Tommy to sit back down and stop playing with the gavel. Or to give the nice deputy back his bible. But whatever was going to happen to Tommy, they knew the fact he had helped to capture Raymond Johnson would look very good in his file. It would be a first step, if a halting one, to some kind of rehabilitation and a better place for Tommy.
By this time Tommy was running a victory lap, jogging around the house and signaling that his pass had been good for a touchdown. To those who were watching, it seemed like slow jogging, but more like plodding as the runner circled the Parker house once again. One thing was clear to those around Tommy. He knew the joy of the moment, and on his face he also wore a smile.
The doctor told him to stay off the leg for two months, and it had only been one.
Four weeks of waiting to run again was too long, and John Graham decided to try out his recently aerated leg. It was only to be a short run, up and down one of his favorite country roads. He parked the car and stretched out just a bit, fearing if he stretched too much he would damage the muscle again. He could feel the ripped muscles straining already.
Slowly plodding on in his own way, John reviewed the last month. It had been stupid to try to knock Raymond Johnson down with the bundle, and he had been told that by many, many people. He got two holes in his legs for his trouble, but what John didn’t tell the casual observers was that he believed Johnson would have killed him anyway. It may have been the smartest thing he had ever done.
Ranking up with stupidest thoughts ever, many more people had teased him about trying to keep the money, and although Greg Jones had tried to give John credit for helping get the bad guy, most people didn’t really believe John was going to return the money. But the bank didn’t care, because in their eyes, if the money had been in the sheriff’s office, Raymond Johnson might be sunning himself in Mexico at that very moment. Instead, he was recovering from his injuries under guard, and waiting to stand trial for his crimes. He would never see sunlight on a beach again. But the bank insisted on a $10,000 reward for Graham’s quick thinking and careful reasoning, even if everything didn’t look quite right if you examined it closely. The bank got their money, the criminals were behind bars, and all was well with the world.
The occasional sharp pain in his leg was a fit reminder that most decisions have consequences. “We can’t imagine what they are even as we make those decisions,” John thought to himself. “We have the ability to know when a bad decision has been made, but that never seems to stop people from making bad decisions every day.” Plodding through his life, John Graham knew he would make other bad decisions.
Greg Jones had received his moment in the spotlight for his bravery and quick-thinking, with his own Paula Rogers exclusive, which included the announcement of an upcoming marriage. Even Tommy had turned into a celebrity, and several local charities were seeing that this local hero who had helped save the day would now get the kind of guidance and services he truly needed. Tommy loved the attention, and was more than willing to attend ribbon cuttings, make speeches and serve on several special committees. He had found his way.
John Graham noticed a pulling and painful sensation near where the wound had been, and knew that it would be months before that particular sensation would go away. He tried to focus on the good that had happened. The bills were easy to pay this month with the extra money, and some even ended up being saved for the future “rainy” days that seemed to happen several times a year. The money wouldn’t last long, but it was a nice thing to have. It was also nice to be alive. It was great to be plodding along, wondering why life could be so good, and realizing that it only seemed good when compared to the bad we all have to experience. John Graham looked over at the overgrown ditches near the road.
It always amazed him to see the diversity of life, even at the side of a farm road, and he could hear the mice scurrying around in the dried wheat heads and straw. They struggled for their existence just as every other creature does. Life really was good, and John Graham was glad he was around to enjoy it.
A small mouse crept to the side of the road and prepared to cross. It was just ahead of John, and his massive body of John Graham crashing toward it helped the mouse decide to cross before John arrived where the mouse was waiting. John watched the mouse dash across the road to other adventures across the wide black strip of asphalt. John wondered what other adventures awaited him in his future, and decided to just take it one step at a time. As he plodded onward, it was easy to see the expression on his face. It was the plodders’ smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX point two
When Smitty saw Johnson crumpled on the floor, with Tommy sitting by his side, he realized the secret weapon had worked beyond all expectations. It was too bad Tommy couldn’t pass the police examination, because he had been the most valuable player in the bunch. Ray was still moaning when Smitty picked him up by his good shoulder and made him walk down the stairs. Why bother the paramedics with hauling this guy down the stairs on a gurney? Smitty even smiled when Ray winced on each step. At the bottom of the stairs, Skinner was waiting to escort the prisoner to a car, and make sure he was locked in. Even Skinner managed a smirk as he saw the bad condition Raymond Johnson was in. It was probably wrong to smile at another’s pain, but since his brother and three other people had paid the ultimate price for this man’s greed, it was the right kind of smile. The smile of justice.
Tommy followed the other downstairs, looking over at the bundle in the front room. He recognized his football, and went over to pick it up. As he walked out of the house, Greg Jones looked up and saw the giant man holding the package of money under his arm like a football, and saying, “I’m the quarterback!! I’m ready to throw the ball!!”
Tommy was waving the collection of bills, attempting to get someone to catch. Greg stepped up and signaled for the toss, which Tommy was more than happy to oblige. The “ball” sailed through the air and plopped down solidly in Greg Jones arms.
“Think we can get a shot of my favorite cop and his bundle of money for the station?” Paula asked.
Greg wrapped his arm around her and said quietly, “Only if this is going to be a Paula Rogers exclusive.” She smiled and kissed him lightly. She planned on a very “exclusive” interview.
As Smitty passed by Officer Greg Jones, Greg stopped him to clarify one question. “Harold, now how did you know Ray wouldn’t take a head shot at his friend Tommy?”
Smitty leaned in close and whispered the answer. “I really didn’t know if he would follow the pattern, but the other two officers were shot in the chest. Habit is a hard thing to break, and we figured with the surprise of the big guy showing up, there wouldn’t really be any time for Johnson to think about a bullet-proof vest. A really big bullet-proof vest. Sometimes, you just get lucky. Especially when you have a big friend who is willing to work for candy. Think the district attorney will want to use him as a star witness?”
The three laughed together, trying to picture a judge telling Tommy to sit back down and stop playing with the gavel. Or to give the nice deputy back his bible. But whatever was going to happen to Tommy, they knew the fact he had helped to capture Raymond Johnson would look very good in his file. It would be a first step, if a halting one, to some kind of rehabilitation and a better place for Tommy.
By this time Tommy was running a victory lap, jogging around the house and signaling that his pass had been good for a touchdown. To those who were watching, it seemed like slow jogging, but more like plodding as the runner circled the Parker house once again. One thing was clear to those around Tommy. He knew the joy of the moment, and on his face he also wore a smile.
The doctor told him to stay off the leg for two months, and it had only been one.
Four weeks of waiting to run again was too long, and John Graham decided to try out his recently aerated leg. It was only to be a short run, up and down one of his favorite country roads. He parked the car and stretched out just a bit, fearing if he stretched too much he would damage the muscle again. He could feel the ripped muscles straining already.
Slowly plodding on in his own way, John reviewed the last month. It had been stupid to try to knock Raymond Johnson down with the bundle, and he had been told that by many, many people. He got two holes in his legs for his trouble, but what John didn’t tell the casual observers was that he believed Johnson would have killed him anyway. It may have been the smartest thing he had ever done.
Ranking up with stupidest thoughts ever, many more people had teased him about trying to keep the money, and although Greg Jones had tried to give John credit for helping get the bad guy, most people didn’t really believe John was going to return the money. But the bank didn’t care, because in their eyes, if the money had been in the sheriff’s office, Raymond Johnson might be sunning himself in Mexico at that very moment. Instead, he was recovering from his injuries under guard, and waiting to stand trial for his crimes. He would never see sunlight on a beach again. But the bank insisted on a $10,000 reward for Graham’s quick thinking and careful reasoning, even if everything didn’t look quite right if you examined it closely. The bank got their money, the criminals were behind bars, and all was well with the world.
The occasional sharp pain in his leg was a fit reminder that most decisions have consequences. “We can’t imagine what they are even as we make those decisions,” John thought to himself. “We have the ability to know when a bad decision has been made, but that never seems to stop people from making bad decisions every day.” Plodding through his life, John Graham knew he would make other bad decisions.
Greg Jones had received his moment in the spotlight for his bravery and quick-thinking, with his own Paula Rogers exclusive, which included the announcement of an upcoming marriage. Even Tommy had turned into a celebrity, and several local charities were seeing that this local hero who had helped save the day would now get the kind of guidance and services he truly needed. Tommy loved the attention, and was more than willing to attend ribbon cuttings, make speeches and serve on several special committees. He had found his way.
John Graham noticed a pulling and painful sensation near where the wound had been, and knew that it would be months before that particular sensation would go away. He tried to focus on the good that had happened. The bills were easy to pay this month with the extra money, and some even ended up being saved for the future “rainy” days that seemed to happen several times a year. The money wouldn’t last long, but it was a nice thing to have. It was also nice to be alive. It was great to be plodding along, wondering why life could be so good, and realizing that it only seemed good when compared to the bad we all have to experience. John Graham looked over at the overgrown ditches near the road.
It always amazed him to see the diversity of life, even at the side of a farm road, and he could hear the mice scurrying around in the dried wheat heads and straw. They struggled for their existence just as every other creature does. Life really was good, and John Graham was glad he was around to enjoy it.
A small mouse crept to the side of the road and prepared to cross. It was just ahead of John, and his massive body of John Graham crashing toward it helped the mouse decide to cross before John arrived where the mouse was waiting. John watched the mouse dash across the road to other adventures across the wide black strip of asphalt. John wondered what other adventures awaited him in his future, and decided to just take it one step at a time. As he plodded onward, it was easy to see the expression on his face. It was the plodders’ smile.
Adventurous Voyage
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Rules of Engagement
Adventurous Voyage
Sometimes when we are on this marvelous voyage we call life, we endure some unpleasant parts of the adventure. These challenges are presented to us in many different ways, and the way we meet difficulty not only reveals our character, but continues to develop it. Problems we encounter call for solutions, but without the problem, would we have sought the solution?
I hope you are involved in some creative act. Every year, I create a garden in my back forty. It’s really only 40 yards, but that’s plenty of garden for anyone. I prepare for the spring in the dark of winter, when I could be easily persuaded no renewal will ever come from the seemingly eternal coldness. In hopes of spring, I plant new things in my little greenhouse every winter. I don’t know why I wanted to have dozens of different plants all growing in that little protected environment, and some of them don’t even make it out into the summer weather. But it is an action indicating a hope for the change spring will bring.
I can point to each year’s project from the greenhouse growing now in the yard. The purple cone flowers look especially great right now, and planting them and nourishing them from seed makes them so much more special in my mind. It’s a physical reminder that no matter how dark the winter, spring and summer will follow.
I sat on the porch last night after the dogs demanded to visit the front yard, not only to do their business, but to investigate who had recently been by. The cat uses this time to make me pet him, and I do even though I am allergic to cat hair, and only have a cat because our daughter volunteered us as foster parents. The cat stays outside, the mice run away, and when Parker comes up and purrs and rubs my leg, it’s easier to pet him than run away. I look at the oak half-barrel I put by the front door. Some people use these as planters with glorious flowers, but for some reason, I like to create my own little world.
These casks used to hold whiskey, and the insides have been charred. Since they held whiskey, I reasoned they should hold water, and when properly soaked, they provide a home to my creation. I really like small water features, so a small pump which was a candle in the bathroom becomes the oxygenator. Water drips from the plastic candles, which recirculates and introduces oxygen onto the water for plants. There are some water iris, miniature cattails and some water lilies. But sitting water breeds mosquitoes, so there are some mosquito fish in there too.
Here is a little world I have created, where the plants, the fish, and even the wasps who like the water depend on me to provide a hospitable environment. I don’t have to feed the fish, but I do need to remember to add water every once in a while, and maybe scoop out some of the excess moss. Even in my deliberately created world, the world outside that little world has its own influence on what I do. Mosquitoes want to interfere; the fish help control them. Moss wants to grow; I have to intervene. The sun beats down and evaporates water; I have to add some.
This same principle applies to our own little world. We all live here, and some of our most important responsibilities may be to help others, to make this world work both for us and others, to sometimes intervene and do what is needed. W.H. Auden once said, “We are all here on earth to help others; what on earth the others are here for I don’t know.”
Maybe our only role is to be available to help others when they need the help. I always feel so much better when I look outside myself and say as Bill Murray eventually did in “Groundhog Day”; “What can I do for you today?”
Especially when our voyage becomes rougher, it is a blessing to have others who can help in some way, even if only to express sympathy. Just think back to when someone took the time to listen, to come to your aid, or to save the day. I hope you have the opportunity to help someone else like this, creating a better world as we all work together to make this a better place for everyone.
In fact, it seems getting outside ourselves to help others is one of the best ways to help us deal with our problems. A wise person once said, “Trade your troubles with whoever you please, and you will want your own back.”
How’s your world? Need some help? Can someone else use yours?
Rules of Engagement
Adventurous Voyage
Sometimes when we are on this marvelous voyage we call life, we endure some unpleasant parts of the adventure. These challenges are presented to us in many different ways, and the way we meet difficulty not only reveals our character, but continues to develop it. Problems we encounter call for solutions, but without the problem, would we have sought the solution?
I hope you are involved in some creative act. Every year, I create a garden in my back forty. It’s really only 40 yards, but that’s plenty of garden for anyone. I prepare for the spring in the dark of winter, when I could be easily persuaded no renewal will ever come from the seemingly eternal coldness. In hopes of spring, I plant new things in my little greenhouse every winter. I don’t know why I wanted to have dozens of different plants all growing in that little protected environment, and some of them don’t even make it out into the summer weather. But it is an action indicating a hope for the change spring will bring.
I can point to each year’s project from the greenhouse growing now in the yard. The purple cone flowers look especially great right now, and planting them and nourishing them from seed makes them so much more special in my mind. It’s a physical reminder that no matter how dark the winter, spring and summer will follow.
I sat on the porch last night after the dogs demanded to visit the front yard, not only to do their business, but to investigate who had recently been by. The cat uses this time to make me pet him, and I do even though I am allergic to cat hair, and only have a cat because our daughter volunteered us as foster parents. The cat stays outside, the mice run away, and when Parker comes up and purrs and rubs my leg, it’s easier to pet him than run away. I look at the oak half-barrel I put by the front door. Some people use these as planters with glorious flowers, but for some reason, I like to create my own little world.
These casks used to hold whiskey, and the insides have been charred. Since they held whiskey, I reasoned they should hold water, and when properly soaked, they provide a home to my creation. I really like small water features, so a small pump which was a candle in the bathroom becomes the oxygenator. Water drips from the plastic candles, which recirculates and introduces oxygen onto the water for plants. There are some water iris, miniature cattails and some water lilies. But sitting water breeds mosquitoes, so there are some mosquito fish in there too.
Here is a little world I have created, where the plants, the fish, and even the wasps who like the water depend on me to provide a hospitable environment. I don’t have to feed the fish, but I do need to remember to add water every once in a while, and maybe scoop out some of the excess moss. Even in my deliberately created world, the world outside that little world has its own influence on what I do. Mosquitoes want to interfere; the fish help control them. Moss wants to grow; I have to intervene. The sun beats down and evaporates water; I have to add some.
This same principle applies to our own little world. We all live here, and some of our most important responsibilities may be to help others, to make this world work both for us and others, to sometimes intervene and do what is needed. W.H. Auden once said, “We are all here on earth to help others; what on earth the others are here for I don’t know.”
Maybe our only role is to be available to help others when they need the help. I always feel so much better when I look outside myself and say as Bill Murray eventually did in “Groundhog Day”; “What can I do for you today?”
Especially when our voyage becomes rougher, it is a blessing to have others who can help in some way, even if only to express sympathy. Just think back to when someone took the time to listen, to come to your aid, or to save the day. I hope you have the opportunity to help someone else like this, creating a better world as we all work together to make this a better place for everyone.
In fact, it seems getting outside ourselves to help others is one of the best ways to help us deal with our problems. A wise person once said, “Trade your troubles with whoever you please, and you will want your own back.”
How’s your world? Need some help? Can someone else use yours?
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty-six
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Paula saw a change in Ray’s face as he looked out the window. She was relieved he was looking elsewhere, anywhere, except at her. He frowned deeply and stepped back from the window a bit. She read his body language and prepared for the worst.
“I think someone may be coming over to visit,” Ray observed dryly. Then he looked around the room to see if there was a better place to greet his upcoming guests. He pulled Paula off the couch and walked backwards, drawing her along with her back to him, the gun between them. He reached the stairs which went up to the bedrooms. Paula stumbled as she blindly followed, walking backwards and nearly being dragged up the stairs with Ray. Halfway up the stairs he stopped and sat Paula down on the stairs below him. He decided that when his new friends came through the front door, they would only see her sitting in front of the guy they really wanted.
Greg Jones was sprinting to the front door of the Parker house, with Smitty behind him calling out for him to slow down and wait for backup. But Smitty knew Jones would not stop, even to have the front door covered before he stormed in. Smitty waved for some officers to enter in the back.
Greg grabbed the door handle and then thought better of it. Smitty’s shouted warnings had finally reached his logical brain, and he stood sideways against the door frame and told Smitty to cover him. They both were astride the door frame, and since Smitty knew he wouldn’t be able to stop him, he nodded his head and prepared to take fire.
Greg popped the door open and curled around the side of the door, waving his gun in front of him. He immediately saw Paula sitting on the stairs, halfway up, with Johnson mostly hidden behind her. He froze as the standoff began, and almost didn’t notice Smitty rushing in the door to see the same situation.
“Don’t get excited,” Raymond Johnson said firmly, holding the gun just below the base of Paula’s skull. “I’ve got a gun pointed right at you, but it’ll have to go through her first.”
Greg had assumed as much, and as the two officer stood like statues, a thousand possibilities began to flood his mind. He tried to clear them away by speaking calmly, too. “There’s no way out of here, Johnson. We’ve got this place wrapped up tight, and you’re not going anywhere.”
“Maybe,” said Ray slowly. “Or maybe you’ll just back out of here and get me some transportation. I wouldn’t want to have to shoot this beautiful hostage I found. And I don’t think you want me to either. So I may not be leaving here alone, but I think I will be leaving.”
The chance to shoot Johnson in the head flashed through Greg’s mind. He was an excellent shot, and this was close range, but the years of training began to kick in, and he realized he was putting Paula a greater risk by showing force, and forcing the hand of the gunman. “All right, we’re going to back out slowly, and see what we can do about getting a car. Just don’t do anything to her, and I’ll guarantee your safety.”
Paula was afraid the negotiations would go this way. Usually police tried to save lives of the innocent, and sometimes that meant giving in to requests from the guilty. She knew she only had one chance to get this right, and she had been planning it ever since she had been dragged up the stairs. She seemed to remember vaguely a part in a play, which involved a gun and a set of stairs. But she had to wait for the right moment.
Then it came. The door to the back swung open and heavy feet crossed the kitchen, momentarily distracting Ray as he looked back to see if there were other stairs going up from the back. There weren’t, but this was all that Paula Rogers needed, and she decided to stop being a hostage and start helping, one of the worst things a hostage can do.
But this time it worked. As she shouted out “Greg, now!!” she pulled her head forward and tucked into a ball, beginning a somersault down the stairs. Raymond Johnson had the opportunity to follow, but he let go of her blouse as she fell heavily down the stairs. Struggling to keep his balance, he drew the gun up at the two officers, who had already fired a shot apiece. Smitty’s bullet missed and nicked up the carpet, but Jones’s bullet sped to Johnson’s left shoulder and pushed him back up the stairs by its force. Ray did likewise, and scrambled up the stairs before either officer could get another shot off.
Paula fell in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, and as he watched Johnson scurry away, Greg Jones fell to her side and looked for injuries. She grabbed his face and gave him a big kiss, but he pulled her up and out the front door before either could speak.
Smitty was calling for all officers to fall back. Since the hostage was free, this was now a different type of situation, which called for patience instead of force. The suspect was bleeding, and waiting would be easier than getting another officer shot.
Greg was still inspecting Paula for a broken bone or two, but she kissed him again and said, “What is the matter with you? I’m fine.”
“But how,” he stuttered, “you fell down eight or nine steps. And you’re not hurt?”
“Just my pride,” she said, rubbing her backside. “No, really, I’m fine. I didn’t think I could do it just like back in college, but I guess once you learn to ride a bicycle…”
“What are you talking about?” Greg stopped her in mid-sentence.
Paula took a step back and let him examine her from top to bottom. “Do I look injured?”
Greg shook his head “No.”
“It’s like a part I played in college. I had to fall down a set of stairs headfirst, and the correct way to do that is to let your backside be the cushion. I must have fallen down those wooden stairs twenty times in that play, and I never got more than a bruise.” She paused and then looked him in the eye again. “By the way, nice shooting. We make a nice team, Officer Jones.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him long and hard.
The usually quiet suburban road was full of official machinery, from ambulances to police cars. Undercover cars were parked next to patrol cars, and the officers worked quickly to evacuate the neighborhood. They didn’t want any more hostage situations. Smitty was confident this would all be over soon. He called Skinner over.
“How long before the secret weapon arrives?” he asked.
Skinner checked his watch. “Estimated time of arrival is less than ten minutes. Think he’ll bleed to death before we get him out of there?”
Smitty snorted. “If we’re lucky. Do you have that bullet proof vest?”
“Right here.” Skinner held up a very heavy black Kevlar vest.
Ray grabbed part of the bed sheet from upstairs and pulled it off the bed. He wasn’t badly wounded, but didn’t want to bleed more than necessary. He wrapped the sheet around his arm and under his armpit several time, using enough pressure to stop the bleeding. This would have to do until he could think of something else. At least the cops had pulled back, and now that he had a little time, he breathed in deeply and tried to fight off the pain of the gunshot wound. He had to be thinking clearly.
The money was still downstairs on the couch, but Ray didn’t feel safe enough to go downstairs and get it. It would still be down there when he went down, and right now he needed to get these clowns to give him transportation. Then once he was out of here, he could think of what to do next.
Cody Merring crouched and walked at the same time next to the gurney which was taking Mr. Graham to the ambulance. The police did their best to shelter everyone from possible stray gun fire, and keeping the back door of the ambulance between the Graham house and the Parker house, they loaded John Graham into the back. Reba stood shell-shocked next to Cody, who wrapped his arm around her and tried to comfort her as best he could. “It’s all right, Mrs. Graham. You did a good job. He’s going to be fine. It doesn’t look like any major arteries were hit.”
Reba Graham looked up into the eyes of the youngster. “Thank you. You did a very good job, too.” Then she was walking to the front of the ambulance, and it pulled down the street.
Cody Merring went over to Officer Jones and checked to see if there were any other injuries. Jones told him to stand by, since the gunman had been wounded. “He’ll probably need to be bandaged up, too.”
Jones took Paula over to confer with Smitty. Cody Merring stood thinking for a moment. He had never really thought about the fact he might be called to help bad people recover from their injuries. During his training he’d thought about drunk drivers, and how they never seemed to have the worst injuries at the scene, and had wondered at the time how he would feel to have to help the drunken person responsible for the carnage. He now understood, and shaking his head, he only wanted to go home and let this jerk who had held him at gunpoint bleed away. But he knew he couldn’t. So he sat down and waited for his next job.
Raymond Johnson waited patiently by the phone. His shoulder was throbbing, but the blood had stopped flowing. He knew the cops would be calling. The phone rang, and Smitty spoke on the other end. “Johnson, this is Harold Smith. I’m with the state police. You need paramedics in there?”
Skinner smiled as he heard Smitty say this, knowing no paramedics were going up there. Smitty knew he only needed a few more minutes and the secret weapon would take care of the rest. He hoped.
“Yeah. Send up cops dressed like paramedics.” Ray said. “I want a car with a tank full of gas and clear passage out of town.” Ray heard himself saying this, and half-realized there would be no car waiting for him downstairs. The best he could probably hope for was not to get shot again.
“A car could be a problem, but are you sure you can drive?”
Smitty was trying to get a sense of the injuries Johnson had suffered, but Johnson wasn’t biting. “What do you mean? I feel fine.”
Smitty now grinned at Skinner. He had seen the hit, and if Johnson didn’t need major surgery on his shoulder, Smitty would be surprised. “Okay, I’ll check on the car and call back in five minutes.”
He hung up and Ray was left listening to the dial tone. “It was always good to leave them hanging on the line,” Smitty thought to himself. That way Ray would begin to see this lifeline as the only way of that house alive.
The vest was small, and they had to arrange delivery behind the garage of the Parker house. Surprise would be the biggest element, and Smitty didn’t want to ruin the shock value. Clear instructions were a problem, and checking the details several times indicated the mission was not clearly understood, but Smitty was patient and knew they had plenty of time to get this right.
It was probably not following procedure exactly, but it was a way to limit the danger to his troops. There would probably never be an official protest about the special circumstances, and Smitty doubted the participants would complain at all. His superiors might give him that one look, like they didn’t really believe what he had just said. But Skinner had come up with the plan, and he had to admit it was the best option they had at the moment.
The secret weapon walked up the stairs of the house, trying to be quiet as instructed. Ray could hear a noise downstairs and decided to turn his gun from the window, where he kept imagining how many cops he could shoot with his remaining bullets, to the top of the stairs. Whoever it was didn’t speak. Ray shouted down the stairs.
“Who is that down there? I have a gun,” he threatened. “Don’t come up the stairs.” Ray thought he heard a snort, a chuckle? Maybe just the shuffling of feet. “You better not come up here if you know what’s good for you.”
There was a noise of heavy footfalls on the stairs, coming up very slowly now. Ray had never encountered this kind of direct assault in his dealings with the police, nor had he ever heard anyone describe this kind of suicide approach. He raised the gun and decided whoever it was must have a death wish.
As the daylight had just begun to break over the city, and the lights to this vacant house were not turned on, Ray peered through the early dawn light to see a massive head and upper body appear in the stairwell. At first he thought it was John Graham, back to get his money, but this was a bigger man, who continued to grow as he rose up the stairs.
“Raymond!” Tommy recognized Ray first, and couldn’t maintain his vow of silence any longer. He walked toward Ray with outstretched arms ready to give him a big bear hug, which was normally painful. Ray could only imagine the pain he would feel if Tommy squeezed his shattered shoulder. Ray raised the gun and began to shoot into the giant’s body. Three shots in row.
Followed by three others, and then the gun clicked. He was out of bullets.
Tommy didn’t even stop. Though the bullets pushed dents into the fabric and would probably leave bruises on Tommy, the big man didn’t notice the short punches to his chest, and wanted more than anything to give his friend Ray a big hug.
And so that is what he did. Squeezing with all his might the friend he hadn’t seen since the train, Ray let out a yell that let Smitty and the others know it was time to go rescue Ray from Tommy. They had already heard Ray run out of ammo, and now the situation was clearly non-lethal. But they followed procedure anyway and went up the stairs by the book.
Tommy let go of Ray and watched the small man collapse in a pile of pain and misery. Tommy couldn’t understand why Ray wasn’t happy to see him, too. It had been such long time since they had been on the train together, and the nice man from the police station had insisted that Tommy give Ray an extra big hug when he saw him. Tommy had even been promised that if he was extra quiet before he saw Ray that there might be extra candy involved when they all returned to the station house together.
The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty-five
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Logic seemed to slip from the room as John Graham did something incredibly stupid. He decided to try to keep the money. But how? Plod. He took one step forward, and Raymond Johnson was so enamored of his long lost package, that he neglected to keep John Graham far enough away. With one sweep from the left to the right, John used the package as a weapon to deflect the gun away from himself, and with one more crashing thud, used it to whack Ray across the face. The two moves, one to the right, the other to the left sent Ray tumbling down the stairs to the landing, right next to where Officer Jones was crouched just outside the door.
Ray got one shot off as the gun went sideways, and the bullet shot through the drywall in the kitchen. As he tumbled down the stairs, he raged at himself that he hadn’t shot this idiot before now. Gathering himself at the bottom of the stairs, he decided to finish this part of the job right now.
Greg Jones cursed under his breath as his target tumbled to the landing directly in front of him. Now all that separated him and Johnson was the door, which Greg stood back to kick open. He simultaneously shouted, “Police!” as his foot crashed through the door.
Ray was knocked forward by the door, and the shot he fired was low, but still hit its target just below the kneecap. John Graham collapsed at the top of the stairs with a sharp groan, dropping the money. Ray turned and fired once blindly at the force behind him, trying to process all of the data at once; the kicked door, being forced forward, the shout, the shots. Ray knew his only exit was in front of him. He dashed up the stairs, grabbing the money and heading for the heavy sliding glass doors. The alarm had begun ringing by this time.
As Officer Jones had kicked the door open, he saw the shot up the stairs, and then was staring into the barrel pointed back out at him. He ducked behind the rock wall of the front porch, just under the window he had been looking through only moments before. The shot was a wild one, and went straight out the door. Jones realized it had been to cover Johnson as he fled up the stairs. Hearing the heavy footfalls up the steps, ran up the short flight to see Raymond Johnson fleeing out the back door onto the deck. As the sliding glass door was opened, the sirens from the house alarm began wailing, and as was usual in these situations, time slowed to a standstill for Officer Greg Jones.
He kneeled at the side of John Graham, and checked the wound. There was blood, and no doubt there would be pain, but right now Graham was just staring into space, beginning to go into shock. Luckily, Reba crept down the hall and peered around the corner, and after hearing gunshots in her own house, was not eager to enter the front room. Greg called her over.
“Reba, it’s Greg,” he said, motioning her to them. “An intruder has just shot John in the leg, but he’s going to be all right. I need you to get him a towel and hold it on the wound to stop the bleeding.”
Reba stood over both of them, also shocked into inaction. She looked from the gun in Greg’s hand to her husbands’ wound. Greg understood the confusion of the moment, but he only had moments before he could catch Johnson.
“Quick, Reba, go get a towel,” he implored, “I’ve got to go get the bad guy.” Noticing the recognition finally in her eyes, he jumped to his feet and ran out the back door onto the deck.
Ray knew he had only moments to escape, since the cop would stop to help a shooting victim first. But the two options that presented themselves at the bottom of the stairs to the deck were not equally appealing. Although he had crept up the back of the lot along the bushes, the direct path back to the car would make him an easy target, and the yard was long and deep. As the wheels turned in Ray’s head, the other option seemed best, and would probably confuse the cop. So at the bottom of the stairs he turned and ran back around to the front of the house, and was now faced with three options. Turn to the left or right and maybe go around the block to the car, which the cop would probably go straight toward. Or he could go across the street to that darkened house, and wait for the cop to find him, and watch the cop act surprised as Raymond drilled a bullet into him.
Greg dashed to the bottom of the stairs, and looked toward the back of the lot. He needed to cover the car to prevent Ray’s escape, but the yard was so long Greg doubted he had gone that way. Since he had to prevent an escape, Greg ran through the long backyard, hoping to get to the car before Johnson. There was no alternative. Greg just hoped Johnson wouldn’t switch cars again, because if this guess was wrong, there would now be a gunman loose in the neighborhood.
When Greg Jones got to the car, his worst fears were realized. No one was around, and luckily the keys were still in the car. Jones leaned in and grabbed the keys, and then saw the rifle in the back seat. He took the gun and looked around the car. Johnson probably wouldn’t be back to this car, anyway, he thought. He stood and listened carefully. There was not other sound in the neighborhood at this hour of the morning. No other cars were leaving the area, so that meant Johnson was still here somewhere, waiting to escape. Greg thought he heard the sounds of sirens in the distance, and ran back through the Graham’s backyard, ready to brief the reinforcements on the situation.
Cody Merring was running around the far side of the Parker house while Raymond Johnson was running around the near side. Cody had heard the shots, and while sworn to stay at his station, his newly ingrained training kicked in and he leapt from the seat and ran to see if he could be of aid. He knew the protocol though, and wisely called Smitty quickly to say, “I heard gunshots across the street. I’m going over to see if anyone needs help.” It was his first real emergency that was all his own, and he wasn’t going to let the good people of his home town suffer while he could help.
Raymond Johnson got to the police car and quickly checked for keys to make an escape. He thought to himself that this would be the perfect way to slide out of town, just get in the car and pretend to be on the way to an “emergency”. He could even use the flashing lights if he wanted to, but probably the better way would be to just slowly drive from town. But the keys weren’t there. They were jangling from the side of Officer Greg Jones’ belt as he ran to Cody Merrings’ car.
But the radio was working, and as the crackle of the intercom began to rise in the speaker, Ray thought he could hear other noise, but farther off in the distance. Smitty’s car siren could be heard in the distance, and then was also heard over the radio. “Negative, stay in the car. Do not go to the scene, repeat, do not leave the car.” Ray was almost tempted to click the microphone and tell whoever this was that since he didn’t have the keys, he wasn’t going anywhere. But instead, Ray realized these cops he could hear in the background were on the way to meet him. Ray decided he would hide out in this house, and wait to see what developed. No one knew where he was, yet.
Cody heard the gunshots as he ran quickly across the street, looking up and down the street to see if he was exposing himself to any other danger than the one he was certain was in John Graham’s house. He knew he wouldn’t be any help if he was shot, too. He ran to the front door, and since it was still open, even with the frigid night air pouring in, he saw the Graham’s at the top of the stairway. Reba Graham was applying pressure to a wound with a towel that was almost completely blood-soaked. She looked up and only recognized him the kid who used to check out the adventure books when she was a librarian, and she knew that he had taken some of John’s classes. The name jumped to her throat. “Cody, John’s been shot!” Reba sobbed, beginning to lose her focus now that help had arrived.
“I heard. I’ve been training as an EMT. I know I can help,” he said quickly, and just as quickly, she turned her patient over to him. The reddened towel was turning black with blood, and Cody could see the blood leaking from the entry wound. It was probably spilling out of the back wound too. Without a thought, Cody pushed one finger into the bullet hole and held it there. John Graham moaned with pain, and then became unconscious again, slumping against the carpet. Cody felt for the second hole, and found the wound was clear, the bullet had gone straight through, and he kept his fingers in the holes. The blood flow was staunched.
“Mrs. Graham,” Cody asked quietly, trying not to sound urgent, but firm, “would you please get me another towel, and call 911. Tell them John – Mr. Graham has a gunshot wound.”
She looked into the baby face of someone she had loaned books to only five years ago. Now the adventure was in her front room, and her husband was bleeding, and she was unsure just how much to trust this ridiculously young man. But it was only a moment of hesitation, and she went to get more towels. And make the call.
Raymond Johnson crept into the back of the house, wondering where would be the best place to watch the proceedings across the street. So far no one knew he was here, so he could lie low, and quiet, and until a house to house search was conducted, he would be safe. There would be roadblocks, but he had no doubt he could escape. If only he would be quiet and still for just a while longer. As he crossed into the back kitchen, Ray was drawn to the window at the side of the room. He could see the flashing lights of several cop cars approaching the house. Whoever had been in the car just before him must have tipped them off, and he wondered where that other officer was at the moment. Better to stand here and wait for a moment. There could be cops in this house, too, for all he knew.
The cars roared down the street and the sirens, along with the gunshots earlier, got the other people on the street to turn on their lights, to creep out onto their porches and try to see what traumatic event they were missing, hoping to be spectators to the carnage, and then be able to report on it firsthand later to their jealous neighbors who had missed out. Several cars converged on the front of the Graham house, and as officers spilled out of the doors and took cover behind them, a single police officer emerged from the back yard to wave them off, indicating there was no one in the house. Ray heard a voice from the front of the house say plaintively, “Greg!”
Smitty holstered his gun and advanced to get the report from Jones.
Greg spoke up first, knowing that time was of the essence. “Johnson shot Graham in the leg and fled somewhere here into the neighborhood. I haven’t heard any other car activity except you guys. He’s got a handgun. And the money.”
Ray would have sat and watched the cops discuss their strategy, to see if they would point to the Parker house, imagining he was hidden there. But more important, Ray wanted to see the face of his next hostage, who was now standing in the front room looking out at the officers. As he slowly and noiselessly walked up to the front of the room, the rustling of his clothes revealed someone was there. Paula Rogers turned to see a gun pointing at her face.
“Don’t even think about making a sound,” Ray said very quietly, but with such conviction that Paula knew he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. She had reported on hostage negotiations before, and her mind quickly turned over the list of “correct” hostage behaviors which usually helped hostages to survive.
Non-confrontation popped up first. “Okay”, she breathed out. “Whatever you say.” Then she shut up.
Ray liked this hostage. He seemed to recognize her face, and wondered where he knew her from. It was tossing around in his head with the other thoughts of what he might want to do to her besides hold her hostage. The instructions came out first. “Just sit down on that couch, and wait until I decide what we do next.”
She didn’t take her eyes off him, and he freely let his eyes roam over her body. It was a visual assault on her body, and she thought she could see the ideas forming in his eyes. She tried to remain focused, and did as he said. Sitting on the couch, she hoped Greg would get over here soon and check on her.
Smitty called Skinner over and introduced Greg, but they already knew each other, and Smitty grimaced to realize the error. Greg’s deputy Larry Skinner had been killed by this madman, and now his brother Darrell Skinner was here to make sure he didn’t get away this time. The three formed a circle to weigh their options.
“Let’s lock down the town,” he said to the other two. They nodded, and Smitty turned to his second and gave the order. All the roads would be barricaded.
Greg spoke next. “I don’t think he has gone very far, and he may be watching us right now. If I were him, I’d be waiting for a distraction or lull in the action.”
The three nodded again, and realizing they were standing openly in the road, moved over to stand next to a patrol car. “We’ve got back-up coming in from the north,” Smitty said, “and if we have to wait, we’ll wait. What do you think about a door to door?”
They looked around the block and realized that nearly all the doors were already open, with several people standing in doorways trying to watch the drama unfold. As they scanned the scene, the only house with no open door was directly across the street.
“Damn.” Both Smitty and Greg exhaled the word at once, and Skinner looked over at the house as Greg said, “Paula.”
The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty-four
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Officer Jones! You don’t know how glad I am to see you!” Cody blurted out, a little too loud. Greg shushed him and grabbed his knife from his belt and started to cut through the duct tape.
“Thanks, Cody, but we’ve got to be quiet. Was Raymond Johnson with you?” asked Jones.
“Short guy with an attitude?” asked Cody. “Yeah, this guy hijacked me and my car just in front of a police roadblock. He wants to hurt Mr. Graham, and he’s got my gun.”
Greg looked back over at the Graham house, and finally cutting through the tape, started to help Cody unwrap his wrists. “He locked me in my trunk. I’m parked on the other side of the block.”
“He’s probably already in the house,” Greg said, thinking that now he had three people to worry about. He decided Cody could run to the house across the street while Greg was running back up to the Graham house. “Cody, I need you to go to the old Parker house across the street. A friend of mine is asleep there, but she doesn’t know what is going on. Tell her what you know, and that I’m, going into the house. Do you know how to work a police radio?”
“Yeah, that’s one of the things I’ve been studying,” he reminded Greg.
“That’s right. Good. I have a feeling you’re going to be a good man to have around,” said Greg. “Now when I run to the Graham’s driveway, I want you to run at the same time to the back door of the Parker’s. Got it?”
Cody shook his head, and was feeling very confident. Though only 20, Officer Greg Jones had just called him a man, and was depending on him to help out in this situation. It was the kind of emergency he had signed up for, and the adrenalin was pumping. He determined he would not let Officer Jones down.
“Good luck, Cody,” said Greg. “Now let’s do this.”
They both sprinted from the neighbor’s carport at the same time in different directions, without a sound.
John Graham had fallen asleep on the couch. After the fitful dreams, he was sure he would be tossing and turning the night through, and didn’t want Reba to have to suffer for his wild imaginings. John had always been a light sleeper, and when he heard the noise from the basement, it awakened him slightly. He was used to listening to noises from his bedroom, imagining what they could be, and then usually going right back to sleep. It was a strange skill, to be aware while being asleep, but he guessed it had come when he had become a parent, and since his wife slept so soundly, he felt it was his job to keep an ear on the house. He heard the children cry first, and so his job when the children were young had been to go and get them to bring to Reba to be nursed. It had been a good arrangement, because John could usually go right back to sleep. Even the children had taken advantage of his ability to go back to sleep very fast in the days before they had remote controls. They would haul John upstairs to the television, where he would sleep between programs, being urged by his little ones to turn the channel to the next cartoon when the one they were watching was over. And in between, John slept great.
As he was preparing to go back to sleep after the random noise from the basement, he thought he heard the door to the basement creak slightly. This was also unusual, so he opened his eyes this time and looked toward the basement.
He could hear the footfalls on the soft carpet creeping up the stairs. Whoever it was turned slowly on the landing of the front door, and began their ascent up the last set of stairs. John Graham had often wondered just what he would do if faced with an intruder, and found that he was frozen and unable to move, that his breathing had even stopped and he was holding his breath waiting to see who or what was in his house. If he had wanted to, he couldn’t have moved a muscle.
Raymond Johnson emerged at the top of the stairs, and gave a cursory glance around the front room. The shadowy shapes on the couch didn’t betray that John Graham was lying there, nor did Ray expect to encounter anyone until the bedrooms, which he assumed were toward the other side of the house. Ray slowly moved across the front room while John Graham watched him. John recognized the man from the television, the man who was here in his house now to get the money that John had taken from him. As Ray crossed the opening just before the kitchen, and approached the hall, John could see the gun in Ray’s hand silhouetted against the light from the kitchen. It was decision time. Ray was about to enter the hall when John found himself speaking up, much to his surprise.
“You don’t need to go back there,” John said, as calmly as he could, but even he could hear the ragged edge of fear in his voice. “I’m the one you’re looking for.” John slowly stood up in front of the two windows in the front room, and now he was silhouetted by the lights from the street. “I’ve got your money,” he said, not believing he was ready to give it up so easily after all of his machinations. But John realized he was only acting in defense of his wife, who was breathing heavily in the bedroom. Traumatizing her wasn’t worth any amount of money.
Ray turned to see the giant figure standing in the shadows. “You John Graham,?” Ray asked simply.
“Yeah,” John confirmed. “Let me get your money.”
Greg Jones had dashed to the carport and was now standing outside the front door. He could hear voices inside, but the words were unclear. Johnson had probably entered through the back side of the house, and trying the front door as quietly as possible, he found it was locked. Now he was down to three options, which he quickly weighed. He could go around the back and try to gain access to house without being noticed. He could break down the front door and risk getting his friend shot. Or he could wait patiently here where he could hear John’s voice, and he assumed Raymond Johnson’s voice, and see what came next. Patience was not his strong suit, but knowing this was a shortcoming, Greg forced himself to edge closer to the door and listen.
Cody by this time had run across the street and into the back of the Parker house. Still running toward the front of the house, he found Paula almost immediately and gently kneeled down to wake her. She was slow to gain full awareness, and called for Greg.
“Officer Jones isn’t here,” said Cody patiently, using his best calming skills, which included speaking in a quiet voice. “He sent me over to tell you to stay here and watch the house, while I go check in on the radio.”
“What’s happening?” Paula mumbled, trying to focus.
“There’s a man with a gun over at Mr. Graham’s,” Cody explained simply, but the words shook Paula out of her stupor almost immediately.
“A gun?” she inquired. “And Greg’s over there, too?
“Yeah,” said Cody. “Watch the house, and I’ll be right back.” He ran back through the house and went straight to the car and the radio.
Smitty picked up the radio and warned whoever was on the other end that this was an official police frequency. Cody jumped right back with more unofficial language.
“I know. Officer Greg Jones told me to get right to this radio and tell you he has the suspect at the Graham house,” Cody explained.
“Raymond Johnson is at John Graham’s house?” asked Smitty.
“I don’t know who the guy is. Short, reddish hair. All I know is he kidnapped me and hijacked my car, and he wants something Mr. Graham has. Officer Jones told me to call you right away.”
“Any gunshots?” Smitty wondered out loud, and Cody told him it was still quiet there.
Smitty clicked back. “Thanks for the information. We are about 10 minutes from your location. Can you stay by the radio and call if there is anything to report?
Cody smiled broadly and said, “You bet. I’ll be right here.”
Smitty frowned. This was not going the way he had hoped.
John Graham stood looking at the man who was pointing the gun at him. It resembled what he had dreamt, but this was all too real. John wasn’t necessarily afraid, and he wasn’t nervous. It was a strangely peaceful resolution to a situation he had pictured much differently. There was no high drama, just a guy with a gun who wanted his package. He didn’t even really seem in too much of a hurry, but just determined to get what he wanted.
Raymond Johnson evaluated the cause of his headaches, and because the man was so big, he was glad he had the gun in his hand. But Raymond Johnson was also not nervous, and knew he had to be patient until the money was in his hands. Then it would be time to shoot this guy.
“So where’s the money?” Ray said simply.
“It’s right here in the room, over in that closet,” John motioned, unsure whether the gunman wanted him to move or not. “I can get it for you, if you want.”
“I want,” Ray said, and motioned him toward the closet with the gun. “But let’s not try anything funny, like pulling a gun out of there.” The room was dark, but both men’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and they could now see each other’s faces. Both faces wore solemn masks of seriousness.
John crossed slowly to the closet, resigned to the fact that the money was about to be handed over, and that he might or might not live through this night. The elimination of all other choices seemed to clarify the simplicity of the equation. Do as you were told. See what happens next. Plod yet another step.
Opening the closet door, John pulled on the string attached to the bare bulb in the closet more out of habit than of a conscious choice, but it was the wrong choice. Ray almost barked out, “What are you doing? Get rid of the light!”
John obeyed instantly, and both of their eyes readjusted. Ray’s finger was tight on the trigger, but he showed more restraint than usual. He wanted to see the money before he did anything rash. John reached up to the top shelf, not far for his long body and long arms, but almost inaccessible to Reba, which is why he had hidden it there. John fumbled in the dark, but the package was soon in his grasp, and he slowly turned to face his adversary. He held the bundle with both hands, and the heavy weight of the package reminded him there was a substantial pile of money in his grasp.
Greg Jones had lowered himself to peer through the front window next to the door. The translucent lace could be easily seen through, and the shape of two bodies was clearly evident at the top of the stairs. It was time to take a shot, since this was as clear a shot as he would get, but he hesitated one moment, making sure the smaller figure was clearly in his sights. Then suddenly, he wasn’t.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Officer Jones! You don’t know how glad I am to see you!” Cody blurted out, a little too loud. Greg shushed him and grabbed his knife from his belt and started to cut through the duct tape.
“Thanks, Cody, but we’ve got to be quiet. Was Raymond Johnson with you?” asked Jones.
“Short guy with an attitude?” asked Cody. “Yeah, this guy hijacked me and my car just in front of a police roadblock. He wants to hurt Mr. Graham, and he’s got my gun.”
Greg looked back over at the Graham house, and finally cutting through the tape, started to help Cody unwrap his wrists. “He locked me in my trunk. I’m parked on the other side of the block.”
“He’s probably already in the house,” Greg said, thinking that now he had three people to worry about. He decided Cody could run to the house across the street while Greg was running back up to the Graham house. “Cody, I need you to go to the old Parker house across the street. A friend of mine is asleep there, but she doesn’t know what is going on. Tell her what you know, and that I’m, going into the house. Do you know how to work a police radio?”
“Yeah, that’s one of the things I’ve been studying,” he reminded Greg.
“That’s right. Good. I have a feeling you’re going to be a good man to have around,” said Greg. “Now when I run to the Graham’s driveway, I want you to run at the same time to the back door of the Parker’s. Got it?”
Cody shook his head, and was feeling very confident. Though only 20, Officer Greg Jones had just called him a man, and was depending on him to help out in this situation. It was the kind of emergency he had signed up for, and the adrenalin was pumping. He determined he would not let Officer Jones down.
“Good luck, Cody,” said Greg. “Now let’s do this.”
They both sprinted from the neighbor’s carport at the same time in different directions, without a sound.
John Graham had fallen asleep on the couch. After the fitful dreams, he was sure he would be tossing and turning the night through, and didn’t want Reba to have to suffer for his wild imaginings. John had always been a light sleeper, and when he heard the noise from the basement, it awakened him slightly. He was used to listening to noises from his bedroom, imagining what they could be, and then usually going right back to sleep. It was a strange skill, to be aware while being asleep, but he guessed it had come when he had become a parent, and since his wife slept so soundly, he felt it was his job to keep an ear on the house. He heard the children cry first, and so his job when the children were young had been to go and get them to bring to Reba to be nursed. It had been a good arrangement, because John could usually go right back to sleep. Even the children had taken advantage of his ability to go back to sleep very fast in the days before they had remote controls. They would haul John upstairs to the television, where he would sleep between programs, being urged by his little ones to turn the channel to the next cartoon when the one they were watching was over. And in between, John slept great.
As he was preparing to go back to sleep after the random noise from the basement, he thought he heard the door to the basement creak slightly. This was also unusual, so he opened his eyes this time and looked toward the basement.
He could hear the footfalls on the soft carpet creeping up the stairs. Whoever it was turned slowly on the landing of the front door, and began their ascent up the last set of stairs. John Graham had often wondered just what he would do if faced with an intruder, and found that he was frozen and unable to move, that his breathing had even stopped and he was holding his breath waiting to see who or what was in his house. If he had wanted to, he couldn’t have moved a muscle.
Raymond Johnson emerged at the top of the stairs, and gave a cursory glance around the front room. The shadowy shapes on the couch didn’t betray that John Graham was lying there, nor did Ray expect to encounter anyone until the bedrooms, which he assumed were toward the other side of the house. Ray slowly moved across the front room while John Graham watched him. John recognized the man from the television, the man who was here in his house now to get the money that John had taken from him. As Ray crossed the opening just before the kitchen, and approached the hall, John could see the gun in Ray’s hand silhouetted against the light from the kitchen. It was decision time. Ray was about to enter the hall when John found himself speaking up, much to his surprise.
“You don’t need to go back there,” John said, as calmly as he could, but even he could hear the ragged edge of fear in his voice. “I’m the one you’re looking for.” John slowly stood up in front of the two windows in the front room, and now he was silhouetted by the lights from the street. “I’ve got your money,” he said, not believing he was ready to give it up so easily after all of his machinations. But John realized he was only acting in defense of his wife, who was breathing heavily in the bedroom. Traumatizing her wasn’t worth any amount of money.
Ray turned to see the giant figure standing in the shadows. “You John Graham,?” Ray asked simply.
“Yeah,” John confirmed. “Let me get your money.”
Greg Jones had dashed to the carport and was now standing outside the front door. He could hear voices inside, but the words were unclear. Johnson had probably entered through the back side of the house, and trying the front door as quietly as possible, he found it was locked. Now he was down to three options, which he quickly weighed. He could go around the back and try to gain access to house without being noticed. He could break down the front door and risk getting his friend shot. Or he could wait patiently here where he could hear John’s voice, and he assumed Raymond Johnson’s voice, and see what came next. Patience was not his strong suit, but knowing this was a shortcoming, Greg forced himself to edge closer to the door and listen.
Cody by this time had run across the street and into the back of the Parker house. Still running toward the front of the house, he found Paula almost immediately and gently kneeled down to wake her. She was slow to gain full awareness, and called for Greg.
“Officer Jones isn’t here,” said Cody patiently, using his best calming skills, which included speaking in a quiet voice. “He sent me over to tell you to stay here and watch the house, while I go check in on the radio.”
“What’s happening?” Paula mumbled, trying to focus.
“There’s a man with a gun over at Mr. Graham’s,” Cody explained simply, but the words shook Paula out of her stupor almost immediately.
“A gun?” she inquired. “And Greg’s over there, too?
“Yeah,” said Cody. “Watch the house, and I’ll be right back.” He ran back through the house and went straight to the car and the radio.
Smitty picked up the radio and warned whoever was on the other end that this was an official police frequency. Cody jumped right back with more unofficial language.
“I know. Officer Greg Jones told me to get right to this radio and tell you he has the suspect at the Graham house,” Cody explained.
“Raymond Johnson is at John Graham’s house?” asked Smitty.
“I don’t know who the guy is. Short, reddish hair. All I know is he kidnapped me and hijacked my car, and he wants something Mr. Graham has. Officer Jones told me to call you right away.”
“Any gunshots?” Smitty wondered out loud, and Cody told him it was still quiet there.
Smitty clicked back. “Thanks for the information. We are about 10 minutes from your location. Can you stay by the radio and call if there is anything to report?
Cody smiled broadly and said, “You bet. I’ll be right here.”
Smitty frowned. This was not going the way he had hoped.
John Graham stood looking at the man who was pointing the gun at him. It resembled what he had dreamt, but this was all too real. John wasn’t necessarily afraid, and he wasn’t nervous. It was a strangely peaceful resolution to a situation he had pictured much differently. There was no high drama, just a guy with a gun who wanted his package. He didn’t even really seem in too much of a hurry, but just determined to get what he wanted.
Raymond Johnson evaluated the cause of his headaches, and because the man was so big, he was glad he had the gun in his hand. But Raymond Johnson was also not nervous, and knew he had to be patient until the money was in his hands. Then it would be time to shoot this guy.
“So where’s the money?” Ray said simply.
“It’s right here in the room, over in that closet,” John motioned, unsure whether the gunman wanted him to move or not. “I can get it for you, if you want.”
“I want,” Ray said, and motioned him toward the closet with the gun. “But let’s not try anything funny, like pulling a gun out of there.” The room was dark, but both men’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and they could now see each other’s faces. Both faces wore solemn masks of seriousness.
John crossed slowly to the closet, resigned to the fact that the money was about to be handed over, and that he might or might not live through this night. The elimination of all other choices seemed to clarify the simplicity of the equation. Do as you were told. See what happens next. Plod yet another step.
Opening the closet door, John pulled on the string attached to the bare bulb in the closet more out of habit than of a conscious choice, but it was the wrong choice. Ray almost barked out, “What are you doing? Get rid of the light!”
John obeyed instantly, and both of their eyes readjusted. Ray’s finger was tight on the trigger, but he showed more restraint than usual. He wanted to see the money before he did anything rash. John reached up to the top shelf, not far for his long body and long arms, but almost inaccessible to Reba, which is why he had hidden it there. John fumbled in the dark, but the package was soon in his grasp, and he slowly turned to face his adversary. He held the bundle with both hands, and the heavy weight of the package reminded him there was a substantial pile of money in his grasp.
Greg Jones had lowered himself to peer through the front window next to the door. The translucent lace could be easily seen through, and the shape of two bodies was clearly evident at the top of the stairs. It was time to take a shot, since this was as clear a shot as he would get, but he hesitated one moment, making sure the smaller figure was clearly in his sights. Then suddenly, he wasn’t.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty-three
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Greg Jones was walking back to the house when he saw a car he thought he recognized. Being one of two cops in a small town of only 1600 meant you got to know nearly everyone, nearly everyone’s car, their children, their dogs and their histories. Greg thought this yellow Honda looked like one that Peter Merring used to drive, but had since given to his kid Cody to use while studying to be an EMT. But the car was on the wrong side of town. Not only did small town cops get to know all about a town’s population, but Greg had learned their habits, and it was rare to see some cars ever travel to the opposite side of town. Most people stayed in their own little orbits, taking the same roads at the same times to the same jobs for twenty to thirty years.
Greg slid up next to the house and hid in the darkness as he approached the front, trying to see if this was Cody Merring driving the Accord. Peering through the darkness in the dead of the night, he thought he could see someone who looked like Cody Merring, but the shape in the back seat was what made the hair on the back of Greg Jones’ head begin to stand. He thought he could see someone crouched just over the seat, looking toward John Graham’s house. The dark shape in the backseat moved its head toward the house, and as the car passed, continued to look at the house, moving to the back of the seat. Then the car went past the last two houses and turned left. Greg ran to the corner and tried to see if the car was going straight, but he arrived just in time to see it turn left again. Greg thought to himself they must be circling the block. He decided his best defense would be to get to the driveway of the Graham house rather than risk running across the road when they returned. He dashed across the street and stood in the shadows of the open carport. Peering into the street. The car didn’t return, but Greg decided to be patient and wait. They would be back.
“Stop the car,” Ray barked out as they arrived at the far side of the city block. There were fewer houses here, but Ray told Cody to stop in front of one of the houses and park. “Turn off the car and get the keys. Go to the back and open up the trunk.”
Cody knew what the drill would be, and trying his best to still think of something that would help, he moved slower than usual, hoping the gunman wouldn’t recognize the pace. As they approached the trunk, Cody even thought about grabbing the gun, but thought better of it, realizing he would probably end up dead, and then Ray would go kill Mr. Graham anyway. He opened the lid and began to climb in.
“Not so fast,” Ray half-whispered, trying not to draw attention to two men standing over a trunk in the middle of the night. “Pull out some duct tape or rope.”
Cody did as he was told, and the grey roll of tape that had been placed in the trunk to help for emergencies was about to become his captor. Cody put his hands behind his back. Ray wasn’t buying.
“Put your hands in front of you, and you start the tape around your wrists,” he said to Cody. It sounded impossible, but a man was holding a gun telling him to tape his wrists, so he pulled a short section out and pushed it on his left wrist, then tried to pull it over the wrist with his right hand. Ray kept the gun in his hand and grabbed the tape. Once stuck to Cody’s left wrist, Ray simply pulled the tape around the two wrists several times, then around the middle several times. There was no need to cut the roll. Ray left it hanging between Cody’s wrists. “Now get in the trunk,” he said, motioning with his gun.
Cody Merring did as he was told, and hoped that this guy was not going to just shoot the trunk with bullet holes and leave him for dead. But even this idiot isn’t that stupid, Cody thought, and resigned himself to darkness for a while.
Smitty arranged for the details of Skinner’s plans. It might just work, but they would have to buy some time. If there were hostages involved, there usually was some negotiating time allowed by both sides, so Smitty was too worried about getting all the pieces in place to make it work. It would be so much easier if the guy would just run out of the house with his guns blazing, and just like the shoot-outs of the wild west, Smitty would only need one clear shot and this whole situation would be concluded. But it rarely happened so simply, and the complications were what threw off the best laid plans. The devil is in the details.
Smitty was hoping for no more complications.
Greg Jones heard his breath in the crisp night air, and listened for any other noises. There was no car noise within the few blocks of this house, so the car must have stopped shortly after turning the corner, and was probably just on the other side of the block. If that was Raymond Johnson Greg had seen in the back of Cody’s car, he would now be on his way to the Graham house. Greg had an advantage in knowing the layout of the block, and the three possible routes to the house. The big brick wall the Seaver’s had built would be the first obstacle, but that didn’t extend the whole block. The back of the Grahams’ house was still old barb-wire farm fences from when animals were kept here. The ways to the back of the house were open fields with some obstacles. Raymond Johnson could also just walk around the block and approach from the front, but from what Greg had learned studying burglaries, he knew the back entrance was preferred. But how to cover the front and the back, and not miss Johnson trying to get into the house?
Greg decided to retreat a bit to the other side of the street, but just up from the house they had been using for the stakeout. It would give him a clear view of the house from the side, the front, and he would be able to see anyone approaching from the back. It might slow his response time, Greg thought, but that was only important if this Johnson guy got into the house. Greg was hoping for a clear shot. After a warning, of course.
Raymond Johnson smiled to himself and crept along the side of the Graham yard. It couldn’t have provided better cover, since the bushes were taller than him and solid from the back to the front. He had got stuck on one piece of barbed wire, but that was easily fixed and now he was approaching the house. He hid in the shadows next to the tall bridal wreath stems, which had lost their leaves but not the ability to hide him.
He could see two rear entrances. There was the upper deck he had anticipated, with a sliding glass door and a large alarm sticker big enough for Ray to see from his vantage point fifty feet out. That would be the big alarm door, where the sirens would sound if it was entered. The other door at the back side of the lower level of the split-level home would be a sounded alarm, but not one that would wake the neighbors. Ray hated alarms, and usually just passed by when he saw the posted signs. But the money he wanted was inside this house, and alarm or not, he was going to get in.
There was a window next to the lower door, small, perhaps for a bathroom, but still big enough for him to get into. There were larger, bedroom windows still further to the west, but these would probably also be alarmed. Ray decided to gamble a bit, and decided that whoever put in the alarm system was too lazy to put switches on the smaller window. The installer had probably convinced John Graham that anyone trying to break in on the ground floor would use the larger windows, and not this small one. Ray could even hear the salesman pitching this in his head, convincing the idiot that the estimate would have to be rewritten if they included this small window, which of course, no one would use. Except Ray.
Cody had almost immediately began to try to find the latch in the trunk. He remembered reading about child release latches in some cars so they wouldn’t get trapped inside, and even if there was no latch, he might still be able to flip the hatch open. His fingers were free, so they danced across the metal strips, pulling and tugging, but none of the manipulations seemed to do anything. He was just about to turn and kick the latch open, when something clicked in the assembly. He stopped what he was doing and tried to push it the trunk lid up. It floated upwards and sat upright. The night sky was filled with stars and the air was crisp.
As he climbed out of the trunk, which is difficult enough without having both hands tied together, he tried to think if there was a knife or razor in the trunk he could use to cut his duct tape handcuffs. Then he realized having his hands free was not as important as trying to stop what was about to happen to Mr. Graham. He began to run, slowly, around the block, waving both hands before him. Cody never realized how valuable hands were to balance in running until just now, and his concentration was focused on not falling over.
Ray had crept up to the window unseen by Greg. Officer Jones had been looking the wrong direction when he crossed the short 3 feet of uncovered area from the shrubs to the back of the house, and as Ray sat looking at the window, he smiled broadly, not believing his luck. Not only did he not see any sign of wires inside the lightly frosted glass, but the outer pane of the double-pane window was already cracked. All he would have to do is stick his elbow where the window was broken, and a light tap is all it would take to break it open.
Ray quickly scanned the backyard, and then laughed quietly to himself. If there was anyone watching him, they would have seen him cross the lawn already. But it was a habit to check the landscape. Then Ray laughed at another “security” measure taken by most people. He wondered if there was a dowel of wood just inside the window, lying in the track to stop bad people like him from sneaking in the windows. Maybe if there was, Ray thought to himself, I’ll pick it up just after I break the window, and save it for a souvenir.
Greg was having trouble concentrating on the house. It was taking far too long for Johnson to cross to the house if that had been him in the car. There were no noises, no barking dogs, no cars driving – even in the outlying areas. It was all too quiet. Scanning from the front sides to the back, Greg thought about Paula sleeping in this house next to him, and wondered if he should wake her and tell her what was going on. Then Greg thought he heard the dull thuds of footfalls. Someone’s feet were thumping their way around the block to his left, and he withdrew further back into the shadows. None of this was making any sense, and Greg was beginning to doubt that he had really seen anything at all. Maybe Cody Herring had a new girlfriend on this side of town that Greg didn’t know about, and was on this side of town for a late night rendezvous. But still Greg Jones held his pistol in front of him, waiting to see what was making that strange shuffling noise.
Around the corner came Cody Herring, who seemed to have his wrists bound. He was running as best he could with both arms hanging in front of him, and seemed determined to run up to the front door of the Graham residence. Greg had recognized him immediately, but had hesitated only a moment when he realized where Cody was going. Greg ran quickly across the street to intercept Cody before he got to the Graham house, and was going to tackle him to get him to stop if that was necessary. As Greg neared, Cody heard him coming and turned and slowed his run. Greg grabbed the boy by the shoulders and hustled him to the carport of the house next the Grahams house, and steadied Cody next to him in the shadows. All was quiet.
Ray had been waiting for some kind of noise to help cover the sound of crunching glass, so when he heard some shuffling of the tree leaves in the front yard he pushed his elbow once. It bounced back, and hitting his other hand with a fist just a little harder, the glass gave way hardly making any sound at all. It sounded as if someone had dropped a heavy book on the cement. Ray began to pick the shard out of the way of the window handle, and pulling it from the inside, grabbing the short dowel he correctly assumed was there. Slowly pushing the window back, Raymond Johnson slowly crept into the house of John Graham, determined to leave a richer man than he entered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Greg Jones was walking back to the house when he saw a car he thought he recognized. Being one of two cops in a small town of only 1600 meant you got to know nearly everyone, nearly everyone’s car, their children, their dogs and their histories. Greg thought this yellow Honda looked like one that Peter Merring used to drive, but had since given to his kid Cody to use while studying to be an EMT. But the car was on the wrong side of town. Not only did small town cops get to know all about a town’s population, but Greg had learned their habits, and it was rare to see some cars ever travel to the opposite side of town. Most people stayed in their own little orbits, taking the same roads at the same times to the same jobs for twenty to thirty years.
Greg slid up next to the house and hid in the darkness as he approached the front, trying to see if this was Cody Merring driving the Accord. Peering through the darkness in the dead of the night, he thought he could see someone who looked like Cody Merring, but the shape in the back seat was what made the hair on the back of Greg Jones’ head begin to stand. He thought he could see someone crouched just over the seat, looking toward John Graham’s house. The dark shape in the backseat moved its head toward the house, and as the car passed, continued to look at the house, moving to the back of the seat. Then the car went past the last two houses and turned left. Greg ran to the corner and tried to see if the car was going straight, but he arrived just in time to see it turn left again. Greg thought to himself they must be circling the block. He decided his best defense would be to get to the driveway of the Graham house rather than risk running across the road when they returned. He dashed across the street and stood in the shadows of the open carport. Peering into the street. The car didn’t return, but Greg decided to be patient and wait. They would be back.
“Stop the car,” Ray barked out as they arrived at the far side of the city block. There were fewer houses here, but Ray told Cody to stop in front of one of the houses and park. “Turn off the car and get the keys. Go to the back and open up the trunk.”
Cody knew what the drill would be, and trying his best to still think of something that would help, he moved slower than usual, hoping the gunman wouldn’t recognize the pace. As they approached the trunk, Cody even thought about grabbing the gun, but thought better of it, realizing he would probably end up dead, and then Ray would go kill Mr. Graham anyway. He opened the lid and began to climb in.
“Not so fast,” Ray half-whispered, trying not to draw attention to two men standing over a trunk in the middle of the night. “Pull out some duct tape or rope.”
Cody did as he was told, and the grey roll of tape that had been placed in the trunk to help for emergencies was about to become his captor. Cody put his hands behind his back. Ray wasn’t buying.
“Put your hands in front of you, and you start the tape around your wrists,” he said to Cody. It sounded impossible, but a man was holding a gun telling him to tape his wrists, so he pulled a short section out and pushed it on his left wrist, then tried to pull it over the wrist with his right hand. Ray kept the gun in his hand and grabbed the tape. Once stuck to Cody’s left wrist, Ray simply pulled the tape around the two wrists several times, then around the middle several times. There was no need to cut the roll. Ray left it hanging between Cody’s wrists. “Now get in the trunk,” he said, motioning with his gun.
Cody Merring did as he was told, and hoped that this guy was not going to just shoot the trunk with bullet holes and leave him for dead. But even this idiot isn’t that stupid, Cody thought, and resigned himself to darkness for a while.
Smitty arranged for the details of Skinner’s plans. It might just work, but they would have to buy some time. If there were hostages involved, there usually was some negotiating time allowed by both sides, so Smitty was too worried about getting all the pieces in place to make it work. It would be so much easier if the guy would just run out of the house with his guns blazing, and just like the shoot-outs of the wild west, Smitty would only need one clear shot and this whole situation would be concluded. But it rarely happened so simply, and the complications were what threw off the best laid plans. The devil is in the details.
Smitty was hoping for no more complications.
Greg Jones heard his breath in the crisp night air, and listened for any other noises. There was no car noise within the few blocks of this house, so the car must have stopped shortly after turning the corner, and was probably just on the other side of the block. If that was Raymond Johnson Greg had seen in the back of Cody’s car, he would now be on his way to the Graham house. Greg had an advantage in knowing the layout of the block, and the three possible routes to the house. The big brick wall the Seaver’s had built would be the first obstacle, but that didn’t extend the whole block. The back of the Grahams’ house was still old barb-wire farm fences from when animals were kept here. The ways to the back of the house were open fields with some obstacles. Raymond Johnson could also just walk around the block and approach from the front, but from what Greg had learned studying burglaries, he knew the back entrance was preferred. But how to cover the front and the back, and not miss Johnson trying to get into the house?
Greg decided to retreat a bit to the other side of the street, but just up from the house they had been using for the stakeout. It would give him a clear view of the house from the side, the front, and he would be able to see anyone approaching from the back. It might slow his response time, Greg thought, but that was only important if this Johnson guy got into the house. Greg was hoping for a clear shot. After a warning, of course.
Raymond Johnson smiled to himself and crept along the side of the Graham yard. It couldn’t have provided better cover, since the bushes were taller than him and solid from the back to the front. He had got stuck on one piece of barbed wire, but that was easily fixed and now he was approaching the house. He hid in the shadows next to the tall bridal wreath stems, which had lost their leaves but not the ability to hide him.
He could see two rear entrances. There was the upper deck he had anticipated, with a sliding glass door and a large alarm sticker big enough for Ray to see from his vantage point fifty feet out. That would be the big alarm door, where the sirens would sound if it was entered. The other door at the back side of the lower level of the split-level home would be a sounded alarm, but not one that would wake the neighbors. Ray hated alarms, and usually just passed by when he saw the posted signs. But the money he wanted was inside this house, and alarm or not, he was going to get in.
There was a window next to the lower door, small, perhaps for a bathroom, but still big enough for him to get into. There were larger, bedroom windows still further to the west, but these would probably also be alarmed. Ray decided to gamble a bit, and decided that whoever put in the alarm system was too lazy to put switches on the smaller window. The installer had probably convinced John Graham that anyone trying to break in on the ground floor would use the larger windows, and not this small one. Ray could even hear the salesman pitching this in his head, convincing the idiot that the estimate would have to be rewritten if they included this small window, which of course, no one would use. Except Ray.
Cody had almost immediately began to try to find the latch in the trunk. He remembered reading about child release latches in some cars so they wouldn’t get trapped inside, and even if there was no latch, he might still be able to flip the hatch open. His fingers were free, so they danced across the metal strips, pulling and tugging, but none of the manipulations seemed to do anything. He was just about to turn and kick the latch open, when something clicked in the assembly. He stopped what he was doing and tried to push it the trunk lid up. It floated upwards and sat upright. The night sky was filled with stars and the air was crisp.
As he climbed out of the trunk, which is difficult enough without having both hands tied together, he tried to think if there was a knife or razor in the trunk he could use to cut his duct tape handcuffs. Then he realized having his hands free was not as important as trying to stop what was about to happen to Mr. Graham. He began to run, slowly, around the block, waving both hands before him. Cody never realized how valuable hands were to balance in running until just now, and his concentration was focused on not falling over.
Ray had crept up to the window unseen by Greg. Officer Jones had been looking the wrong direction when he crossed the short 3 feet of uncovered area from the shrubs to the back of the house, and as Ray sat looking at the window, he smiled broadly, not believing his luck. Not only did he not see any sign of wires inside the lightly frosted glass, but the outer pane of the double-pane window was already cracked. All he would have to do is stick his elbow where the window was broken, and a light tap is all it would take to break it open.
Ray quickly scanned the backyard, and then laughed quietly to himself. If there was anyone watching him, they would have seen him cross the lawn already. But it was a habit to check the landscape. Then Ray laughed at another “security” measure taken by most people. He wondered if there was a dowel of wood just inside the window, lying in the track to stop bad people like him from sneaking in the windows. Maybe if there was, Ray thought to himself, I’ll pick it up just after I break the window, and save it for a souvenir.
Greg was having trouble concentrating on the house. It was taking far too long for Johnson to cross to the house if that had been him in the car. There were no noises, no barking dogs, no cars driving – even in the outlying areas. It was all too quiet. Scanning from the front sides to the back, Greg thought about Paula sleeping in this house next to him, and wondered if he should wake her and tell her what was going on. Then Greg thought he heard the dull thuds of footfalls. Someone’s feet were thumping their way around the block to his left, and he withdrew further back into the shadows. None of this was making any sense, and Greg was beginning to doubt that he had really seen anything at all. Maybe Cody Herring had a new girlfriend on this side of town that Greg didn’t know about, and was on this side of town for a late night rendezvous. But still Greg Jones held his pistol in front of him, waiting to see what was making that strange shuffling noise.
Around the corner came Cody Herring, who seemed to have his wrists bound. He was running as best he could with both arms hanging in front of him, and seemed determined to run up to the front door of the Graham residence. Greg had recognized him immediately, but had hesitated only a moment when he realized where Cody was going. Greg ran quickly across the street to intercept Cody before he got to the Graham house, and was going to tackle him to get him to stop if that was necessary. As Greg neared, Cody heard him coming and turned and slowed his run. Greg grabbed the boy by the shoulders and hustled him to the carport of the house next the Grahams house, and steadied Cody next to him in the shadows. All was quiet.
Ray had been waiting for some kind of noise to help cover the sound of crunching glass, so when he heard some shuffling of the tree leaves in the front yard he pushed his elbow once. It bounced back, and hitting his other hand with a fist just a little harder, the glass gave way hardly making any sound at all. It sounded as if someone had dropped a heavy book on the cement. Ray began to pick the shard out of the way of the window handle, and pulling it from the inside, grabbing the short dowel he correctly assumed was there. Slowly pushing the window back, Raymond Johnson slowly crept into the house of John Graham, determined to leave a richer man than he entered.
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