Robert Tanenbaum - Absolute rage

They walked back toward the house by a shortcut, a sandy path that wound around the kind of slight rise that passed for a hill in eastern Long Island, and through a shady copse of pines. At the base of this hill there was a seep under some boulders where Lucy had once found dog violets, and she wanted to see whether there were any now. Suddenly the sound of machine-gun fire burst out, as imitated by a ten-year-old boy. Lucy flung up her hands, screamed, and collapsed on the path. There was more machine-gunning.

"Die dramatically," Lucy advised from the ground. Dan did an ahrrrg, staggered, and fell in a heap.

"I got you!" crowed Zak from among the boulders. They rose and inspected the machine-gun nest, a sandy notch dug out and camouflaged with branches. The machine gun was a length of three-inch plastic drainpipe.

"I thought you guys were at the beach," said Lucy.

"We were but it was boring. I was being imaginary until you guys came along. You didn't see me until I got you."

"Yes, but we weren't looking for an ambush. Next time you want to be lower down, so you're not silhouetted against the sky. They call it the military crest. Where are the rest of your men?"

Zak pointed out a few places nearby. "Uh-uh," she said, and knelt to scratch a plan in the dirt. "Okay, let's say an eight-man squad. Your machine gun is here. Automatic rifles here, here, here, and here. You wait until their point man gets here, and you open up with your automatic rifles from both ends. The enemy forms a perimeter right here, where the trail dips a little, and that should be right in the beaten ground of your machine gun. They call it a kill sack. See?"

"What if they run into the woods?"

"Well, you already mined the woods, and if you have mortars, they'd be preregistered right there. The point of an ambush is to get everyone down in the first minute. So they can't call for support."

Zak nodded, taking it in. Dan gaped. Zak said, "You learned that from that guy, right?"

"His name is Tran."

"Yeah. Dad really doesn't like him, does he?"

"No, he doesn't."

"But Mom likes him. And you like him."

"I don't like him. I love him."

Zak looked puzzled. "You can't do that. Love is like like but more."

"Actually, it's not. Like is from here"-she touched his head-"love is from here." She poked him in the center of his chest so that he squirmed away. "La coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connais pas."

"That's French," said Zak.

"That's right. You should go back to the beach before Dad thinks you're drowned and calls the police."

Zak laughed and trotted off with his drainpipe, spraying the woods with deadly blasts. They walked on.

"Wow, what was that all about?" Dan said after a minute. "Who's Tran?"

"Tran is an elderly Vietnamese gentleman. He was sort of my governess when I was growing up. He also worked with my mom."

"And he taught you military stuff? Was that all on the level?"

"Oh, yes. And from a distinguished practitioner. We did small-unit problems all afternoon in Central Park. I also know how to tail someone, shake a tail, and clear a building of defenders. And shoot."

"Why?"

"Oh, partly it was practical. My mom had a lot of enemies at the time and he wanted to protect me. The other stuff… he was of the opinion that you never could tell what was going to happen in your life. He was planning to teach literature and ended up guerrilla fighting almost his whole life. So he wanted me to be prepared. Weird, but there it is. Yet more useless knowledge in my head."

"What happened to him?"

"Oh, he's a small-time gangster now. He's a pretty awful person, I guess, but he's our awful person. He and my mom get along fine."

Marlene had no problem putting another plate on the table, after having first called Rose Heeney to tell her these plans. They had a polite conversation, like two school mothers arranging an overnight for a fifth-grader, as if Heeney violence had not occurred on Marlene's doorstep. The weekend oozed along peacefully. Sunday, Lucy whipped the twins out of bed with the cry "Pagan babies! Up! Up! Prayer is better than sleep!" and drove them off to mass at St. Perpetua's in Southold. Just after one, the Heeneys came by, with their car packed for the trip. Marlene gave them a civilized lunch at which no alcohol was served, nor were the fights mentioned. Heeney discussed dogs he had known and trained for hunting, to all appearances an affable good old boy. It was perfectly artificial, but not at all unpleasant. Giancarlo gave Lizzie an origami crane, but secretly. Dan and Lucy allowed their eyes to meet for tiny instants, but otherwise kept away from one another. When the clan left, something heavy seemed to go out of the air. Dan Heeney felt a pang of disloyalty, for he felt this, too, but it did not prevent him from enjoying the rest of the day.

That evening, Marlene put Dan in a tiny room at the end of the upstairs hall, originally the hired girl's room, as Marlene explained, and more recently used for sewing. It held a narrow iron cot, a dresser, an old Singer, and a dressmaker's dummy.

"You won't mind sharing a room with Ermentrude, will you?" Marlene asked, indicating this object.

"No, ma'am."

"Feel free to run up a party dress, if you want."

He blushed and showed an uncomfortable smile. Oh, now I've impugned his manhood, Marlene thought. Should I watch the badinage henceforth? Maybe not; the boy needs a thicker skin, and this family is the place to get it.

While Dan was thus engaged, Lucy was on the phone with her best (and nearly only) friend, Mary Ma in New York. After the usual exchange of the latest, Lucy asked, "Listen, Ma, do you know Dan Heeney? He's in your class."

"Dan Heeney the Lollipop?"

"The what?"

"If it's the same guy. Tall, golden curls, big blues, looks like an angel on a Christmas card."

"That's him. Why do they call him that?"

"Because everyone's dying for a lick. It takes something to draw us MIT girls from our studies, but he's a something in that class. How do you know him?"

"He's living in our house out here."

"Lucy! You sneaky bitch! How did you arrange that?"

"I didn't; it just happened. Anyway, what's he like?"

"Smart enough to stay in Cambridge. Manners. Eats with his mouth closed, which is not universal among the elite here at MIT, I'm sad to say. Oh, the tragic flaw. He's in love with Olivia Hampton; she's sort of a skanky, depraved SoHo wanna-be type, works in a coffee shop near here. The Human Bean? She's a singer, ha ha. Anyway, he worships her, apparently, and of course, she thinks he's appalling. What a waste!"

Lucy was not exactly let down by this news, as she had not allowed herself to rise very high up. If Dan Heeney noticed a certain cooling of her attentions, he did not show it. He was in any case used to being held in low esteem by girls he was interested in.

Karp left for the City on Tuesday, and life at the dog farm settled into a pleasant, disorderly routine. Dan often recalled during this period Lucy's remark about her mother's medieval aspect. The farmhouse often did resemble a lesser court of that period: the cooking of huge, spicy meals for many noisy people; enormous black dogs underfoot, snapping at scraps and being cuffed away from the plates; strangers arriving at the last moment, always fairly interesting ones, cops and dog breeders, relatives and priests; the dog handlers, louche, profane, and voluble, always in and out of the house, with their half-fabulous animal tales; the children raucous and filthy, bringing unwholesome objects in for inspection; oldies blaring from the greasy radio above the sink; the silence that fell in the midst of all this when Lucy bowed her head and said grace. It was as different as possible from his own family's mealtimes, which were nuclear and short, Red always having to dash for meetings, Emmett stuffing it in and jumping up to go play ball or see his girl. After that and after the intense year at school, monastic despite his best efforts, it was like living in a dream, the colors brighter, the scents more heady than in real life.