Will Baer - Hell's Half Acre

What’s going on? I say.

You fucking psycho, says Jude. You’ve let him see my face.

You’re his mother, says Miller. He’s got to see your face.

Jude is seething. I am not his mother.

Who’s the father? says Jeremy.

Miller frowns. That’s not your line, boy.

Molly reads from the script, irritated. Who’s the father?

I am, says Miller. Or I might have been.

This is a scene? I say.

I thought we weren’t shooting tonight, says Molly.

Fuck this, I say. I’m not playing this game.

The boy needs you, says Miller, softly.

The boy, I say. The boy needs to go home. He needs to sleep in his own bed.

Why are you doing this? says Jude.

Miller shrugs. I have a theory that actors need to be surprised now and then. Besides, the boy has to get used to being in front of the camera.

The boy is terrified, says Molly.

What’s your point?

John, for god’s sake. You can’t make a kidnapped boy memorize dialogue.

Of course not, says Miller. He will be allowed to improvise.

How is that going to work? I say.

Witness, he says.

Miller removes the black hood from the cage to reveal a small brown rabbit. Now he takes off his top hat and places it on the table, upside down.

Do you believe in magic, Sam?

The boy looks at me and I shake my head, fiercely.

No, he says.

Interesting, says Miller. I thought all little boys believed in magic. Would you like to see this rabbit disappear?

The boy shrugs one shoulder. Then nods. Daphne reaches down and strokes the hair out of his eyes. Miller takes the rabbit from the cage and places it inside the hat. He waves his right hand slowly over the hat, muttering incoherently. Everyone watches him, curious to see what will happen. Miller counts to five, then turns the hat over. The rabbit falls out of the hat and crouches on the table, shaking.

Tharn, I say. The rabbit is tharn.

Miller feigns surprise, waving his hands.

I know what he’s going to do before he does it, but I can’t stop him. I sit frozen, my hands like stones on the table. Miller picks up the rabbit with both hands and strokes its head once, twice. Then without changing his expression, tries and fails to break the rabbit’s neck. Blood sprays from its nose, and the rabbit begins to scream like nothing I have ever heard.

Molly cries out loud, incoherent.

Goddamn it, says Jude. Goddamn it, John.

She picks up the crippled, screeching rabbit and takes it out of frame, to the kitchen. The screaming abruptly stops. Sam still clings to Daphne’s hand. His face is so white he looks as if he will faint. A puddle of urine appears at his feet.

Motherfucker, I say.

I come out of my chair and hurry to the boy, growling at Daphne to get the hell away from him. I lift the boy up by his armpits and hold him close to my chest.

I whisper to him, my voice low. Okay, you’re okay.

Jeremy moves in with the camera, a slow zoom.

I look up and Miller has taken a gun from his breast pocket. His face still bloody.

What are you doing, Poe? he says.

I stare at Miller. I pray God strikes him with boils.

This gun contains live rounds, says Miller. If you’re interested in such matters.

Are we done? I say. Are we done with this scene?

The boy is heavy, so heavy he could crush you but at the same time he weighs nothing. I take him down the hall to the bathroom. He’s trembling, a little. His face pressed against my neck. His pajamas are wet and now my shirt is wet but I don’t want him to think I notice. I hold him close. I tell him he’s cool.

You’re cool, little man. You’re okay.

Into the bathroom and I close the door. The same black-and- white tiles. The light over my head is bright as the sun on snow and I wonder where the camera is.

The camera. The camera is obscure.

I ease the boy down onto the fuzzy black bathmat. He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t look into my eyes. His hands on my shoulders. He stands with his feet wide apart and I notice how small his feet are, smaller than my hands. His feet just about kill me. He doesn’t look up. I can hear him breathing.

Do you want to take a bath? I say.

He doesn’t answer at first. Then nods, fiercely.

He doesn’t want to let go of my shoulders so I pull him over to the clawfoot tub with me. I turn the hot and cold taps until the water feels warm but not too warm. There is a bottle of cucumber-flavored bubble bath on a little shelf next to the tub and I dump some of that in.

The water turns pleasantly green.

Does your dad ever call you Sam I am?

The boy nods again.

Would you, I say. Would you could you in a box?

He stands there, breathing.

Not with a fox, he says. Not in a box.

The tub fills slowly and the room is white with steam. The boy and I are quoting everything we can remember from Green Eggs and Ham, and making up new ones. Not in a boat, not with a goat. Not on a slippery slope. Not at the end of a rope. Not on a train by god, and never in the rain. Not in the house of pain. I ask him if he wants to take his bath now. I know it won’t kill him but I hate for him to stand around in pajamas soaked with urine. I have been in those shoes. I have stood in my own piss and it’s not cool. The boy nods and says he needs some privacy.

Yeah, I say. That’s right. Everybody needs privacy sometimes.

Sam looks up at me now and I see how red his eyes are, how dirty his face is. I want to wash his face but I don’t know if he will let me.

The action figures. The action figures are in Molly’s room.

Hey, I say. Do you want some friends to play with in the tub?

Sam nods. Okay, he says. What kind of friends.

How about some good guys, I say.

He shakes his head. I don’t want any bad guys.

I leave him to undress and go down the hall to Molly’s room. She is sitting on the bed, smoking a cigarette and agitated as hell. I ignore her. The toys are in the green chair. I dropped them there, before we went into the dining room. I dig through the bag and come up with Batman and the Silver Surfer. D.C. and Marvel and therefore not of the same universe but a fine combination nonetheless. Vengeance and poetry, the stuff of life. What else is there. I rip the packages open, careful not to drop Batman’s grappling hook. I wonder if the Surfer’s little surfboard will float and now I notice that Molly is staring at me.

Molly is staring bullets at me.

What?

I don’t know.

How is he? I say.

Yeah, she says.

He pissed himself. He’s not happy.

Molly wraps her arms around herself. She’s pretty, so pretty. I wonder what it’s like to be pretty. If it gives you strength. If it pulls you under the surface, somehow. Molly begins to rock back and forth and I know she needs me to talk to her, to sit on the bed with her and make sense of things but she’s going to have to wait.

Wait, I say.

Back down the hall and I have a feeling that Jude is lurking, waiting for me in the shadows. Jude will soon jump out at me and stick her tongue in my ear and say something freaky. Jude is always lurking somewhere, lately. But there’s no sign of her. I can’t smell her and instead I run into Huck. He’s crouched in the hall, a beer in each hand.

Hey, he says. Hey, man.

I stop and stare down at him. Huck is a big man but he manages to shrink into the shadows. He lifts one of the beers to his mouth and drinks. Then wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

Hey, I say. Are you okay?

No, he says. I’m about two thousand miles from okay.

Where is Jeremy?

The fuck I know. He went off with Jude somewhere, and Daphne.

Nice, I say. That gives me something nasty to think about.

Huck shivers. Uh-huh.

What about Miller?