Billie Mosiman: Wireman

Nick closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He hated Eileen. Older children had said that word to him before. But never someone his own age. Most ten-year-olds did not know what “whore” meant. Eileen knew too much and said too much.

Eileen suddenly hopped out of Nick’s range. She was scared. She had made him mad, but she really had not wanted to go that far. Yet he stood between her and the house, between her and something cool to drink. He was awful. A bully. She vowed silently never to speak to him again.

“You should run away from home, you’re so stupid,” she said. “I watched you Saturday. You didn’t know. You were squeezing a frog and kept on till he was squished dead. I saw you!”

That was it. The last of her ammunition against Nick. The memory of Saturday’s kill scared her. It had taken a long time for the frog to die. When Nick had dropped it to the ground he had walked away in a daze.

Eileen had told no one what she saw. There was something horrible about Nick Ringer that she would never be able to get across to adults, something worse than even they imagined.

Nick looked up at the saffron sky and took slow, deep breaths. He heard his brother stalking toward the bordering bushes to return home. Nick slid his gaze sideways and saw Daley disappear into the leafy branches. He turned abruptly and left the yard, following Daley.

Eileen stood rooted to the spot, amazed Nick had given in. She heard their back door slam shut. Trembling and sweaty, feeling guilty about the name-calling, Eileen raced for her house and stayed inside the remainder of the day. Even her mother’s yelling could not induce her to go outdoors again.

That night when the moon rode high across the night sky, Nick slipped from his bed, went out the back door quietly, and crossed into Eileen’s yard.

He sat in the damp grass at the base of the T-bar and watched his neighbor’s back steps. The adults in both houses had been in bed for hours. A few minutes later the bushes rustled and Daley stepped through.

Silently, he walked to where Nick sat and hunched down, rocking back on his heels.

“What’s going on?” Daley asked.

“I thought you were asleep. I heard you snoring.”

“I woke up when you left,” the younger boy explained.

He wiped his nose though it did not need it and glanced at the blanket of stars overhead. “What are you going to do?” His eyes combed the heavens as if he did not care what the answer might be. It did not really matter to him anyway.

“I’m gonna string up her cat,” Nick said calmly.

Daley slowly turned to his brother. He sucked in his breath, counted to ten, and let it out again. “What for?” he asked.

“Because she deserves it.”

“You’ll get whipped for that. We both might. ”

“I don’t care. I’m gonna do it.”

Daley rocked back and forth in the grass. Dampness soaked through his jeans and made him shiver.

“How’re you gonna string it up?” he asked cautiously.

“With this.” Nick dipped his right hand into his pocket and withdrew a three-foot length of thin wire.

Daley looked quickly away. He licked his dry lips. “Shingles is like her baby doll. She’ll cry.”

“I know.” Nick smiled softly.

“Maybe you shouldn’t do it,” Daley suggested.

“She called me names.”

“You called her names too. We all do that. I don’t care what they call us anymore, do you?”

There was a long silence before Nick replied. “Yeah, I care. I care a lot.”

It was nearly dawn before the kitten straggled out from beneath Eileen’s house, meowing as it climbed the cement steps. Eileen loved the motley tabby kitten obsessively. She carried it everywhere with her—on her shoulders, in her bicycle basket. She sometimes dressed it in doll clothes and crooned lullabies until it fell asleep in her arms. She would have slept with Shingles if her parents had permitted it. Nick knew all about Eileen and Shingles.

Daley had fallen into a light doze. When Nick moved stealthily to the begging kitten, his brother woke up and watched. Nick scooped up the gray-black ball of fur and cupped his hand over its mouth. He carried it to the clothesline.

“Come on, Nick. Don’t do it, huh?” Daley pleaded as he stood up.

“Shut up,” Nick hissed, his concentration ebbing.

He pulled the wire from his pocket. The noose slipped into place around the small furry neck. The kitten did not have a chance to protest. Its tiny body swung gently by the thin wire from the arm of the clothesline’s T-bar. It stared into the night, not seeing, its tongue lolling like a fat worm from its pink mouth. Nick studied the corpse closely for signs of life. After a lingering look at Eileen’s house, he went to his house without speaking to Daley.

The younger boy followed, a hangdog sadness bowing his youthful body into that of a stunted old man.

Eileen’s parents discovered the kitten after breakfast. They called Nick’s mother into their yard to see Shingles hanging by the wire noose, the stiffened body an incomprehensible warning swaying in the summer breeze.

They did not have any proof, of course, they made that perfectly clear, but everyone knew Nick was the culprit. Even his mother knew it. Eileen had accused him, turning her reddened eyes away when he was led into the yard, his head unbowed.

No one was able to coerce Nick into admitting guilt. His mother beat him for three nights with a wide leather belt, but the punishment seemed useless. Then Daley was beaten, the belt digging deep and raising half-inch welts on his legs and back, but there was no betrayal.

Nick later confided to his brother. “It didn’t hurt much.”

“Well, it hurt me. I can’t sit down or sleep on my back,” Daley complained.

“You could’ve told on me. I didn’t care. I was gonna get a whipping for it anyway.”

Daley shrugged and quick tears came to his eyes. “Oh, I didn’t care. It didn’t hurt that bad.” He paused and considered his next statement. “I don’t think you really had to kill Shingles, though, Nick. It was a pretty kitten.”

“It was just a dumb stupid cat. It was supposed to die.”

“Okay, Nick, it’s all right. Don’t get mad,” Daley said quickly.

“I’m not mad. Not at you.”

Nick leaned over and hugged his brother.

“Nick?” Daley said after an amiable silence.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t do it anymore, okay? I don’t want you to do that anymore.”

Nick walked away from Daley, unable to make a promise he expected he would have to break.

Deep down inside he knew it would happen again.

And again.

The kitten’s death was simply the beginning.

Vietnam

Quang Ngai / Bordering Forest

1974

DALEY RINGER expected to die. He was twenty-two years old and specially trained for guerrilla warfare, but he did not believe the training was going to save him this time. Luck had run out for both him and Nick.

It was only a matter of who would get it first. Daley prayed that Nick would outlive him. To die alone would be the ultimate horror.

“Nick?” The whisper seemed to carry through the thick screen of leaves and branches like the raucous caw of a jungle bird. “Nick, are you awake?”

“Sure, I’m awake. I don’t want to fall out of this motherfucker and land smack in the arms of a gook.”

The two brothers sat on the limb of a tree close to the trunk.

“My trick knee keeps popping,” Nick said, holding his right leg out in the air cautiously The kneecap clicked so loudly that Daley flinched. He wished Nick would stop. It was malting him edgy.

“I wish to hell I could sleep one night on the ground,” Nick complained.