Lee Goldberg: The Walk

If Buck sensed any of this, he kept quiet about it, but not silent. He whistled Disney tunes as they walked. Marty didn’t know if it made Clara feel better, but it helped him. He wished Buck had started whistling downtown instead of talking. The whole journey would have been a lot more pleasant.

The moon shone brightly over the frontier storefronts and wood-plank sidewalks of old town Calabasas, a collection of over-priced restaurants, antique stores, and real estate offices. The small street was designed to replicate the ambience of the stagecoach stop that existed there in the 1860s. Despite its genuine historical underpinnings, the street still looked like an abandoned movie set and, as it turned out, was about as sturdy. Against the quake, the buildings folded up flat like cardboard boxes. The wood planks of the sidewalk splintered violently, snapping with such force that torn boards were thrown into the trees, snagging in the branches.

But this wasn’t the real Calabasas, which was more appropriately symbolized a few blocks further west by a Mediterranean-style shopping center that boasted the world’s largest Rolex timepiece, mounted over a Ralph’s Supermarket that had its own full-time sushi chef.

They were so close to home now, Marty wondered if Beth would hear him if he screamed her name.

“We’re almost home,” Marty said excitedly.

Clara stopped. “You said you were taking me home.”

“I am,” he said.

“But I don’t live here.”

Marty looked at her and suddenly realized the terrible misunderstanding they had. They were so close to home, in a few minutes it wouldn’t have mattered. Why couldn’t he keep his big mouth shut?

“I’m taking you to my house,” he said as sweetly as he could.

“I want to go home,” Clara said, her little chin trembling, her lips drooping into a frown.

“I know you do. I’m sorry you misunderstood,” Marty said to Clara. “Your mommy asked me to take you to my house.”

“Why?” she cried.

He looked to Buck, who shrugged helplessly. This was Marty’s problem.

“Because she wants you to be safe,” Marty replied.

“I want to go home!” Clara jerked her hand away from his and marched off in a crying fury, stomping her feet.

Beth would know how to handle this better than he. She was great with kids. All he had to do was get Clara to go a few more blocks and it would all be over.

Marty turned and whispered to Buck. “Maybe you ought to grab her and carry her the rest of the way.”

“I don’t know how to carry a child,” Buck replied.

“You carry them like a bag of groceries.”

“So I hold her by the hair and swing her beside my leg?”

Marty was about to reply when he realized something. He didn’t hear Clara crying any more.

He didn’t hear her at all.

“Clara?”

Marty turned to see her standing absolutely still a few yards away, staring in horror at the tiger, a dead Labrador in its slavering jaws.

N o.

At first, Marty thought he was hallucinating, then he remembered the circus banners along Ventura Boulevard, and knew this was real. The tiger must have escaped during the quake.

The big animal let out a low, rumbling growl, its eyes locked on Clara.

“Don’t move, Clara,” Marty whispered, “and don’t look into his eyes.”

Marty had no idea if that was going to help, but he had to tell her something to make her believe he knew what he has doing.

Buck took out his gun and whispered. “The kid is in the way.”

Marty nodded and moved slowly towards her.

The tiger didn’t like that, or he decided Clara looked tastier than what he already had. He dropped the dog carcass and growled again, exposing his moist, bloody teeth.

Marty saw that the dog’s throat was almost entirely ripped apart, its head barely attached by a few strings of torn flesh. And he couldn’t help thinking what those same jaws would do to Clara’s neck.

Clara whimpered and stepped back. The tiger advanced slowly, the muscles in his hind legs twitching.

Marty was too far away to reach her. There was only one thing he could do: Make the tiger come for him. It worked in Jaws 2 for Roy Scheider, who whacked an oar against a 6-million-volt electric line and got the shark to chomp on it. So Marty whacked his stick against the ground and prayed Buck was a good shot.

“Hey, tiger, look at me you ugly son-of-a-bitch.”

The tiger did, snarling.

“Yeah, that’s it, I’m the one you want,” Marty yelled, banging his stick and hobbling towards the animal. “Come and get me if you’ve got the guts.”

The tiger lowered his head and snarled, taking a slow step towards him and away from Clara.

Marty glanced at her and whispered. “Run Clara!”

She did and at the same instant, Marty roared and charged the animal. The tiger pounced. Marty dived to the ground and Buck fired twice, the gunshots sounding like explosions.

The tiger leaped over Marty and kept on running, scrambling into the protection of the bushes and the darkness beyond.

The gunshots were still echoing in Marty’s ears as he struggled to his feet, the wound in his side oozing blood again. At least that was the only place he was bleeding. Clara ran to him crying and hugged him as tightly as she could. He wanted to cry too, only with frustration at the malevolent God that was tormenting him.

A tiger? You attacked me with a fucking tiger? Haven’t I been through enough already?

Clearly the answer was no. Fate wasn’t through with Martin Slack yet. At this point, Marty wouldn’t be surprised if he stepped on his front lawn and sank in quicksand.

Buck came up behind them, still holding his gun.

“Thank you, Buck,” Marty could feel Clara’s little heart pounding.

“That’s what the gun is for. Let’s get moving. I don’t want to be here if Tony the Tiger comes back for his sugar flakes.”

Marty straightened up, wincing in pain. His blood had gotten on Clara, but if she noticed, she didn’t care. She looked up at him, still trembling, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I want my mommy.”

“I want mine, too.” Marty held his hand out to Clara. “You were very brave, Clara. Can you be brave for me for a little while longer?”

She sniffled and took his hand. Marty gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze and they started walking, giving the dead dog a wide berth. They also kept a watchful eye out in case the tiger returned or a swarm of locusts happened to show up or a freak tornado touched down. Marty was ready for anything now.

“That was a big tiger,” Clara said, relieved and a bit proud of herself.

“Yes it was,” Marty said, feeling exactly the same way. This was an adventure they’d shared and survived, learning something about each other at the same time. The girl was tough; he knew that now. Clara stood up to the tiger without making a sound. He was certain she’d survive the loss of her mother and emerge stronger from the ordeal.

And Clara, for her part, knew that this stranger could be trusted, that he would protect her and comfort her as her own mother would.

They soon came to the sprawling shopping center that was the town square of Calabasas. People were bathing in the artificial pond on the corner, underneath the cracked, synthetic boulders of the fake, non-functioning waterfall and the sign advertising the center. Behind them, the giant Rolex had fallen and smashed into the parking lot.

When they rebuild this place, Marty thought, they should consider a Timex instead. It takes a licking and keeps on ticking, and it’s probably a lot cheaper.

Marty, Clara, and Buck followed the street that sloped behind the center and rose into the hills, leading them finally to the red tiled guard house and iron gates of Oakridge Hills Estates.