David Gates - Jernigan

Though on the other hand, just getting some job merely to avoid having to figure out what to do with yourself all day long — Christ. This hand, that hand, the other fucking hand.

I walked left on Maple, went a block and took Nottingham over to Oakdale. This part of town beat the hell out of Heritage Circle. Big old one-and two-family houses, mostly wood-shingled still, though more and more with new aluminum siding or brickface. Big old trees in the strip of earth between street and sidewalk; their roots, swelling and swelling through the years, now tilted up every third or fourth square of concrete.

On the sidewalk up ahead, a woman was pushing a baby carriage toward me; stroller, I should say. Thing where the kid has to sit there with the world coming at him. Young woman, green colleen sweater for a fall day. A little plump, as a mother ought to be, now what kind of a thing is that to say? Pale, pretty face, straight reddish bangs. Map of Ireland, if Jernigan’s any judge. Still a bit of a flirt, it seemed to me, but now only occasionally wheedled into sex, as is proper for a mother. I can’t believe it’s Peter Jernigan coming out with this stuff.

It bothered me that I really knew nothing about the neighborhood except that it looked like it was still 1953. Which seemed pretty irresponsible, to change your life (to say nothing of your son’s life) without even looking into stuff like that. Well, here comes your chance: a totally disinterested party.

“Hi, excuse me,” I said, and then didn’t know how to go on. Having trouble deciding what tone to try to strike. I’d been going to ask if she lived around here, but that was patently a rapist’s question. I also thought about asking her if she was Irish and noting that I was Irish too. That might sound deranged, but not rapisty.

She stopped, glanced down at her baby, then gave me a quick smile, off-on-off, apparently a sign of attention.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m sort of new to the neighborhood here, and in fact I’m actually thinking of …”It seemed weird to say moving in permanently, because what would that mean to somebody who didn’t know the situation? Absolutely nothing. “Thinking of buying here,” I said.

Boy, never lie: do you see what a mistake this was? New to the neighborhood implies you’re already in the neighborhood; thinking of buying implies you’re not. What was she supposed to assume, that I was renting? Oh, probably it all just sounded to her like friendly gabble.

“But what I was wondering,” I said, “I assume you live around here”—sneaking the rapist’s question by her—“and I was just wondering if this is, you know, a good place to be.”

Her eyes were narrowing and narrowing. “You’re talking about safetywise?”

“Well, sort of,” I said. “I mean, not just that.”

She looked over her shoulder, then said, more quietly, “You mean is it going black? I would say not at all.”

It had taken, what, ten seconds to find the ugly place in her? Probably she was nice on the whole and this was just something that was being discussed around here a lot. So now I would have to manage some way of not embarrassing her for having said a racist thing without being complicitous myself.

“I guess not so much that,” I said, “as just, you know, is it okay in general?”

“I wouldn’t really know what you’re talking about,” she said, reaching down and adjusting the baby. “Christopher sit up . Excuse me?” And she pushed past.

I would have called “Sorry” after her, but what for? To acknowledge openly that I’d given her the rebuke she already knew she’d been given?

Well, so much for checking out the neighborhood. Not that a bunch of thoughtful pros and cons wouldn’t have been even less helpful. I mean, at least I’d found out that this was a neighborhood where blacks weren’t moving in, however you were supposed to feel about that. Uh-oh, no cultural diversity. Though in fact all I’d really found out was that this was a neighborhood where people didn’t want blacks moving in. However you were supposed to feel about that . Uh-oh, be coming after me next.

I kept going on Oakdale in the direction of Hamilton Avenue (east, I guess it was, though I’d never entirely gotten my bearings anywhere in New Jersey), thinking I really ought to check out how long it took to walk to the nearest shopping. In case I lived to see gasoline go up to ten dollars a gallon, I suppose. After walking for fucking ever I finally got to the E-Z Mart, just around the corner from Hamilton Quik Dry Clean. It was quarter to four, which told me absolutely nothing since I hadn’t looked at my watch when I left. I went in and bought a Diet Coke I didn’t want.

I was obviously going to do this crazy thing. Why Martha, rather than some other woman? Because she was there in front of me. Although I was probably refusing to acknowledge some dark psychoschmycho thing, probably having to do with my mother. What else did anything have to do with? I’d probably just decided to think it could be made to work, since basically anything could be made to work if you took it a day at a time, so why not this.

Probably not the most caring decision I ever made in my life. If you could call it a decision.

Back at the house, I found Martha down in the cellar feeding her rabbits.

“Listen,” I said. “Before I really say I’m going to do this I’ve got to talk things over with Danny. He’s in this too, you know?”

“Oh, absolutely. I wouldn’t expect you not to. Here, babe,” she said to a piebald rabbit. “C’mere, hon.” She picked him up and he burrowed his head into her armpit. “This guy feels about ready,” she said, stroking him. “Easy, buster. You know, it’s funny, but I’d sort of come to think of Danny as part of the household already. Easy, babe.” She put the rabbit back in its cage.

“So when is his rendezvous with destiny?” I said, turning a thumb toward the rabbit.

“Next couple days, I think. The cupboard’s pretty bare, and he’s ready to roll. Much bigger than him and I don’t think they’re quite as tasty.”

“Then look,” I said. “Why don’t we celebrate tonight and make him guest of honor?”

“Sounds reasonable,” she said. “Let’s go upstairs, I’ll get us both a drink, then I’ll come back down and do this and we’ll just — do it. Okay?”

“Listen,” I said, “would you like me to? I really wouldn’t mind doing it, and it seems to me the guilt ought to be spread around a little here. I’ve been eating enough of these guys.”

“My, you are going the whole hog,” she said.

“Hey. Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

“It’s nice of you,” she said. “But really. I’ve sort of got it down now, and I’m used to doing it.”

“You hate it,” I said. “Why don’t you let me for a change?”

“Are you sure about this, Peter?”

“Stand aside, wumman,” I said. “And fetch me mah hogleg.”

This got a smile. Which made me realize how inane it had been.

“Seriously,” I said. “It’s a godawful job to have to do, and I’m tired of watching myself slink off while you’re doing it. And then showing up at the table smacking my lips, you know? Now, should this get done right away, or should it wait a little closer to dinner?”

“For your sake,” she said, “I wouldn’t do it much closer to dinner than this. Take it from one who knows.”

“Then go on up and do your preparations, and the deceased and I will join you presently.”

“And you’re sure you know how?”

I pointed to the stairs. “Out.”

“Thank you,” she said.

I went into the death chamber and got the pistol out of the toolchest. Loaded? I popped the little catch at the bottom of the handle and took the clip out. Sure enough. I pushed the clip back in, felt it click home, and stuck the gun in my pocket. I had worn these same trousers to Kelsey and Chittenden this morning, and now there was a gun in them. Went back into the other room and took the piebald rabbit out of his cage. He burrowed his head into my armpit; I stroked his fur and told him Good boy, good boy. Not looking at him much.