Thomas Pierce - Hall of Small Mammals - Stories

“Lovely house,” Laura says, taking it all in. “Bet, won’t you be sad to leave in a few months?”

“I will,” she says, and squeezes her father’s arm thoughtfully. “But I’ve been imposing long enough. It’s not fair to my parents.”

“We’ve loved every minute of it,” Mr. Ash says.

Felix wonders if it is guilt — for living off her parents, for delivering chaos into their otherwise peaceful golden years — that is pushing Bet toward a man like JT. Her fiancé seems nice enough and is even mildly handsome in a second-place-homecoming-king sort of way, but he is certainly no genius; his face doesn’t suggest much depth. Felix begins inventing a quiz: What book is on JT’s nightstand? Can he name the last ten presidents in order? Who was responsible for 9/11? Though Felix won’t be able to explicitly call it a test, that’s what it will be. Over the course of the evening, he will have to sneak in his questions and keep track.

“So,” Felix says to Bet, “how long has JT been your rug man?”

Laura gives Felix’s hand two quick squeezes.

“His dad started the business,” Bet says. “It’s pretty big. They’ve got three offices now across the state, and contracts with most of the school districts. He’s been doing it ever since he graduated.”

“Ph.D. in red wine and bloodstain removal?”

(Another squeeze.)

“Come see my treehouse,” Hank says, eyes on Felix.

“I’d love to, buddy,” he says.

“I’d like to see it too, Hank,” Laura says. She stands with her drink and holds out her hand. Hank eyes it suspiciously, so Felix takes it and then offers Hank his other hand. Through the white French doors, they walk out across a brick patio and down the steps into a neatly manicured lush backyard. Hank breaks free and runs down the hill to a grove of slim oak trees, between which, about five feet up, Mr. Ash has constructed a platform. A rope ladder dangles from a hole at its center. Red tights a jostling blur, Hank ascends the swinging ladder and emerges gopherlike on the other side of the hole triumphantly.

“He’s very cute,” she says. “Are we going up?”

“I’m fine down here. You look great, buddy. What do you do up there?”

The boy scrunches his eyebrows. “Different stuff.”

They watch him kick some brush off the edge of the platform.

“So,” Laura says quietly. “Bet.”

“Bet.”

“I can see what attracted you to her. She’s beautiful. And young.”

“You’re not going to get weird on me, are you?”

“How exactly would I get weird on you?”

“I don’t know, but the way you just said weird felt a little weird to me.”

Laura adjusts her sunglasses and crosses her arms. “I’m curious if sometimes when you say things you ever hear a little alarm bell in the back of your head? Whoop whoop whoop. Do you ever think, Am I saying what I think I’m saying? ”

“Alarm bells? I don’t follow. What I say is what I mean. Or what I mean is what—”

“I think you need to take a deep breath and process what’s happening this weekend. Here’s something good. Actually, you know, I’ll just skip to the bad, if that’s all right. Don’t take this the wrong way, but not everything is about you. Not everything is about Felix. There are seven billion people in the world, and sure, you’re funnier than most of them — you’re in the top three thousand, probably, but—”

“Three thousand?”

“Two thousand, whatever. It doesn’t matter. My point is that you need to pull your head out of your ass. You get me?”

Felix does not get her. Is she calling him selfish? Self-involved? Delusional? He is ready to argue, but here comes Hank, singing and swinging back down the ladder, his business concluded, whatever it was, the rope swishing circles in the dirt at the bottom.

“Before we go back inside,” Laura says, “is there anything else I should know?”

“Maybe,” Felix says, irritable. “Probably, yes, there is, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what it might be. How far back should I go?”

“This isn’t funny,” Laura says.

What else is new? They are almost to the brick patio when the entire family emerges through the double doors.

“All of us are going for a walk before dinner,” Bet announces. “It’s been decided.”

• • •

The first person to bring up Gonuts the Hamster is JT. He’s not only seen the show but is in fact a humongous fan and tunes in every Thursday night. They are on a wide and mulchy trail that follows the conservation easement behind all the houses in the neighborhood. JT and Laura stroll alongside Felix. Bet and the Ashes are a few steps ahead. Hank is between both packs dragging a stick he found in the brush.

JT wants more details about Pets! , he wants behind-the-scenes dirt. Some of the people at his work, JT says, are in love with the Rhesus Monkey on the show, the one that’s always stealing and swallowing important things like zip drives and legal papers and car keys. Does Felix ever get to hang out with the monkey? Is it funny in real life too? Who is the voice of the monkey, because that dude deserves a frickin Oscar—

“Emmy,” Felix says. “And the guy’s name is Joel. He’s been in a few things over the years but not much. You’re right, he’s great.”

JT nods enthusiastically. He asks if Felix could do the hamster voice for everyone, just once, and then he’ll never ask again. He promises.

Through his pocket Felix pinches the hamster (his leg) until it throbs: “Somebody better let me outta this cage,” he says, forming a little bubble in the back of his throat. “’Cause I’m about to get wheel on these motherfuckers.”

Everyone, except JT, turns to shoot Felix the same look: Hank.

“Amazing,” JT says. “Amazing. It’s so surreal to hear that voice coming out of you. Now, you couldn’t say that on television, could you? You couldn’t say mother-f ?”

“What book is on your nightstand right now, JT?” Felix asks him. “I’m curious.”

“People recognize Felix’s voice everywhere we go,” Laura says. “We were out to eat the other night, and the waiter figured it out. But he didn’t say anything to us. He just drew a little hamster wheel on our check. It was so cute.”

“That’s really funny,” Bet says. “You’re famous, Felix!”

“Or at least your voice is,” Mr. Ash says.

“What’s the difference?” Felix asks. “I am my voice, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Ash says, without turning around. “Are you your anus?”

Their footsteps are quiet on the mulch. It’s like all the sound has been sucked out of the universe. Where are all the birds? There should be birds whistling up in the trees. Felix is on the verge of saying something, can feel words inching up his tongue. What he will say, exactly, he can’t be sure, but most definitely it will be the wrong thing.

“In my experience some people are more anal than others,” Laura says then, eyebrows arched.

A short burst of laughter, like gunfire, escapes Mr. Ash’s tight gray mouth. Felix has never seen him laugh that way. Not once.

“What’s anal ?” Hank asks.

“It has to do with your bum-bum,” Bet explains, a nervous smile. “Hank, that reminds me, do you want to tell your daddy about what happened with the frog and the sprinkler? Remember that?”

Hank nods yes, that he remembers, but then he mutters, no, he doesn’t really want to tell that story.

“Oh, come on, Hanky,” JT calls up to him. “It’s such a funny one.”

Hank doesn’t look up from his feet.

“Honey, don’t ignore people when they’re talking to you,” Bet says. “It’s rude. Tell your dad the frog and sprinkler story.”