Brock Clarke - The Happiest People in the World

Go! Kurt was trying to tell his father as they walked toward him. Back up slowly, slowy, out the door, and go get help! But just then, through that door, came Kurt’s uncle Lawrence and Crystal, Crystal looking as though she’d really like to hurt someone, maybe his uncle Lawrence, who was going on in his usual way, not paying attention to the scene into which he was walking, talking about some other place, some other time, some other person — Kurt couldn’t really concentrate on the particulars, it was very difficult to concentrate when there was a gun in the room. Anyway, his uncle Lawrence, talking, talking, until he and Crystal reached the center of the barroom. And only then did he seem to notice Ronald and Ronald’s gun.

“Well,” Lawrence said. Smile, he told himself, and then he did that — at Ronald, and then at Crystal, who had moved to the far left side of the room and whose right hand was in her coat pocket, and then back at Ronald, who was kind of turned, half his face toward Lawrence, but the rest of his face, and his whole body and gun, still trained on Henry. Relax, Lawrence was trying to say with his smile. Everything is going to be just fine. Thinking, I should have stayed in Beirut, Palermo, anywhere else. Looking at all these miserable, scared faces. Thinking, The world is full of happy people. Wondering, Why are all of you so, so unhappy? Thinking, But that’s a rhetorical question. Saying, “Ronald.”

“I am going to kill him.”

“Because he killed your sister,” Lawrence said. And only then did Henry swivel on his stool to face the rest of the room. He had his hand in his jacket pocket, too. Ronald looked to Henry’s left. That garish Dr. Vernon was standing there, his hand in his pocket. That made five armed people in the room. Out of them, one was a Dane, one was no doubt on narcotics, one had a crippled hand, and one was a borderline psychotic, although a borderline psychotic in Lawrence’s employ. And all he could think was, They are so lucky the other person with a gun is me. Everyone in this room is so lucky to have me. The world is so lucky to have me.

“No,” Henry said, looking at Ronald, at Ellen, at everyone, everywhere.

“He murdered the stranger as well.”

“No!” Henry said.

“Yes,” Ronald said, his gun still somewhat pointed at Henry, but his face somewhat pointed at Lawrence.

“It’s a compelling theory,” Lawrence said. Just then, Doc came in the door, and in front of him Joseph in handcuffs. Joseph’s head was down, as though in preparation for its being lopped off. Doc steered him into the middle of the room, between where Lawrence and Crystal were standing. “Compelling, but incorrect.” Doc patted Joseph on the back, and Joseph said, with his head still down, “It was me. I killed both of them.”

Ronald dropped his gun to his side, holding it with his good hand. He was looking at Joseph, thinking, Who the hell are you? Aren’t you the school cop or something? Do you even have a name ? To Ronald, this was the saddest thing yet: that his sister had been killed by a nameless nobody, a person so unimportant that Ronald hadn’t even considered him a suspect. It left him almost speechless. “You’re a coroner and also a cop,” Ronald finally said to Doc.

“Deputized,” Doc said.

Ronald raised his gun again, pointing it at Joseph now. “Why?” he said. “Why would you kill my sister? Why would you kill the stranger?”

These were good questions. Lawrence hadn’t gotten so far as to come up with an answer that would explain Joseph’s guilt while not incriminating Lawrence himself. But before he could come up with an answer, he saw movement to his right. “Oh my,” he said. Because Locs had walked into the room, and next to her was an elderly gentleman of Middle Eastern descent. Turkish, Lawrence guessed, by the color of his skin, the secularity of his dress. Istanbul! he thought. “Locs,” he said. But Locs wasn’t looking at Lawrence. She was looking at Matty, who was standing with Ellen and Kurt. The happy family. Overhead, there were streamers. Oh God, it was a party. Probably a party for the happy family. Oh God, she was stupid. Matty was looking at her with a sick look on his face. It might have been love. But it was probably only apology. I’m sorry you’re so stupid, he was probably trying to tell her. I’m sorry you’re so stupid that you’re still wearing my stupid hat. She took it off her head and flung it toward him, but Ellen caught it and then immediately dropped it. Kurt bent over and picked it up, remembering now, from two years ago, the woman in the hat who had almost run over him and his cronies while they were looking at Henry’s cartoon, at the Danish word that meant “counter.” Here you are again, Kurt thought. But who are you? Whoever she was, he felt like an idiot holding her hat. He walked across the room, gave the woman her hat back, and then returned to where he’d been standing. Meanwhile, Ellen had sort of wandered into the middle of the room, moving in the general direction of the cartoonist. They both had dazed looks on their faces. He reached his hand out to Ellen; she seemed to be strongly considering taking it. Good: that gave Locs some hope. But then Matty opened his mouth to speak. Locs could almost see the words coming out of them: Ellen, he would say. I’m sorry for whatever. Please forgive me. And Ellen would. The idiot. Married forever to Matty, the idiot. Was everyone in this room (the fat guy in the ridiculous shirt, for instance, and the guy with the crippled hand and the big gun, and certainly Joseph, who looked like he was going to take the fall for something because he was too stupid not to take the fall for something, not to mention Capo, fucking Capo, and his Crystal and his Doc) too stupid to live? Was everyone in this town, this world, too stupid to live? Locs was sure they were. Might as well kill them all. Except. . Matty didn’t say anything. He just looked at Locs, smiling sheepishly, as though to say, I think we’re really going to do this thing. And suddenly Locs could see the future: In it, Ellen really would marry Henry. Matty would marry Locs. Kurt would split his time between them. Capo would not kill her, would not have her killed. Because you did not kill your sister-in-law. Because you did not kill someone in love. Love, love: it does not make you stupid, it makes you invincible. Finally, Locs thought, I’m going to be happy; finally, everyone is going to be happy; finally, everything is going to be just fine.

“Who is meant by ‘the stranger’?” Mr. Korkmaz asked. But he knew. Everyone knew. “Oh, Søren,” he said.

“Oh no,” Locs said. But it was too late. Mr. Korkmaz took the gun out of his pocket. He pointed it at Joseph and then seemed to change his mind and pointed it at Henry, and when he did that, Ellen stepped in front of Henry, but by that point Henry had already taken out his gun and fired it at Mr. Korkmaz. The sound was so loud that it sort of scrambled everything, for everyone. It took a second for everyone’s normal way of seeing and thinking to return. When it did, Henry saw Ellen lying on the floor, Kurt kneeling down next to her, Matty standing, paralyzed, over both of them. Henry dropped his gun, put his face in his hands. “Please just kill me,” he thought and then also said, through his hands. Mr. Korkmaz once again trained his weapon on Henry. And then he and everyone else in the room who had a gun just started shooting.

Two days later. Henry had disappeared. Kurt had been shot, but just barely, and had already been released from the hospital in Utica. He’d be OK. Kurt’s father was still in the hospital. He would probably be OK. Uncle Lawrence was still in the hospital, too. He would definitely not be OK. He would die. Everyone else who’d been in the Lumber Lodge, including Kurt’s mother, was already dead. Now, Kurt was back in the hospital, in his uncle’s room, trying to find out why.