Stephen Dixon - What Is All This? - Uncollected Stories

“Me? Here? Without you? You’ll loan me a gun? And put him down till we decide.”

“I like holding him.”

“If we suddenly have to run you’ll be too tired from holding him by then.”

“But say we do read or see on the TV tomorrow—”

“Oh, sure. Drop by drop. His last words to the police were ‘I heard a couple and their son Jim pass by. They debated helping me. She convinced him not to. He convinced her he was crazy enough to. Jim wanted to crawl back and throw his bottle at the mugger. The one thing they agreed on was they were tired of picking up his bottle.’”

“Ba-ba, ba-ba, ba-ba.”

“Okay, let’s go,” I say.

“Now? When it’s a waterfall?”

Then we’ll stay here.”

“You didn’t get the word from Jim yet.”

“Okay, Jim? You don’t want to go under a waterfall and get a worse cold or even worse.”

“Ba-ba, ba-ba.”

“He’s really hot for his bottle. Maybe if we had some milk in it.”

“Don’t start,” she says. “He drank it all. What we should have in it is water from one of the fountains we passed, but they all had to be torn loose from the ground. This city.”

There she goes again, folks.”

“Well, this city, this city. Where I can’t even get water for my son because of the creeps who like kicking fountains down?”

“Whenever we can’t get water for him he’s your son.”

“Our son. But those creeps. I think it’s stopped.”

I stick my hand out. “Still coming down pretty hard.”

“I like it under here. I can say that. Like our own arbor. Or whatever it’s called. A private retreat in the storm.”

I put my arm around her shoulder and hold Jim up to us tight. “If that—”

“You’re getting his neck wet from my hair.”

“If that man was mugged, I hope he was at least also under a shelter.”

“Oh, thanks. But if he was, then I’d wonder what he was doing there. Looking to meet men, probably.”

“Or he loves nature and wanted to step further into it. A bird watcher, maybe. Someone might have jumped him from behind just to get his binoculars.”

“Why from behind? Those guys will attack you right from up front.”

“You’re so sure his attacker was a man?”

“I don’t even think anyone was attacked. But it’s not something a woman would do.”

They would. They have. Girls too, in groups and gangs. Certainly some of the girls I’ve taught. And starting at age eleven and twelve.”

“Something would have to be wrong with them then.”

“Ba-ba, ba-ba.”

“You think ba-ba means something other than bottle?” I say. “Like weh with him means wet and tub water and puddles and numbers one and two and maybe also rain.”

“Weh, weh, weh.”

“I at least got his mind off the ba-ba.”

“I’m going. I don’t care if it’s buckets. Now put him down.”

I put him in the stroller and push it downhill. “Weh, weh, weh,” Jim says. We reach the park drive and I pull under the eaves of the Swedish Cottage.

“We’re soaked through as it is,” she says, “so don’t stop now.”

“Still afraid? We’re away from it, and maybe we can call the police from here.”

“Sure. See anybody inside? Nothing but the puppets. Hello, puppets. Which’d almost be nice for Jim to look at some other day. But you weren’t afraid? That groan before was one spooky scene.”

“I wasn’t for me, though I was a little for you two.”

That’s why I want us to get on.”

“But we’re safe now. And Jim shouldn’t get any wetter.

Stay here. Dry him off. The towel in the bag’s still dry, and I’ll be right back.”

“Why? Let the police go snooping around. There’s an emergency box over there. Not around — to your left. On the traffic light pole. Call them and you’ll have done more than most anyone would.”

The box is in the rain. Its cover is hanging off. Above it, the glass police sign two lightbulbs were once in has been smashed out. “I don’t think it’s working,” I yell.

“Try it.”

I pick up the receiver. “Officer Tanner,” a voice says.

“I’m speaking from near the Swedish Cottage. I want to report that I heard about ten minutes ago what seemed like a male groan in the general vicinity of the bird refuge woods up from Eagle Hill.”

“A groan? Wasn’t a tree swaying? Did you look?”

“I tried to. My wife got scared. We’ve our kid with us.”

“No personal threats against you, though? Or a description of anyone you saw there?”

“No. Only it did seem very ominous to us.”

“All right. I’ll have a car make a check.”

“I didn’t give you the exact location of the spot.”

“You said the Cottage callbox. If there’s anything wrong around there, we’ll find it.”

“But up the hill from it, up the hill. Hello?” No answer.

I run back to the cottage. “No?” she says. “Well, if they won’t do anything, it must be nothing.”

“But at least if I go and find nothing, I’ll know there was nothing.”

“It could also mean the man with the groan is dying behind a bush you didn’t look behind. And suppose in your great search the mugger tries to get at Jim and I here?”

“You’re by the road. There are cars.”

“Where? You see one?”

They’ll be by. And right up the road’s the path to the park exit and buildings and lots of traffic.”

Then walk me there.”

“It’s pouring.”

“I don’t care. He’s already soaked. He’s probably got pneumonia, so what do you want for him next — to get cut up and thrown into the underpass? And me too. I’ve got pneumonia too. We all do. Now walk me out. Oh, I’m going.”

I grab her arm. “Use your sense.”

“And you stop the crap. I’m going home. You go where you want. Call me if you’re killed.”

“Okay. But hustle, though.” She goes. “And put the towel around his head.” I run up the hill to where I heard the groan. But Jane and Jim. I run back down and catch up with them as they’re leaving the park. “You all right?”

“Can I even talk? I’ll choke on a mouthful of rain. Find anything?”

“Only got halfway. Then I thought someone might pop out at you.” We cross the street. “You can make it home now?”

“I can, but I’d like help.”

“I’ll get you a cab.”

“If you’re lucky. They’re all filled.”‘

Then hurry home. But I only came back to check on you.”

“Please don’t go back. If anyone’s been mugged, he’s crawled away by now or been found, I’ll start a fire. I’ll put on hot soup and make us toddies. I have to get Jim changed and fed and down for a nap. You can start the fire. But help me, Sol.”

“Get under.” We get under the canopy of a building facing the park. “Sir,” I say to the doorman, “could you loan me your umbrella so they can get home? We’re on this sidestreet two blocks down, and I’ll bring it right back.”

“I need it to get my own people to the street,” he says.

“I’ll give you a dollar to loan it.”

That has nothing to do with it. Even if in two minutes I can make that much in tips with it.”

Then I’ll give you two dollars.”

“Weh, weh, weh.”

“Listen, if I had another umbrella…”

“Frank,” a woman coming out of the building says. “A cab?”

He opens the umbrella and goes into the street and blows his whistle.

“If a second cab comes along can you hail it for us?” I say.

“If another of my tenants doesn’t want it.”

“Please, Sol. Let’s just run home.”

“She’s a little frightened,” I say to the woman. “We were in the park and thought we heard someone being mugged.”‘