Joyce Oates - Sourland

It must have been that the daddy recognized the spike-haired boy — or the spike-haired boy recognized the daddy — some kind of look passed quickly between them — and the daddy stopped dead in his tracks.

The daddy told Tod go play on the swings — there was a playground close by — the daddy had to use the restroom.

The daddy was talking to Tod but not looking at him. There’d come into the daddy’s voice a faraway tone that was excited but calm, almost gentle. Tod saw how the daddy had not turned to look after the spike-haired boy who’d strode away and disappeared.

Close by the woodchip path — on a narrower path forking into a stand of scrubby pines — was a small squat ugly cinder block building with twin doors: MEN, WOMEN. Both doors were covered in graffiti like the squat little building itself. The daddy had taken Tod into this restroom once or twice — Tod recalled a dark dank smell that made his nose crinkle just thinking of it — but now the daddy just pushed Tod in the direction of the playground saying, “Go hang out with those kids, Tod-die — Daddy will be right back.”

Tod-die was a good sign too. Usually.

Tod drifted off alone. It felt strange, to be alone in the park. At first it felt exciting then it felt scary. The daddy had never left him before even for a few minutes. The mommy had never left him in any public place nor did the mommy leave him alone at home, always there had been Magdalena, or another lady to watch him if the daddy was not home. Because it was not a warm day but chilly and gusty for late April there were only a few children in the playground and a few young mothers or nannies. Tod found a swing low enough to sit on with his short stubby legs but it was strange and unnerving to be alone — it was no fun without the mommy or the daddy pushing him, praising him or warning him to hang on tight. No one was aware of him — no one was watching him — no one cared how high he swung, or if he fell and hurt himself — except — maybe! — there was some other child’s mother a few feet away looking at Tod — staring at Tod, frowning — a pinch-faced woman in a down parka with a hood, half her face hidden by curved tinted glasses.

Was this someone who knew him, Tod wondered. Someone who knew his mother, the way she was staring at him, but the woman didn’t smile and call out his name, the woman didn’t smile at all but just stared in a way that would be rude if Tod had been an adult and made him self-conscious and uneasy now and before he knew it, he’d lost his balance and fell from the swing — tried to scramble up immediately, to show he wasn’t hurt.

Tod wasn’t alone in the park or lost — the daddy was close by — he wasn’t hurt and he wasn’t going to cry like some little baby with a runny snot-nose but there was the pinch-faced woman in the glasses right beside him — “Oh! Let me help you, little boy! Did you hurt yourself?” With quick strong hands the woman lifted Tod — steadied Tod — you could tell these were mommy-hands by their quickness and deftness — the woman brushed his hair out of Tod’s eyes peering at him as if there was some secret in his eyes she had a right to know.

The woman was asking Tod if he’d been left alone in the park — if that had been his father she’d seen with him, a few minutes ago — Tod was too shy to look at the woman or to reply to her except in a near-inaudible mumble that gave the woman an excuse to lean closer to him squatting beside him with the disconcerting intimacy with which adult strangers approach children as if in some way children are common property; she’d lifted the tinted glasses to peer yet more directly into his face so that her eyes were revealed stone-colored and serious like Tod’s mother’s eyes — the kind of eyes you couldn’t look away from. In his confusion Tod was moved to ask the woman if she knew his mother — his mother worked at the University Medical Center over by the river and she put people to sleep — did she know his mother? Tod couldn’t think of his mother’s name, the name that the daddy called her sometimes, the name she was called at the medical center — the woman said she was afraid she didn’t know Tod’s mother — “Tell me what is your name, little boy?” — Tod mumbled a reply but the woman couldn’t hear — asked him to repeat what he’d said — Tod was silent feeling resentful, obstinate — if he’d been a little dog, he’d have bitten this pushy woman right on the nose. Again she was asking where Tod’s father had gone — “That man who was walking with you just now on the path — is that man your father?” Tod made a sniggering noise and twisted from the woman’s grip — “He’s Dad-dy — that’s who. Dad-dy. And you’re ugly like some nasty old witch.”

This was surprising! The woman was surprised, and Tod was surprised. Like a feisty little dog Tod pushed free of the woman and ran away — ran as the woman called after him — out of the playground and in the direction of the cinder block restroom — he’d sighted a tall man who resembled his father coming out of the restroom — though as he drew nearer he was embarrassed to see that the man wasn’t his father but a stranger — for a moment he felt panic thinking the daddy had left him — how close he came to breaking down and bawling like a baby — a silly little snot-nose baby like certain of the children at nursery school — but now the daddy did appear — there was the daddy emerging from the restroom blinking in the light frowning and distracted and his suede jacket unbuttoned, he was tucking his shirt into the beltless waist of his khakis as Tod called, “Dad-dy!” and ran at him headlong.

The way the daddy stared at Tod, the child was made to think He doesn’t remember me! He doesn’t know who I am .

That was silly of course. The daddy knew who Tod was!

“Christ sake your nose is running. Here, c’mon — blow .”

Out of a pocket the daddy extracted a fistful of wadded tissue, that looked as if it had been used already. Dutifully Tod blew his nose as bidden.

“This place is depressing. Let’s get the hell out of this place.”

The daddy was edgy, alert. The daddy’s eyes were alert and dilated and darting-about like a wild animal’s eyes. Some change had taken place in the daddy, Tod sensed. Tod was anxious, the pinch-face woman was still watching him, seeing him now with his father, she was the kind to ask a sharp question of Tod’s father, that was none of her business. Badly Tod wanted to turn to stick his tongue out at the woman — nasty ugly witch — but then the daddy would see the woman and Tod didn’t want that. The daddy would discover how Tod had fallen and scraped his hand because the daddy had forgotten Tod’s mittens and Tod didn’t want the daddy to discover that .

“C’mon, li’l dude. Circumstances compel us.”

Often the daddy made such statements, that were utterly mysterious to the child. Like, “D’you recall Ingmar Bergman — that’s ‘Ing-mar Bergman’ — famed Swedish filmmaker, deceased 2007 — Always keep a project between you and your death ” — which the daddy had made more than once on these urgent park outings.

So the walk was resumed. The hike of at least two miles through Terwillinger Park to the river, that was farther than the daddy and Tod had ever hiked before. In his edgy-cheery mood the daddy smiled frequently, or maybe it was just the daddy’s mouth that smiled; the daddy’s face must have felt itchy for the daddy was rubbing at it vigorously, eyes, nose, mouth as if wanting to erase his features the way a TV cartoon character might erase his face. The daddy had not asked Tod about the playground but Tod was boasting how he’d gone way high on the swing — higher than the other children — so high, he’d gone over the top — like the child-gymnasts they’d seen on TV, that had won Olympic gold medals. The daddy made no reply to the child’s boastfulness not even to chide him or to laugh at him. The daddy was clearly thinking of other things. In his face a look as if the daddy was listening to something in the distance for always in this park on damp chilly days especially there was a background murmur of something like voices — muffled laughter — traffic on the interstate, or wind high in the trees — gusts of wind like knives cutting into the slate-colored river in which human cries were mixed. Listen closely the wide-eyed daddy once said that is the dark under-side of the world you are hearing, son. Souls in Hades.