Scott Spencer - A Ship Made of Paper

Inside Nelson’s tent, the sunlight, filtered through the nylon, is pale green.The unmoving air smells ofdirt, candy, and child.Nelson and Ruby sit on two beige bath towels that serve as the floor in Nelson’s hide-away.Between them is a Styrofoam cooler that Nelson uses as a recepta-cle for his playhouse provisions.The lid is offand he is showing Ruby his treasures one by one, some ofthem his, some ofthem appropriated.A bottle ofElmer’s glue, a manicure set in a leather case, a half-eaten PowerBar, an eyecup, a flashlight, several batteries, loose kitchen matches, a hand puppet ofsome kind ofAmerican Indian princess, a block ofbaking chocolate, and a gun, given to Hampton by his own father for the safety ofthe house, stored and then halfforgotten in the drawer ofhis night table, on hand in case a robber should enter the house, or some vicious white kids looking for a little racial adventure, a gun sneaked out ofthe house by Nelson several days ago, which has gone unmissed, a pistol that has seen its better days, the front sight chipped, the blacking on the trigger guard and the barrel peeling off, but with an aroma Nelson finds entrancing, narcotic, a mixture ofold steel and oil.

He picks it up, careful to keep the barrel pointed toward the ground, and bends his head ceremonially over it, breathes in the blunt, manly bou-quet, and then he lays the pistol in both his hands and holds it out there for Ruby to take her turn.

Hampton walks across the room and sits on the sofa Daniel has occupied.He covers his face with his hands, his feet move up and down as ifhe were walking.There is room on the sofa, but Daniel cannot sit there.Instead, he kneels in front ofHampton.Hampton uncovers his face, and tentatively, as ifhe and Daniel were creatures, different species, he offers his hand.And Daniel, upon taking it, and feeling the cool weight ofit, the simple skin and bone ofit, realizes in a grievous instant what he has at once known and prevented himself from knowing all along, the knowledge he has carried in his belly and denied:they are all ofthem ruined, Iris, Hampton, and himself, ruined.

“Oh, Hampton,”Daniel says.

Hampton looks away, a sheen ofdullness shrink-wrapped onto his eyes.“Da, da,”he says, barely audibly.

“I’m sorry,”Daniel says, knowing it cannot be understood.But maybe God is listening.“I’m so sorry.”

“Da.”

“Do you want anything? Something to drink or eat?Anything.Is there anything I can do?”

“Da.”Hampton turns further on the sofa, twisting his body, almost looking behind himself now.The fabric stretches between the buttons of his copper pajamas.His feet continue to pump up and down, his legs waggle, he is squirming like a child desperate to relieve himself.

The children have a gun.The gun is loaded.The safety is disengaged.

And when the gun fires the sound is so far removed from Daniel’s ex-pectations and so divorced from his experience oflife that at first he barely reacts to it.A truck’s backfire, a sonic boom.But Hampton re-sponds immediately.He leaps offthe sofa, runs across the living room to-ward the kitchen and the back door, and Daniel, awakened to reality by Hampton’s response, follows, and now he knows that what he has heard is a gunshot.

Hampton and then Scarecrow and then Daniel race across the backyard.Daniel is shouting now;he can’t really understand what has hap-pened.In the few seconds it takes to get from the back porch to the tent, Daniel has two thoughts.Only one shot was fired, is the first thought, and let it be Ruby who is unhurt, is the second.

Hampton, in his rush, has lost his slippers.Daniel, who must wait for Hampton to crawl in before he himself can enter the tent, shouts out Ruby’s name, but there is no answer, and then he calls for Nelson and is likewise met with silence.

Finally, Hampton is in the tent and Daniel follows, and the children are there, Ruby a frieze offear, Nelson cool, a blank, but it’s clear in his slightly narrowed eyes and the stubborn, impervious set ofhis mouth that he is ready to deny everything.The bullet has gone through the side ofthe tent about a foot above Ruby’s head, and a brilliant, slow-turning rod oflight shines through the hole.Daniel stares at it for a moment as ifit were the presence ofGod.

The tent is too small for the adults to stand up.Daniel rises into a simian stoop and gathers Ruby into his arms.The feel ofher, the com-fort ofher heft, causes him to straighten, and the pressure ofhis head against the top ofthe tent unfastens it from its pegs.The center pole wobbles and a moment later the entire tent deflates, tips over.

“You’re wrecking it!”Nelson screams.

”Where’s the gun, Nelson?”Daniel says.His voice is calm, gentle.The children are alive, unhurt, the anger is gone.Life is so precious, time is so short, we’re all in it together…

“You’re wrecking the tent!”Nelson continues to shout.

”Da da da,”Hampton says, sobbing, the tears coursing down his stricken face.He places his hands on Nelson’s shoulders, pulls him close.

”Da,”he cries.And then, lifting his face, he shouts it out again, toward heaven.

“Where’s the gun, Ruby?”Daniel murmurs into her ear, and she points to the Styrofoam cooler, which is now partly concealed by the collapsed tent.Daniel places her on the ground—her frightened little hands grip his trousers—and he pulls the green nylon offthe cooler’s lid, opens it up, and there, on top ofNelson’s heap oftreasures, lies the pistol.

“Okay, please, everybody stand away,”Daniel says, retrieving the gun.

But Hampton cannot understand what Daniel is asking, and Nelson is staying with his father, and Ruby adheres to Daniel.He picks the gun up, careful to keep his hand as far as possible from the trigger, pointing the barrel straight down at the ground.He backs away, moving as ifafraid the gun might spontaneously fire again.Hampton, Nelson, Scarecrow, and Ruby follow him, and now he stands in the middle ofthe backyard, holding the gun and trying to resist the impulse to heave it into the trees.

And now he is pounding his heel into the ground, digging out a hole so that he might bury the gun, but after a few moments the madness ofthis is apparent and he stops.

Hampton presses his hands on Nelson’s shoulders, instructing him to stay exactly where he is, and then he walks over to Daniel and reaches for the gun.“Da,”he says softly, in a somehow reassuring way.Daniel, at a loss, anxious to be rid ofthe gun, relinquishes his awkward possession ofthe pistol, and then steps back, gathers Ruby in. What did I just do? he wonders, as he imagines Hampton firing the gun.But Hampton puts the safety lock on, and then flicks the magazine catch, which is right behind the trigger guard, and then slides the magazine case open at the base of the grip and empties out three cartridges.He puts the cartridges into the pocket ofhis pajama bottoms and hands the empty gun to Daniel.

They walk toward the house, just as Iris is coming through the back door and stepping out onto the porch.Her initial frown ofbewilderment is quickly supplanted by alarm.To see her lover, her husband, two children, and a gun is more than can be understood, but it can surely be evaluated.

“Daniel, Jesus Christ, what is going on here?”

“Da da da,”Hampton says, excited to see her.

”Did you know there’s a gun in your house?”Daniel says.

”Da da da…”

“Tell me what’s happening?”

The terror ofthe gunshot is just catching up to Daniel, like those near misses on the highway that take a minute or two to rattle us, to make hands shake and hearts race.“Did you know there’s a fucking gun in your house?”he says, his voice rising.“Did you know that?”

“Yes.Sort of.It’s not something I think about.”