Peter Geye - The Lighthouse Road

"As if there's a good or a bad," Rebekah said.

A flash of light came from the doorway, followed by the chemical smell of magnesium and potassium chlorate.

"Why are you such a contrary girl?" Hosea said.

"Why, indeed."

They were silent for a moment. Odd pushed himself against the wall, the light from the open door not ten feet down the hallway.

"Will you remind me to order more castor oil tomorrow? The Johnsons have near run us dry of it," Hosea said.

"Of course."

"Pull the peignoir off your shoulder. There, good."

"The Johnson kids have been near to death all winter long. Are they going to be all right?"

"The Missus Johnson prefers quackery to doctoring. I've given up on her."

There was another pause in their conversation. More flashing came through the doorway. Odd inched closer to the light on the floor.

"If you're going to keep me awake all night, you might consider uncorking a bottle of champagne. Anything to hurry this along."

"You're difficult enough sober. Inebriated you'd be impossible."

"Nonsense. If you gave me something bubbly to drink you might actually get a smile out of me."

There was another flash, then the sound of a match being lit, then a moment later Odd could smell Hosea's pipe smoke.

Now Odd was only an arm's length from the doorway. He felt unnaturally calm given the intrigue, but still he was not quite ready to show his face. He knew instinctively that the goings-on in that bright room were none of his business.

"Odd sure is turning wise, isn't he?" This was Rebekah speaking, and whatever edge had gotten hold of her voice was gone when she spoke of Odd.

"He's a fine boy."

"Do you want me to take this off?"

"Yes, take it off. And put the boa around your neck. Straddle the arm of the divan."

Now there was more quiet, only the faint sound of Rebekah moving around the room. Odd slid so that his left shoulder was only a few inches from the doorjamb. If he'd extended his leg, his foot would have rested on the edge of the light on the floor.

Two or three full minutes passed without a word from either of them. All of the powers of his imagination failed Odd now. He'd never heard the word peignoir nor boa. He could not dream up what was happening in all that flashing light. He had always supposed that Hosea's medical equipment was stored in the rooms along this hallway, knew that one of the rooms two doors down was his surgery, the room in which Odd himself had been born. But even to his ten-year-old mind there was no logic that might explain a medical procedure of any sort that needed be conducted now, some hours after midnight.

"That'll get a rise from the perverts," Hosea said. He clucked his tongue, then added, "Hold your bubs. Push them together."

"Are we almost finished?"

"We'll be finished when I say so."

"Just hurry."

All Odd heard for the next five minutes was the click and snap of Hosea's camera and flash. When Hosea said, "That's enough for now," Odd jumped to his stockinged feet. He ran to the dark end of the hallway and crept quietly back upstairs. He slid into his bed, the flashing lights from Hosea's office stayed with him until he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

H osea was stirring the hash when Odd came down for breakfast the next morning.

"It's Sunday, right?" Odd said.

Hosea startled at the sound of Odd's voice, turned from the stovetop to see the lad. "There's tea in the kettle, boy-o. Grab a cup. Eggs and hash in a jiffy."

"Why are you awake? Why are you making breakfast?"

" There was business to attend to last night. I missed my frolic. Here I am full of vigor. We'll be off to church after breakfast."

"I don't want to go to church."

"Why not?"

"Why would I?"

Hosea poured the bowl of whisked eggs into the hash. He sprinkled salt and pepper over it and turned to face Odd. "Why would you, huh? That's what you want to know, is it, boy-o?" He turned back to the hash, stirred it for a few minutes, then took the skillet off the stovetop and brought it to the table, where he set it on a trivet. He spooned a plateful for Odd, then a plateful for himself, then sat down across the table from Odd. "You might want the Lord on your side, son."

Odd said nothing, only stared back at him.

"For the fight."

"What fight?" Odd said.

Hosea blew on his plate of steaming hash. He forked it around his plate. " 'What fight'? Good Christ, what's wrong with you this morning?"

Odd picked up his own fork and held it before him. "I'm tired out. Couldn't sleep last night."

Hosea's eyes shot up and into Odd, who didn't flinch. Hosea stared at the boy for a long minute. He smirked. "The fight, boy-o, is this life of ours. I don't know if you're equipped to tussle with the big boys, that's why I say you should have the Lord on your side."

"I'm ready to fight," Odd said.

"I'm only speaking as an impartial observer, Odd, but you don't inspire confidence."

"I can fight!"

Hosea shook his head. "Eat your breakfast. Then we'll go to church. And let's refrain from these boasts, this backtalk. Your virtue is in your tractability. Let's be a good boy." He flashed Odd a condescending smile, took a large bite of his hash, then a big swill of his hot tea.

O dd did not go to church. After he finished his hash, Hosea told Odd to make a plate for Rebekah, told him to put it on the stove and to get his church clothes on. Hosea then went to ready himself. When he returned fifteen minutes later, Odd still sat at the table, his legs crossed, a week-old newspaper spread before him as though he were actually vested in the happenings of this town. Hosea said nothing, only walked down the staircase. Odd heard the bell chime and the front door slam shut. He pushed himself back from the table and walked to the sitting room window. He watched as Hosea marched up Wisconsin Street. He watched until he turned north, toward the hillside church, and disappeared.

Odd stepped to Rebekah's bedroom door then. He put his ear to it to hear if she was awake. After a minute, content that she was still sleeping, he went down to the second floor. All of the excitement of the night before was gone. His heart beat slowly and his sight was steady and clear.

He walked down the hallway and stood before the locked door that had emitted Hosea's and Rebekah's voices the night before. He tried to shoulder it open, then took a few steps back and glowered at the door.

It was only a minute before Rebekah came downstairs. He turned to watch her walking toward him. She looked sleepy, still wore her nightdress.

"What are you doing down here, Odd?" she said. Her voice was soft, gentle. It always was with him.

All the balky instincts that had arisen with Hosea that morning were gone now. He felt boyish again. Shy. He looked down at her feet. "What's a bub?" he said.

Rebekah's eyes widened and she couldn't help but laugh. "W hat? "

"A bub. What's a bub?"

" Where did you learn that word?"

He turned away. Looked back at the door. "How 'bout a pervert? What's that?"

"Oh, my," she whispered.

"How come you and Hosea were up in the middle of the night?"

Rebekah sat down. She sat down right on the floor and crossed her legs. She took Odd's hand and pulled him down, so they were each sitting cross-legged, their knees touching. She looked right at him with her sleepy eyes.

"I couldn't sleep last night, so I went exploring. I heard you two down here."

"Did you see anything? Did you look into this room?" Rebekah nodded at the door without taking her eyes from Odd.