The Summer of Indians

                

                                                   The Summer of Indians                                     by l. choy

                                                                   I

Napa Valley is sure pretty this time of year.  Feel that warm air!  It’s great sitting out here in the shade, and look at all those clouds.  Take a deep breath…smells like cow poop, don’t it, Doc?  I can just sit here all day and…What?  You’d rather we talk about  me..?  Sure, sure, Doc, and hey, I do appreciate you listening, but then, that’s what you do for a living, huh?  People around here think I’m paranoid. I’m not, you know.  Not anymore.  I think I’m a lot better now.  And, you’re right; talking helps put things into perspective.  You want to know what happened?  It was interesting but, hey, if I start to bore you just let me know, okay?  My feelings are not going to be hurt.  So, where should I begin…from the beginning?  Got me there, Doc, heh, heh.

          The whole thing started when me and Jennie moved into a studio apartment in downtown L. A.  It was near a skid row.  Anyway, we just got married so the location didn’t matter at first, but after awhile she began noticing all those bums and winos hanging around the neighborhood.  And garbage and stuff was dumped all over the place.  Some people just don’t know any better, isn’t that right, Doc?  It was summer,  and being in them studio apartments was like being in an oven.  Our air condition didn’t work half the time and when it was working, it rattled like a train going by.  The landlord was a company with a corporate logo and you can’t get beans outta those people.  I tell you, Doc, the only relief from the heat was going up to the roof or sitting out on a really rusty fire escape.  I remember checking out them bolts every time we sat out there. Had to.  The whole thing  coulda collapsed  and we go flying three stories down.  It could happen.

          Interest rates were low, so she said we had to move.  Jennie kept at me about them new ‘tract’ homes she keeps reading about in the real estate section of the Sunday papers.  It had air conditioners, dishwashers and all kinds of stuff, and every freaking day she would harp on it.  Well, one fine, hot weekend we hop into our beat up Toyota and headed east ‘cuz that’s where them tract homes were being built…right in the middle of a desert.  Had to be in the desert.  Land was cheap there, so guys like us could afford it. 

         Geeze, the names they gave those places: Oakwood Hills, Greenview Meadows, Blue Heaven Estates, you’d think it was cemetery plots they were selling instead of houses.  And you should’ve seen all those rows of shiny banners flapping in the wind.  They reminded me of used cars lots, the ones you gotta be real cautious about.  I was hot and sticky and pissed off by the time we got there.  The air condition in the Toyota gave up the ghost long ago and we had to sweat it out getting there.  We arrived around noon and it was a scorcher, a real furnace, but ahhh…stepping inside those crisp, cool houses, with the air condition on full blast, it was a different world, and that alone was the thing that sold me.  Creature comforts are really important to me, Doc.  I wasn’t impressed with the other stuff, but Jennie was.  She spent her life in rental apartments with windows facing air shafts or brick walls, and you know how that is.  She takes one look at those green lawns and those big picture windows, and she gets teary eyed.  We were young.  I just got outta the army and was working at a meat packing plant.  Only job they haven’t shipped overseas.  What with the secure job and money we’ve put aside, we had to go for it.  Yea, Doc, I was once a butcher.  Didn’t I mention this before?  I still remember my first set of cutting tools, share as razors, they were.  I’ve always liked knives, guns too.  I have a small collection of shotguns and I wrapped them up in oily rags.  In the evenings, I use’ta unwrap them on top of the kitchen counter and polish them barrels, over and over again.  It relaxed me.  Why the funny look, Doc?  I don’t do it anymore, you know. 

          No, I wasn’t a butcher in the army.  I should’ve but you know how that works. They started me in infantry, then to cook school, then they needed bodies in demolition instead, and I ended up blowing things up.  I really don’t want to get into that part of my life.  Just this part, okay? 

          So, I wrote a check for the deposit while this real estate guy worked over my credit with the bank.  The houses weren’t built yet so me and Jennie decided to go and have a look-see at the vacant lot, you know, kinda getting acquainted with where we were gonna live…maybe for the rest of our lives.  Come to think of it, that’s pretty heavy stuff, don’t you think?  You know, living in one place until you drop dead?

         We drove out early in the morning and followed the map that the real estate agent gave us.  His name was Harry.  Couldn’t tell his age but he sure had white teeth, and with his hair slicked back, he looked like Count Dracula.  No kidding.  All he needed was a black cape and he would be in the blood sucking business. He marked out where the parcel was and told us to stick to the red arrow markers that had numbers on them.  Our lot number was one three one three.

         Yea, I know, Doc.  It was kinda thoughtless of them.  I remember once reading about buildings that don’t have a thirteenth floor. If them builders could leave out a thirteenth floor, what’s so difficult about leaving out the number thirteen on the lots, huh?  I’m not superstitious but they had to give us that number not once, but twice.  I couldn’t believe it.  You know, for a guy who works at trying to stay calm, I sure do fuss a lot, don’t I? Come on, tell me the truth.  You think I got a hot temper?  Well, maybe I’ve got reasons.

          I left it to Jennie to follow the markers while I drove.  There we were, bumping along on this dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust and sand.  If it weren’t for the telephone poles and them red markers, we would’ve been lost.  Then she saw it!  The marker with those damn numbers.  I nearly wetted my pants, Doc.  It was the sorriest patch of dirt I ever did see.  There wasn’t a living thing growing within a thousand yards of the spot.  When we drove closer, it showed all the signs of being a left over lot.  You know, like in the army, when the Quartermaster passed out the bed sheets or clothing.  If you’re last in line, you get the left over sheets with frazzled edges and so thin because it’s been washed a zillion times.  Or the left over field jacket that’s twice your size with jammed zippers, or the left over field cap that’s held up by your ears.  You know what I mean.

          Jennie got upset; she started bawling and carrying on and saying it was all her fault.  I tried calming her down but she just blubbered some more.  We were in the middle of nowhere, and I was getting madder than hell.  I thought I stripped those gears when I spun that old sedan around and went flying toward the real estate office.  I nearly ran over a couple of kids on bicycles, and they gave me the finger as I sped by.  I deserved it.  I might’ve killed them poor little shits.  Jennie stopped crying when that happened, and she began to pay serious mind to my driving.  When we screeched to a halt in front of the real estate office, I says to Jennie, “Jennie, you wait in the car while I go get our deposit back.”  She didn’t say a word.  She just sat there and wilted in the heat. 

         Inside the office, I grabbed Count Dracula by the neck and held him up against the wall.  And I explained why I was doing it.  He didn’t panic, even when his face was turning kinda blue.  No, he just waited until I got tired of holding him up by his neck.  So, I let him down, and he calmly put his arm over my shoulder and said that my piece of dirt wasn’t gonna stay that way.  “No sir,” he says.  He says that by the time they got finished, it would look just fine, with paved roads and pretty green lawns all around.  “That locality that appears to be a disaster to you would be, in time, an excellent neighborhood that you would be extremely proud to live in,” he says.  Those were his exact words. 

          “Observe,” he says, pointing out the window.  “Would you believe that this property was in exactly the same horrid condition a few months ago as your empty lot is presently?  Now, does it resemble anything like your present lot?”  Hell, I had to admit that it didn’t.  “Well, sir,” he smiled with all his white teeth, “so it takes time for good things to come to pass, time for excellence, time for the estate to develop to it’s full potential.  That is why we are known as ‘developers’.”  He was sure some smart dude,  “and when the time comes for you and your lovely spouse to take full possession, and if you’re not entirely satisfied with your house, why, we’ll gladly refund your deposit, every cent of it, that’s how much faith we have in our development.  You’ve got my word on this.  Harry Smites the name, and selling dream’s my game.”  He smiled, showed all his white teeth and hugged my shoulder. 

          I didn’t like his touching me, and I told him. “I don’t like guys touching me.”  His  arm flew up as if it got burnt.  I didn’t think he lied, though.  What he said did make sense.  I went back to the car to talk things over with Jennie and gave her the same spiel that this Harry guy gave me…though not as good.  She says that if it was okay with me, it was okay with her.  And she began smiling again.

 

         

 

                                                                  II

         A few weeks go by and, you know, the place began to change just like Harry said it would.  They were laying out roads, houses were going up.  There were bulldozers, lumber trucks, construction workers, all rumbling about.  It was late in the fall when they finally started on our house.  Jennie and I went there nearly every weekend.  It didn’t look like much at first, but before you knew it, it began to look fine.

         I couldn’t help but notice that the construction work was organized just like the meat plant where I worked.  Beef carcasses were hooked up on those revolving steel chains, and as it inches by, each guy at an assigned station would hack off a piece of the cow.  Construction is kinda like that but just the opposite.  Things get added rather than hacked off, and the guys are moving instead of the chain.  The building supplies for each section were dumped out in the open on a pile a couple of hundred yards apart.  It was piled high in mounds, boxes of nails, stacks of lumber, spools of electrical wire, shingles, bricks, stuff like that.  Like for instance, the electrician would help themselves to the wire, the masons would help themselves to the bricks, all from the same central pile.  They would walk over and just get it.  I don’t know who keeps track or does the calculating, but it stands to reason that they musta run outta certain supplies in each pile now and then.  For instance, I noticed that in one finished section they didn’t have any bricks left at all.   Not a one.

         Would you believe that those sections with no bricks left had houses with shorter chimneys?  I’m not kidding , Doc.  Some were shorter by more than a foot.  It’s something a lotta people don’t pay attention to.  I mean, who goes out there and measures their brick chimney fer Christ sakes?  All I’m saying is that if they run outta bricks, the last couple of houses getting built got shorter chimneys.  Whatta I know about building codes and inspections?  But you can bet I measured my chimney when I made the connection.  The only measurements given in the brochures were for the room sizes and he height of the roofline.  It said nothing about the height of chimneys, so I just went to the real estate office and checked the master blueprint.  Harry wasn’t there but the guy that was there tried to give me a hard time.  He asked why I wanted to look at it.  I asked him if he wanted his desk thrown outta the widow with him following close behind.  You’d be surprise how guys fold when threatened with bodily harm…even when you’re bluffing, and I was buffing, Doc, I would never hurt anybody.  Naw, he couldn’t call the cops.  Too many visitors looking to buy and it won’t look good with cop cars screaming in all over in front with their lights flashing and their sirens screaming. 

         I borrowed my neighbor’s step ladder and leaned it against my chimney.  I remember the day being a gorgeous blue with little puffy clouds floating by.  It was an Indian summer, all right.  People were wearing their T-shirts, planting new lawns, putting up fences, or just sitting around in their half-finished houses drinking beer.  They spotted me with the tape measure on top of the ladder, doing this and doing that.  Some couldn’t figure what I was up to, while others caught on quick and began looking up at their own chimneys.  One by one, they hauled out ladders and began measuring and comparing the measurements with their neighbors.  Some who had shorter chimneys kinda let out a howl.  Some just turned a little red and muttered something under their breaths.  Thing is, they could’ve gone on for years not knowing and been happy not knowing.  There’s something to be said about ignorance.

         Beautiful out here, isn’t it?  All this rolling green and shade trees.  I think that’s a weeping willow right over there.  Always like them.  I especially like the high wall and the razor wire surrounding this place.  Keeps the undesirables outta here, don’t it, Doc?  Especially with all those sick criminals running loose nowadays. 

          The builders thought I was a troublemaker, not that I gave a flying leap how they felt.  I didn’t short count them bricks, and I didn’t institute them lawsuits.  My house was finished and Jennie was as happy as a clam.  We put up bed sheets in the windows instead of real curtains when we moved in.  It looked kinda ratty but it was what we could afford.  After moving all the furniture in, the place still looked empty, so we went furniture shopping, and while I was at it, I bought some gardening tools, some seeds and some fertilizers.  I always wanted to have a garden, and now that I got my own back yard, I can do it.  They didn’t meter water in those days.  You could use as much as you want.  I mean, gardens need a lot of water and it’s a desert, right?  So when I left for work in the morning, I’d leave the hose turned on to give the ground a good soaking.  And you know what?  By evening, when I got home, the ground was as dry as if I hadn’t watered at all.  So I left the water running for a couple of weeks and it still stayed dry.  It was certainly a mystery to me.

         Say, Doc, did I mention that my house was on higher ground?  Well, it was.  The house was built on a rise.  Well, not a really big rise.  Anyway, I got it through my head that maybe, just maybe, the water was draining downhill to my neighbor’s yard.  Late one night, after doing some grocery shopping, I parked in front of the house, and while I was getting the bags outta the car, I spotted this gorgeous full moon.  I remembered telling Jennie to come out and take a look-see.  It sure was pretty.  I also noticed storm clouds hanging above the mountains in the distant, and my first thought was maybe I didn’t have to water the next day.  As I was looking, I noticed that my chimney was on level with my neighbors.  It didn’t hit me just then, but after awhile, with them grocery bags in my arms and me walking toward the back door, I started thinking, hey, that couldn’t be right.  How could my chimney be level with them when my house is built on a rise?  Maybe I was looking at it wrong.  Maybe I was tired and the moonlight got me confuse.  It was too dark to be measuring anything and as time passed, I began having anxiety attacks.  What’s that fancy word you use all the time, Doc?  Anal retentive, yeah, that’s me.  I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night because my anal was so retentive.

           At the crack of dawn, I was on top of my ladder, measuring every which way.  I measured and re-measured and…and…I couldn’t believe it.  My chimney…my chimney had SHRUNK!  It was shorter by six inches!  That was half a foot!  I nearly went bald.  How could a solid brick chimney lose six inches?  What’s this, some kind of erosion?  Somebody’s been chiseling off the top?  Termites?  Termites don’t eat bricks.  Somebody’s idea of a joke maybe?  How could that be possible?  Like I said, I’m not swift on a lotta things.

          I couldn’t go to work.  I had to call in sick.  I spent half the day just sitting on the patio, staring up at the chimney, trying to figure it out.  Jennie was staring at me and worrying too.  She came out bringing me a tuna fish sandwich, heavy on the mayonnaise, a nice pickle and a beer.  You know, it’s been a couple of years and I still can remember that lunch.  Funny, the things you remember.  She also told me to stop rocking.  Rocking?  Who’s rocking?  Was I rocking?  I asked her.  She said yes, and went back into the kitchen.  She called out and said that I’ve been rocking back and forth all morning.  Now, this was getting really scary ‘cuz I didn’t think I was moving at all.

          So, there I was, eating my sandwich, drinking my beer and rocking away, when I noticed something strange.  “Say, Jennie,” I called out. “How many concrete steps do we have out here on the patio?  “Three,” she answered. “Why do you ask?” “Heck, unless I’m mistaken, somebody’s just ripped us off one,” I said. 

          It took me all that day crawling around he foundation to discover that the house, my house, was slowly sinking into the ground.  I tell you, Doc, I could hardly breathe, I was so crazy.  I think I wanted to kill somebody.  Jennie tried to calm me, but she fell apart when she discovered the little metal door in the back of the chimney was half way into the ground.  You know, the one you open to remove the ash. 

          It was too late in the evening to do anything and that made it worse.  Did I tell you I was in demolition, Doc?  I did?  Well, I was, and I was really good at it.  Don’t know how many booby traps we set in Afghanistan but it was a lot.  Anyway, that next morning, I went into the garage and took down my army duffel bag that’s been laying on top of the rafters.  You won’t believe the amount of C-3 I had in the bag.  It was enough to bring down a small size building.  I had about three pounds of the stuff wrapped in a dirty old jock strap and underwear.  The whole batch smelled of old urine and I figured no one would touch it.  I was wrong, all the stuff was washed and folded and theC-3  was gone including the detonators.  Jennie was such a good housekeeper.

          That’s plastic explosive, Doc.  It was called C-2 in the old days and the limeys invented it.  I think it’s called C-4 nowadays.  Anyway, I knew she probably dumped the stuff in the garage somewhere and I was right.  I found it stacked between the ready mix cement and the ceramic flagstones.  I was enlarging the patio at the time.  The stuff looks a little like a soft gray brick, so that’s why she put it there, I guess.  It was safe enough.  What was I doing with it?  Hell, Doc, when I was mustering out I took some souvenirs, everybody did.  I would’ve taken my M-2 carbine if I could.  They use to issue the stuff from quartermaster and you sign for them.  Nobody ever asked me for change afterwards.  I stashed away what we didn’t use and I ended up with three pounds of the stuff.  Don’t ask me how I smuggled it through inspections.  You don’t want to know.

          Anyway, I had the stuff and I was gonna use it if those real estate guys start giving me the run around.  It was noon when I walked into their offices.  There were couples wandering around looking at displays of the cardboard models of houses.  I spotted Harry, same toothy smile, same slicked down hair.  He greeted me with all his teeth and I told him my problem…slowly, so’s he wouldn’t miss a word.  He surprised me by being calm.  I had him by the neck and off the ground like last time.  If I remember right, he was calm that time too.  He gave me the impression that he was giving my problem some deep thought, which was difficult when you’re hanging by your neck.  He was always surprising me so I let him down gently.  “Listen, Mac,” he said.  He was talking regular for a change. “There ain’t much we can do.  We just build them, you know?  You gotta remember, there’s nuthin’ wrong with the house.  I mean it was clean, well built and it got a nice kitchen, right?  It even smelled nice.  Now, what you got there is a beef with the guy that sold us the land, not us.  Look,” he lowered his voice and looked both ways to make sure no one was listening.  “I’m gonna be real honest with you, because, you and me…we’re tight, you know?  There’s only one way you can get your ass outta this bind and get your dough back without a lotta slick lawyers and a lotta foot dragging.”  “How?” I asked.

                                                                III

          When I got home, I called Jennie and sat her down.  I told her that the developers were going to look into the problem, and that they were coming out with some hydraulic jacks before the week was up, and everything was gonna be okay.  She just looked at me.  In the meantime we were going take a couple of days off so the guys could work on the place.  We’ll go somewheres, her sisters maybe, and, ‘cuz them construction guys were the biggest thieves I know, she was to pack all her valuables and take them along with us.  I also told her to pack our fire insurance policy too, just in case.  Them construction workers can be mighty careless with their welding torches. 

          The night before we left, I fished out the detonators that Jennie dumped in the fuse drawer.  I figured she put them there because they looked like long, solid fuses, except they had a meanness about them.  They had two teeny short wires sticking out, looking like little horns.  I took a kilo of C-3 and buried the rest in the backyard.   Why?  Hey, I just wanted to blow up the house, not the whole neighborhood.  Then I went into the garage with the kilo and taped it to the backside of the gas water heater.  It took a little time to rig the thing up but I had experience.  Finally, I shoved the detonator into the gray clay and attached just one of the wires to the thermostat and the other I left dangling.  I would attach the other wire when we leave. I told Jennie that I was setting the hemostat to cold on the gas water heater.  No use heating the water while we were gone, I said.  She agreed.  But I didn’t set it to cold.  I just wanted an excuse for her not to be taking a shower and drawing off the hot water.  The water had to be hot, you see, before we leave or else the plan wouldn’t work. 

          Next morning, I was just opening my eyes when I heard the squeaky noise of shower faucets being turned on.  I bolted outta bed before I knew what I was doing.  I jumped so fast that I tripped trying to get to the bathroom.  I landed on my stomach with my chin bouncing on the floor.  “Oh my God, Jennie, Jennie,” I yelled.  “Get the hell outta the shower.”  But it was too late.  I could faintly hear the metallic click through those plaster wallboards, just before the electric charge turns the gas on.  I braced myself for the explosion.

          I know, Doc, I forget a lotta things when I’m excited.  I mean, gee whiz, you’re not perfect either.  And remember, I was barely awake.  It soon dawned on me that I didn’t arm the damn thing.  I can still remember Jennie looking down at me with this pink towel wrapped around her head and that funny look on her face.  “Are you okay?” she asked, and I said yea, I was okay.  “You forgot to turn down the thermostat,” she said.  “There was plenty of hot water.  Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked again, and looked at me strangely. I told her that I was, and the reason I’m lying on the floor was because I was having a bad dream and fell outta bed.  “I thought I heard you yelling at me to get out of the shower,” she said.  No, No, I lied, and proceeded to tell her all about the dream I didn’t have.

          Later that morning, everything was packed and ready to go, and I backed the car outta the garage.  I stalled around, hoping that the water heater would recover quickly.  Jennie was sitting in the front seat fiddling with maps and I told her I was gonna make a last minute check around the house before we leave.  I came outta the house by the door leading to the garage.  I quick step to the water heater that stood against the wall put my hand on top of the heater; it was real hot and the gas was off.  Then I reached around and stuck in the other wire and double-timed outta there.  Jennie was still studying the maps and wasn’t paying any attention to what I was doing. 

          It was a beautiful Indian summer morning.  Simply gorgeous.  I headed the car towards my ugly sister-in-law’s house in Fresno.  I was feeling pretty good: I was putting distance between us and the house.  The minute the water in the tank cools to a certain point, the thermostat will send an electric signal to the heating elements telling them to turn on the gas and, by the way, could you activate the detonators and transform the house into a million flat toothpicks?  Sure, why not, says the heating elements to the thermostat and, bingo, the sinking house will not sink anymore.

          What’s this about the best laid plans of mice and men?  I read that somewheres.  Wasn’t that the title of a movie or something?  I gave all my neighbors my cell phone number and my  sister-in-law’s telephone number in case anyone wanted to reach me.  I spent most of the time listening for the tone of my cell or eyeing the phone while avoiding, as much as I could, my wife’s relatives.  When it did ring, I would jump.  I think I jumped over a hundred times that week.  Half the time I wasn’t listening to what the people were saying cuz’ my attention was focused on the damn phones.  People were telling Jennie, in no uncertain terms, that I was acting downright rude.  I probably was.  I couldn’t help it.  I was waiting for the news that my house had suffered a terrible catastrophe and that I should contact my insurance company right away.  In the meantime, I still had to be careful about how I behaved. I didn’t want to arouse any kind of suspicion, especially Jennie’s.  Knowing her, she’d turn me in on a dime and wait faithfully through the years for my parole, that’s just the way she is.

          Well, the phone did ring a lot but it was never for me, and I was getting constipated as hell.  No news, nothing: zip.  My week was up so we packed and headed for home.  Maybe the house did blow up and my rotten considerate neighbors didn’t want to burden me with bad news, being I was on vacation and all.  Maybe they just lost the number and what is really waiting for me is a heap of charred cinders just waiting to be adjusted by a nice insurance guy. 

          We finally arrived at my block and as we slowly rounded the corner, I prayed that the house wasn’t gonna be there anymore.  But there she sat, bigger than life, a little older, a little shorter, and getting shorter every day.  Nothing blew up.  Don’t know why.  Was it because the stuff was too old?  It’s only been a couple of years and those C-3 bricks wouldn’t spoil in that short of a time.  Was it so warm that the water never got cold enough?  Maybe there wasn’t enough juice coming through the wires?  Could’ve been a million things…but, what the hell, better luck next time.

 

         There was another problem.  I had to think of something to say when Jennie notices that there were no hydraulic jacks jacking, nor any workmen working.  I was so busy thinking of what kinda story to tell Jennie, that I didn’t notice we were already in the driveway with the motor running.  Jennie snapped  me out of it shaking my arm and telling me to open the garage door with my automatic garage door opener.  I did but I shut the engine off and told Jennie to stay in the car until I checked everything out.  I was being very careful ‘cuz I knew it would be just my luck that it would blow up in my face.  I didn’t wanna drive into the garage until I could disarm the sucker.  So I walked over to the water heater, reached behind, and there it was, just as I had left it, the packet wrapped tighter than a drum.  Well, I couldn’t yank at the wires and fiddle with the tape with her looking on, so I did the next best thing.  I turned the dial to off and would disarm it later.  I started walking toward the car and was nearly there when Jennie poked her head out and asked me what I was doing by the water heater.  “Nothing, sweetie,” I said.  “I was just turning the dial up to heat the water.”  “Oh, good,” she said.  “I could sure use a shower about now.”  And she added, “Aren’t you glad I remembered to turn it off the day we left?”

                                                                     IV

          Sheer luck.  That’s what they called it.  Sheer luck that Jennie was in the car when the garage blew up.  And for me, one step less, and half of me would’ve been splattered against the sidewalk.  Jennie got a few cuts on her face and some teeth knocked out.  She also injured a couple of ribs.  I had some broken bones but my innards were all intact: I didn’t have any trouble peeing, and you know how important that is, Doc.  They said we were lucky to be alive.  After a month recuperating in the hospital, they presented me with the bill.  I had a five thousand deductible and, on top of that, my employer said my job had been filled.  But the thing that really busted my ass was that my fire insurance was only liable for the house, but not the furniture  nor the land the house was sinking on.  They would reconstruct the house on the same piece of property and that was it, take it or leave it.  I couldn’t build because the new house would just sink again.  I couldn’t sell because Jennie, or the law, wouldn’t let me lie about the sinking part.  I just didn’t think the whole thing through. I know, I know, I shoulda check the warmth of the heater and I shoulda known that turning the dial clockwise was turning it on instead of off.  But I was in a hurry and worried that Jennie would get too curious if I hung around the heater that long.

          Well, Harry got even with me.  He quit and moved while I was still in the hospital.  You can bet I was pretty depressed.  Was that some kinda irony, Doc?  I never really understood what that word meant…until now.  I had no job, no place to live, no prospects.  And to top it off, I was wrapped from head to foot in a plaster cast.  I couldn’t move and I was itching in places where the sun don’t shine.  That’s not funny, Doc.  You should try it sometime.  Naw, they didn’t investigate.  What’s there to investigate?  What motive did I have?  I was losing money on the deal.  Of course, they didn’t know that the house was sinking at the time and I sure wasn’t gonna tell them.

          When I left the hospital, I told Jennie that I had to go back for one last look.  I just wanted one last look at that pile of misery and quicksand.  I had to see it one more time before I call it quits.  Besides, we were heading for my sister-in-laws, and I wasn’t too anxious to get there.  The weather was still pretty warm , even though it was already late November. I was sweating like hell.  Jennie stayed with the taxi while I slowly walked up the driveway.  I took my time.  I looked at what was left of the house.  It was a sad sight.  It even smelled bad.  I mean it really smelled bad…like rotten eggs.  It took a while before I knew what the smell was.

                                                                 V

          I know I didn’t have the mineral rights, Doc…but they had to put the drill down somewheres, and my property was right on top of the gas dome.  They were more than willing to pay a royalty for every cubic foot they pumped up, and believe me, Doc, they’re still pumping and I’m still getting royalties.  I used the first million and started a chain of meat packers, and you know what?  My meat packing enterprise turned into hamburger franchises, and franchising turned into Indian gambling casinos, and, oh, you know about all that?  Well, got to invest my money somewheres…and those Indians were real friendly and willing to go partners.  Let’s face it doc, when Jennie divorced me, I knew I had arrived.  I was rich enough to get into this snooty club, anyways.  Pretty good for a guy that can’t speak too good and kinda slow on the uptake, huh Doc?  Might even run for President someday.  Whatta you think of that?  Like I said before, I am really partial to late summers, Doc, especially Indian summers.  Hey, you wanna another beer?  I’m buying.

 

 

                                                   

 

 

 

        

        

 

 

        

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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