Part 6 (1/2)

Two large men were standing on the porch when our father opened the front door. Our mother walked out of the kitchen and sat down at the dining room table. Her suitcase was beside the davenport, where Berner was still sitting with her green case between her feet. I was in the hallway, holding my pink pillowcase with my chess men and my books inside. Our mother hadn't bothered to pick up the dish she'd dropped.

”Why h.e.l.lo there, Bev,” one of the men said from outside the door. They were both wearing suits with their front b.u.t.tons unb.u.t.toned. Both were wearing snap-brim hats made for summer wear. They were heavy-bodied, bigger than my father, but not taller. They were the men who'd been behind us in the black Ford and who'd been in the alley behind our house when I thought I'd been dreaming. The larger and older of the two had a big fleshy-soft reddish face with heavy brows and a fat neck that went up into his chin. He wore gla.s.ses. He'd been the one riding, and who had pointed me out. They were the police.

Our father cast a look around behind him toward our mother. He smiled as if the police knowing his name and knowing we lived here was comical.

”What's all the commotion about, boys?” our father said in an exaggerated way. The two men had moved into the doorway. They were too large to get in side-by-side and had each turned a little.

”Not any commotion, Bev,” the big policeman said and inched farther in, taking a look past our father at whatever else was inside our living room. His mouth seemed to be about to smile but not quite. The other man was younger and slenderer but still big with a broad face and slitted blue eyes. I'd been told this look meant a person was of Finnish extraction. He was looking inside, too. ”Who else you got in here, Bev?” the older policeman said. My father took a step back and held his arms away from his sides and looked around the room himself.

”Us chickens.” He seemed relaxed about what was happening.

”Happen to have a pistol on you, do you?” The big policeman extended his large hand and touched my father's shoulder. Both men were inside our living room now. It felt filled up, all the s.p.a.ce gone. Six people. There had never been six people in it before. I could hear the older policeman breathing.

”I sure do not.” My father looked down the front of himself as if this was where a pistol would be. ”I don't own a pistol.” His voice had more of his southern accent in it now.

”Not in the house somewhere?” The policeman's gaze was casting around. His lenses magnified his pale blue eyes.

”No, sir. Not in this house.” My father shook his head.

”Have you been out visiting in North Dakota recently, Bev?” The big policeman didn't act very serious, as if this was an ordinary conversation. He stepped by my father toward me, where I was in the hallway door. He leaned past and looked down the hall to the bathroom and our parents' bedroom. The taller, younger policeman stared at my father as if that was his job.

”How're you, son?” The big policeman put his big hand on my shoulder. He smelled like a cigar and like leather. He was wearing rubber overshoes that had mud on them. Little mud cleats had already come off on our clean floor.

”Fine,” I said. A gold badge was attached to his trouser belt under his coat. His belly was tight under his white s.h.i.+rt. He had a tiny gold triangle pin on his lapel.

”You going on a trip?” he said in a friendly way.

I looked at our mother. ”We're going to Seattle. On the train today. To see their grandparents,” she said.

”I haven't been to North Dakota,” my father said.

The big policeman kept his hand on my shoulder. He took an appraising look into the kitchen where the broken dish lay on the linoleum. ”Is that your Chevy around back?”

”Yes, it is,” my father said. ”I haven't owned it very long.”

”But you've owned it a couple of days, haven't you?” the policeman said. I didn't want to move with his hand on me.

”Oh, yes,” my father said. He grinned at my mother like this was an amusing question. His features were alive on his face, his eyes darting, his mouth seeming to move before he spoke. He had a little pill of spit in the corners of his lips. He licked one away and made his jaw muscles jump. Both his hands were swinging at his sides as if he was about to do something unexpected.

”Maybe you children could go sit in your rooms,” our mother said.

Berner immediately stood, picked up her overnight case, and started toward the hall. But the big policeman raised his hand and said, ”Better stay in here, I guess.” He pulled me toward him so I felt his pistol under his coat. Berner stopped and looked at our mother. Her mouth made a wrinkled line, which meant she was irritated.

”Do as you're told,” my mother said. Berner walked stiffly back to the davenport and sat on it with her case on her knees.

The big policeman walked to the piano and leaned to get a close look at my father's discharge and the picture of President Roosevelt and the metronome.

”You still have your Air Force flight suit?” The policeman pushed his gla.s.ses down to the tip of his nose and drew closer to the discharge as if it interested him.

”Gracious no,” my father said. ”I've got a better wardrobe. I'm in the farm and ranch business now.” I had no idea why he would lie about that.

”What's your name, young lady?” the big policeman said. He looked around at Berner. The other policeman kept his eyes on my father.

”Berner Parsons,” Berner said. It sounded wrong to hear her say it inside our house.

”Did you go on a trip to North Dakota recently, Berner,” the policeman asked.

”No.” She shook her head.

”Don't talk to him,” my mother said, suddenly very angry. Though she stayed in her place at the table. ”She's a child.”

”You sure don't have to talk to me.” The policeman smiled at my father in a way that made his red policeman's cheeks fatten and his eyebrows rise. He pushed his gla.s.ses back up on his nose and put his thumbs under his belt and hitched at his trousers, revealing white socks above his muddy overshoes. He gave out a sigh. ”Maybe we can go outside, Bev, and talk a little more. Bishop can entertain everybody till we're back.” He nodded to the other policeman, who moved away from the door.

”Okay,” our father said. His southern accent was very distinct. He was still swinging his arms back and forth and looking side to side as if everyone was watching him. It wasn't a good way to see him be. He looked hopeless. I've always remembered that.

The policeman, Bishop, reached behind and pushed open the screen door. Sunlight had broken through the trees and warmed the air outside. Last night's rain was sparkling on our lawn. Lutherans were walking to church. Our father moved toward the door with the big-bellied policeman guiding him, his hand in the small of our father's back. ”What're we going to talk about?” our father said as he stepped out onto the porch. He ran his hand through his hair and looked down where his boots were going.

”Well, we'll dream up something,” the big policeman said, following him.

”You don't have to say anything,” our mother shouted.

”I know I don't,” our father said.

The other policeman, Bishop, closed the gla.s.s front door. I couldn't see anything else that went on outside, and then we were all four alone together in our house.

Chapter 30.

It could've been five minutes, but it could've been fifteen, that we were in the house with the policeman, Bishop. The Lutherans' bell rang several more times. They'd shut their doors and commenced their service.

Sun was on the roof, and it had become hot and still in the living room. Normally, we would've switched on the attic fan, but none of us moved. I set my pillowcase down and sat on the piano bench. My mother kept her eyes on me, as if there was something I needed to be thinking. I didn't know what. I wondered what it was my father didn't have to talk about. I a.s.sumed the police would leave soon and we would talk about it. We'd missed our train now.

The young policeman stood with his back to the front door, his hands in his coat pockets. He was chewing gum, and at a certain point took off his hat and rubbed his forehead with a white handkerchief out of his pocket. He had short, almost white-blond hair and looked younger with his hat off. I thought he was thirty, although I didn't know about people's ages. His hair and his broad face and his slitted eyes didn't fit together, but seemed natural for a policeman. He looked like the kind of boy Berner might like. His eyes had a wildness that was like Rudy's.

”Do you go to school?” he said to me. My mother kept staring at me but didn't speak. I didn't know what she wanted me to do or not do. Berner was squirming in her clothes. She put her green case down and sighed a deep sigh to indicate she was impatient.

”Yes,” I said.

He wiped his eyes with his handkerchief, folded it and put it inside his coat, then returned his hat to his head. The hat made him look too young to wear a hat.

”Meriwether Lewis,” I said.