Howard Elman's Farewell

Interstices

INTERSTICES % confusing dreams on the couch. The women of his life once again seemed to pass in review—the mother he only met in her old age, who was dead before he really got to know her and couldn’t even remember the year he was born; his daughters, who he could never keep up with; Zoe Cutter, his arch enemy who had reduced but not defeated him; the Squire’s widow, Persephone Butterworth Salmon, who was more fisher cat than human; Katharine Ramchand, his son’s wife and grandson ’s cousin, another admirable woman who had no use for Howard Elman; Tahoka, the granddaughter who he wished to know better; and Elenore, the love of his life, who divorced him by her death that no doubt he had caused with his second-hand smoke. And what about Fralla Pratt, your only oops girl? Bev Boufford, Dot McCurtin, Tess Jordan, and even Missy Mendelson who was running for the New Hampshire state senate and who you taught to shoot? She’ll probably be president some day. And now in that half asleep, half awake state he could see Missy, candidate for prez, kicking butt in a nationally televised debate with her opponent in the other party. Howie, can you hear that ticking? Yes, it’s the bomb. But that’s only in the game. Comes there a time when the difference between game and world disappears? He could see the building exploding. Heather, gentle Heather, the daughter he had shunted off, in the shards of the explosion. He forced himself to wake up, and the images faded into mundane materiality, followed by the forgetfulness that dreams bring on. It was morning. On the kitchen table were his car keys and a note in Birch’s handwriting . Howard looked out the window. Sometime while he was in 229 dreamland, Birch had returned the pt Cruiser to its usual place in the driveway, entered the domicile, and left a note, all the while his grandfather slept. Howard put on his reading glasses and whispered Birch’s words from the paper. “Grandpa, you shouldn’t leave your keys in the ignition, and you should lock your house doors at night. I have it on good authority there are some bad guys on this planet. Love, Birch.” Howard had hardly finished his coffee when his FFone buzzed in his pocket. It was Dot McCurtin. “Constable, you could do me a favor and take a look at the trailer park. Something’s going on, and I need some verification from an official source before spreading the word.” “Okay, I’ll take a run down there.” He was about to hang up, when he found himself blurting out, “Dot, I’m not demented.” “I never thought you were.” “Then why did you spread it around town?” “It wasn’t me. It was Dracut and his ilk.” Are there more in an ilk than in a minion? “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that,” Mrs. McCurtin said. “My apologies, Dot. Just mumbling to myself.” “No, problem. Listen, Constable, Critter Jordan was seen last night at the auction barn.” “Really?” “Really.” “Thanks, Dot. I got a question. Do you go out with men?” “No. It’s too much of a bother.” “I like your attitude, Dot.” “And I like your attitude, Howard. You and me, we love this town.” “That’s true. I’m glad you said it. Dot, are you religious?” “Well, I go to church.” “Because you believe in God?” “I do believe in God, yes, but that’s not why I go to church. I go to church because church is the original social network. Constable?” “Yeah?” “I’m eager to check out what’s going on at the trailer park. Get moving , please.” Howard hurried as best he could into the pt Cruiser. He wanted to drive to the auction barn in hopes of catching Critter, but he owed 230 Dot, so he headed for Great Meadow Village. On the way he passed a “wide-load” yellow-light car followed by a flat-bed truck pulling a mobile home going in the opposite direction. And another. When he arrived at the “village” it was as if he were at the border crossing of another country. There was a “gate” of yellow police tape, and he was stopped by a somewhat cute uniformed security guard. “Private property , no entry, sir,” she said...