Tamarack River Ghost: A Novel

32. Fred and Oscar

187 Fred and Oscar 32 Fred Russo drove over to Oscar Anderson’s farm for a visit. The two of them sat on Oscar’s back porch, each in a rocking chair as the late April sun slipped behind the horizon and a warm breeze swept over them. Spring was in the air. “You planning on plantin’ a garden this year, Fred?” asked Oscar. “Thinkin’ about it. Always plant a garden. Never missed a year yet.” “It’s a little late to put in potatoes—wanna get them in by mid-April so they get a good start before them damn potato bugs come around to feast on ’em.” “Still April ain’t it, Oscar? Don’t wanna hurry these things too much. Garden plantin’ is not for hurryin’. It’s for taking your time and enjoyin’ it.” “Suit yourself, Fred. I don’t much care when you plant your garden.” “Well don’t get all het up about it. You got your potatoes in? You planted your spuds?” “Yes, I have. I planted ’em yesterday. Got five rows of them in.” “Five rows! What in hell you gonna do with five rows of potatoes?” asked Fred, looking straight at his friend. “I like potatoes. Eat ’em three times a day in the fall and winter. Potatoes are good for you. Keep you fit.” “Yeah, I guess they do,” said Fred. The two rocked for a few minutes without saying anything. “Squeak, squeak, squeak,” the worn rocker runners ran over the uneven floor boards on the porch. A whip-poor-will called from the distance. Otherwise the evening was still, except for the little breeze that rustled the still-bare oak 188 Fred and Oscar limbs of the tree in the yard and the sound of the rockers gently caressing old porch boards. “Two things I wanna ask you about, Fred. Get your opinion.” “You already asked me one—asked about my potatoes—what’s the second one?” “I got two more things on my mind.” “Oscar, I didn’t think your mind could handle all that at the same time. Didn’t think you could keep three ideas straight.” “There’s only two ideas. Two ideas, Fred.” “So, what’s in your craw? What’s roaming around in that big empty head of yours?” “You hear about the zoning committee vote on Tuesday night?” “Yup, I did. Heard it on the radio. I bet you were at the meeting.” “I was. You should have been there too.” “I had other things to do. I’m pretty busy these days,” said Fred, smiling. “Up until that cute redheaded chick from the university stood up and showed us her numbers, among other things, I thought the discussion was leaning toward opposing the big hog farm. But then she got everybody’s attention with them numbers, showin’ that most people are in favor of big hog farms—according to some kind of survey she and her young professor conducted.” “Hear the committee voted to rezone the land and give the pig people a big green light to build.” “That it did, and it’s a dirty shame. We don’t need no big hog farm here in the Tamarack River Valley. You mark my words, next year if we’re sitting here on your porch we’re not gonna be smelling spring; we’re gonna be smelling hog manure.” “Expect that’s the price of progress,” Fred said. “The price of progress.” “The old Tamarack River Ghost’s not gonna like the decision. Not gonna like it one bit.” “You still believe in that old ghost, don’t you, Oscar? You still think that ghost is the real McCoy.” “Yup, I do. The ghost’s still out there. He’s out there, all right. And I’ll bet he’s concerned. More than a little concerned.” 189 Fred and Oscar “How do you know that, Oscar? You talk to him?” Fred chuckled. “No, I ain’t talked to him. But I feel it. Feel it in my bones. I can feel what that old Tamarack River Ghost is thinkin’.” Fred shook his head but didn’t say anything. Sometimes he wondered if his old friend was going off the deep end on this ghost thing. The two men sat quietly for a time, gently rocking and enjoying the evening. “Thought you had two ideas you wanted to talk about. Two...