The Lost Woods: Stories

The Lost Antlers

121 The Lost Antlers 2008 Larrie฀Chapman฀wanted฀antlers,฀a฀big฀rack฀of฀antlers฀on฀a฀noble฀deer฀ head.฀Wanted฀them฀for฀his฀living฀room฀to฀make฀up฀for฀the฀ones฀that฀ his฀former฀wives฀had฀one฀by฀one฀thrown฀out. ฀ Last฀day฀of฀the฀season฀and฀cold฀as฀he฀had฀ever฀seen฀it฀in฀South฀Carolina,฀ and฀he฀was฀the฀o nly฀one฀who฀had฀not฀g otten฀a฀b uck฀that฀year.฀Both฀his฀ grown฀sons฀had฀gotten฀two฀each,฀and฀each฀of฀the฀men฀down฀at฀the฀hunting ฀lodge฀had฀gotten฀at฀least฀one.฀Still฀he฀was฀buckless.฀He฀sat฀in฀his฀tree฀ stand฀and฀looked฀across฀the฀gray฀winter฀landscape.฀Looked฀at฀his฀watch.฀ Looked฀back฀at฀the฀woods฀beneath฀him.฀Looked฀down฀at฀his฀Remington.฀ Felt฀the฀c old฀come฀after฀him.฀Took฀another฀sip฀fr om฀his฀b ourbon flask,฀ then฀slipped฀it฀back฀in฀his฀pocket. ฀ There฀was฀no฀sho rtage฀of฀deer.฀Fact฀is฀they฀seemed฀to฀be฀taking฀over฀ the฀whole฀damn฀country.฀In฀the฀summer฀they฀ate฀his฀tomatoes฀when฀they฀ were฀still฀green,฀even฀ate฀the฀hostas฀his฀ex-wife฀had฀planted฀along฀the฀front฀ walk—down฀to฀nubs฀in฀the฀ground.฀He฀could฀hardly฀go฀out฀the฀door฀to฀ his฀house฀without฀seeing฀several฀lumber฀off฀into฀the฀trees฀surrounding฀his฀ subdivision.฀If฀he฀didn’t฀live฀inside฀the฀city฀limits,฀he฀could฀have฀nabbed฀ one฀from฀his฀deck.฀But฀when฀he฀got฀his฀deer฀rifle and mounted฀his฀tree฀ stand฀out฀in฀the฀woods฀at฀the฀hunting฀club,฀he฀saw฀nothing฀at฀all. ฀ The฀cold฀made฀his฀arthritic฀knees฀ache,฀made฀his฀shoulder฀ache฀from฀ the฀wound฀he฀had฀gotten฀in฀Vietnam฀all฀those฀years฀back.฀Every฀few฀minutes ฀the฀w ind฀would฀get฀up฀so mething fierce฀and฀st ir฀the฀lea ves฀on฀the฀ The฀Lost฀Antlers 122 ground฀into฀the฀air;฀then฀they฀would฀fall฀as฀the฀wind฀died฀away.฀But฀only฀ the฀wind฀and฀the฀leaves฀moved.฀No฀deer. ฀ When฀his฀two฀sons,฀both฀children฀from฀his฀second฀marriage,฀dropped฀ him฀off฀at฀the฀stand฀two฀hours฀earlier,฀they฀had฀wished฀him฀luck. ฀ “Got฀all฀your฀stuff?”฀Lonnie฀asked.฀He฀was฀the฀younger฀one,฀redheaded฀ just฀as฀Larrie฀Chapman฀had฀been฀when฀he฀had฀had฀hair,฀the฀one฀who฀still฀ remembered฀to฀worry฀about฀him. ฀ So฀he฀had฀checked฀his฀backpack฀one฀more฀time—canteen, field฀glasses,฀ power฀bars,฀ammunition,฀cell฀phone,฀matches, flashlight. ฀ Clayton฀was฀leaning฀o ver฀from฀the฀other฀side฀of฀the฀front฀seat฀of฀the฀ pickup.฀“Three฀hours,”฀he฀said. ฀“We฀be฀back.฀You฀be฀ready.”฀He฀held฀up฀ three฀gloved fingers.฀There฀was฀so me฀basketball฀game฀or฀something฀he฀ wanted฀to฀watch฀early฀that฀evening.฀“Get฀your฀damn฀deer!” ฀ They฀waited฀until฀he฀walked฀down฀the฀ridge฀and฀got฀safely฀in฀the฀stand฀ before฀they฀drove฀off.฀He฀watched฀the฀wisp฀of฀white฀exhaust฀smoke฀hang฀ in฀the฀air฀as฀the ir฀truck฀disappeared฀along฀the฀old฀lo gging฀road฀that฀ran฀ along฀the฀ridge. ฀ The฀last฀years฀had฀been฀hard.฀It฀started฀with฀his฀heart฀attack five฀years฀ earlier.฀Damn฀near฀ died.฀He฀remembered฀lying฀in฀the฀ hospital฀with฀his฀ chest฀split฀o pen—a฀q uadruple฀bypass.฀T he฀d octor฀list ed฀the฀thing s฀he ฀ could฀no฀longer฀do. ฀ “You฀gon’฀have฀to฀lay฀off฀the฀beef฀and฀the฀French฀fries.฀Lay฀off฀the฀salt.฀ No฀pork.฀No฀pizza.฀Big฀Macs฀are฀out.฀That฀sort฀of฀thing.฀And฀this฀drinking฀ your฀wife฀is฀telling฀me฀about—it฀has฀to฀be฀curtailed.” ฀ His฀the n-wife,฀now฀e x-wife฀Martha฀was฀standing฀b y฀the฀b ed,฀ar ms฀ folded฀across฀her฀chest.฀She฀looked฀like฀a฀cross฀between฀a฀schoolteacher฀ and฀a฀prison฀warden. ฀ “Glass฀of฀red฀wine฀a฀day is fine,”฀the฀doctor฀continued,฀looking฀at฀Martha .฀“If฀you฀can฀hold฀t o฀that.฀But฀no฀mo re฀of฀these฀nig hts฀out฀with฀the฀ boys.฀No฀more฀poker฀nights.฀You฀gon’฀need฀to฀stay฀home.฀Rest.฀Exercise฀ regularly.฀Walk฀the฀neighborhood฀with฀your฀wife.” ฀ Larrie฀Chapman฀wanted฀to฀spit฀in฀the฀doctor’s฀face.฀He฀hated฀people฀ telling฀him฀w hat฀to฀do,฀conspiring฀w ith฀his฀w ife฀to฀limit฀his฀fr eedom.฀ ฀ The฀Lost฀Antlers 123 Instead฀of฀spitting,฀he฀tried฀to฀be฀funny฀and฀also฀take฀a฀jab฀at฀the฀cold-asice ฀Martha. ฀ “How฀’bout...