53

 

       ART

 

    The edge is sharp.  I test it with my thumb.  There is something about sharp edges--knives, axes, whatever--that makes you feel good inside.  They make it all fall together, make it seem like it was meant to be like this and you have it all in control.  A slip this way or that and it's all over.  Putting it all on the line with nothing but you and the edge makes the gamble worth the trouble.  It must have been like that for all those mountain men way back when.  To know that it's all on the edge, to live on that.

    I step from the shed and into the sunlight.  It blinds me for just a bit.  The first thing I can see is him, just sitting there, watching me.  Or maybe he's looking off past me; I can never tell even when I'm right up next to him.  And it's getting worse.  I should go and sit down next to his lawn chair and tell him about the axe and the edge.  A few months ago I wouldn't have even thought about it, but I think he'd understand.  If I could get him to listen or even look at me.  I think he felt the same way one time and maybe still does.  I think he'd understand. It's the edge that makes it worth it.

    But I don't go over to him.  I heft the axe and make new tracks through the wet grass.  Eric leans on the station wagon beneath the tree, his arms crossed in front of him.

    Early for you, I say as I get closer, isn't it?

    He nods and grins.

    Grass is long.  You ought to cut it soon.

    He nods again.

    I mean it.  I want it cut.

    Okay.  I'll do it.

    I nod.  Okay.  I was ready for a fight but I'm glad when it doesn't come.

    I wipe the blade a few more times and throw the old tee-shirt aside.

    So what are you doing out here?  I thought you'd be in bed still.

    He shrugs.  I heard you coming out.  Mom said you were going to cut down the tree; I thought you might need some help.  It's awful big.

    That's a new one, him offering to help.  I look at him a minute.  No, I won't need any help with this.  Maybe after it's done.  Thanks anyway.

    He looks down at the arms folded across his chest like he hadn't seen them before.

    We haven't talked much lately, have we?

    He shrugs, still looking down.

    How do you like it up here?  I've been meaning to ask.

    It's okay.

    You still having those dreams?

    What dreams?  His head snaps up.

    The nightmares.  The bad ones.

    That was months ago          She told you that?  He sounds angry, but it doesn't show on his face.

    Sorry.  I thought maybe it was still happening.

    Well, it was months ago.

    Okay.  It's important that you like it up here.

    Why?  What difference does it make?

    It matters to me; I don't want to feel like  you don't like it, like I uprooted you again.

    It's only a couple of blocks.  Not like last time.

    No, I guess not.  Your room all right?  I thought your might like a little more room.

    It's okay.

    I thought you might like to get your own bedroom set.

    Why?

    I don't know, I thought you might want to.  Using your sister's old one must    I don't know.

    It's okay.

    Okay.  The axe hangs limply in my hand.  I remember it and heft it a few times.  It's heavy, but I don't mind that anymore.  I can see a blurred me in the blade.  I just want to make sure everybody's happy.  How's your mother seem to you?

    He smiles, and we exchange the only look we have in common.  You know.  She fusses but she likes to fuss.  She's a lot better than I expected.  Still emptying boxes and shoving things around.

    She seems all right to you then?

    He smiles again. 

    I mean like herself.

    Yeah.  A little quiet maybe, like I said, but okay.  Why?

    Just wondered.  I test the edge with my thumb again.

    Why don't you use the chain saw?

    I just look at him.  I can't answer him.  I don't know how, and he wouldn't understand if I did.  I feel the anger coming up inside me, slow and unreasonable.  Why don't you go cut the grass?

    It's wet.

    The mower needs filled.  Take your bike down to Murrey's.

    I just

    That way it'll be ready.

    Okay.  He starts to walk away.

    Where are you going?

    To get my bike and the can.

    Oh.  Okay.  I just stand there, feeling silly and childish.  How do you explain that a sharp edge makes you feel all itchy inside, that to cut down this tree with anything less than this axe would be    How do you explain that to someone who doesn't feel like you do when you don't understand yourself.  The closest I could come would be to say that it would be cheating, and that wouldn't be it either.

    I hear a screeching behind me.  It's that ridiculous car of Doug's coming around the corner.  That driveway needs widened.  I might just take down that last section of fence instead of painting it.  I could have a nice drive there, wide enough for two cars.  He brakes the car behind the station wagon, ripping the door open almost before he's completely stopped.

    You ever think of getting a muffler for that thing?  I ask as he comes toward me.  He doesn't smile.  He stops a few feet away from me and stares up into my face.  I think he picked up that habit from the afternoon movies.  There's one on right when he gets home from work.  You'd think he was Jimmy Cagney.

    What the hell are you doing?  He yells.

    Morning.

    What the hell are you doing?

    I'm right here, Doug.  You don't have to yell.  I'm right here.  Now, what's the trouble.

    What the hell are you doing? 

    I heard that the first two times.  You want to tell me what this is all about, or do we stand here and yell at each other?

    You going to cut down this tree?  He doesn't turn down the volume at all.

    That's the idea.

    Why?

    Why?  Why not?  It's my tree.  I can cut it down if I want to.  I wasn't aware I had to check it out with you first.

    Why that tree?

    Since when do I have to explain myself to you?

    He deflates a little, seeing this isn't getting him anywhere.  I just want to know why you're cutting down this particular tree.

    I figured that out.  What is it to you?  You have your initials carved in it somewhere?  I make a show of looking over the trunk, but he doesn't respond, just stands there, hands on his hips.  He call you?  I jerk my head at the old man.

    No.

    Then why are you here?

    I just want to know

    I'm cutting it down because it's in my way.  It's an ugly old twisted up thing, and it's in my way.  Okay?

    No, it's not okay.  I don't want you to do it.

    What's the matter with you?  It's just an old dead tree.

    That's all it is to you?  An old dead tree?  Look at it!

    Yeah?  I look at it.  It's a monstrous old thing, reaching out far beyond it's base, twisted and spread out across the sky.  Okay, I'm looking at it.  What am I supposed to see?  It's an old tree.  It blocks my view from the kitchen.  The branches scrape my new siding when the wind blows.  It's all twisted and deformed.  It's been struck by lightning.  God only knows the last time it produced anything worth eating.

    His face starts to twitch a little at the corners of the eyes, and his feet shuffle nervously.  He looks like he's going to cry, but I don't stop.

    I might want to add another bedroom next spring for when Susie and Wes come to visit.  What am I supposed to do with it then?  Build around it?  What good is it?  For God's sake, it's just an ugly old tree!  I'll probably raise the property value just by chopping it down.  All right, I looked at it, what about it?

    He looks about ready to explode.  He swings his arms, and his breath come in short snorts from his nose, making his jaw quiver.  That's all you see.  That's all you see!

    I said you don't have to yell.

    No! No, I won't let you do it!

    He bounds around in front of me like a chimp, his arms slapping and his eyes wild.  Next he'll be foaming at the mouth.  I wish he'd stand still.  It gives me the creeps.

    Maybe he can't stop you, but I will!

    Who?  Him?  Look at him.  He doesn't care.  I told him what I was going to do, and he didn't say a word.

    What'd you expect him to say?  You want him to beg you?

    What?  All of a sudden this is more than a tree.  He's yelling about more than a tree.  Before I can ask him what he meant by that, he starts over to the old man, throwing glares at me over his shoulder.  He bends down and yells into the old face, but I can't follow the words.  I feel eyes on me from behind.  I turn to find Eric standing there, the gas can at his feet.  He looks about ready to cry himself. 

    You have any ideas who's got him so riled up?  What's gotten into him?

    I dunno.

    He didn't say anything to you?

    I don't think he likes us living up here.

    He never said anything to me.  What'd he say?

    He shakes his head.  Nothing.  We haven't been hanging around together much.

    Why would he care?

    He and Grandpa are real close.

    So?  What's that have to do with it?  His grandpa's still here.

    He just shrugs.

    I turn around in time to see him backing up toward me, his eyes still on the old man.  There's something about his whole thing that makes me look real close a the old man.  There is something ugly and nasty there.  He looks away, disgusted.

    Doug turns and looks at me as if seeing me for the first time.  He glances once at Eric.  You think that little of me?  You think I'd just sit by and watch?

    I just look at him.

    You think you can just cut it down.

    Calm down, Doug.  You've lived here all your life.  I can see how you might have a sentimental attachment for it, but I don't.  I just don't have any use for it.  You can see that, can't you?

    There's a terrible jag of coughing, and we all look at the old man.  He sits there with a surprised look on his face and tears running down his cheeks.  Another cough rattles up out of him as we watch.  It throws him forward, almost out of the chair.  A chill runs up under my arms at the sound, and from the corner of my eye, I can see Eric flinch.  The old skeleton flops back into the webbing, and the teary old eyes meet mine.  It occurs to me that this is the first time he's looked me in the eyes since he asked me to buy this place from him.  Over five months!  There was contempt in his eyes then.  Now there's hatred.  It's gone as quick as it appeared, and once again he seems to peer out over my shoulder.  I look at Eric, but there's no sign that he's seen anything.

    Doug turns back to me.  See?

    I think you better see to your grandfather, I tell him, my voice even and low.  I try to control an anger I can feel coming up from nowhere, ready to shake me like the old man's cough.

    He stares at me for five beats of my heart.  You wouldn't be doing this if my Daddy was alive.

    It takes me aback so much that he is half way across the yard before I think to call, What?  He looks back over his shoulder, that same combination of wildness and eerie calm in his eyes.  Then he turns and walks quickly to the old man.  He begins to help him out of the chair and toward the new kitchen door.

            And then you can come back out and move this car, I call after him, Unless you want this tree to fall on it.