“Betty, you wouldn’t believe it!” said Julian to his wife who was at the sink. “There’s not a square foot of that damned lawn that isn’t undermined! Larry—Larry, you take the cake for destroying property! Your own property!”
“Julian, please!” Betty said.
“I can’t understand why you hadn’t noticed it!” Julian said to her. “I can poke one of these crutches—any place and it sinks!”
“Well, I don’t go around poking crutches!” Betty came back, but she was really wondering if she could get one of her tranquilizers (ancient pills, she hadn’t taken one in at least two years) down Julian, or should she simply ring the doctor, their family doctor? Suppose he had another heart attack? “Darling, would you take one of my Libriums?”
“No!” said Julian. “I haven’t time!” He turned on his crutches and went out again.
Larry went timidly out, drifted towards his hamster warrens, and felt a warm, happy relief at seeing Pirate and Gloria munching away at their bowl of wheat grain, and seven or eight young hamsters asleep in the hay.
“Hey there, Larry!” called his father. “Gather some firewood, would you? Twigs! From anywhere!”
Larry took a deep breath, hating it, hating his father. His father was going to try to smoke the hamsters out. Larry obeyed with leaden feet, picking up twigs from under hedges and rose bushes, until after five minutes or so Julian yelled at him to move a little faster. Larry’s mother had come out, and Larry heard her vaguely protesting, and then she too was recruited for his father’s awful work. Betty took stakes from the toolhouse, stakes that had been destined for tomato plants, Larry knew.
As Larry advanced towards the barbecue grill on the terrace, he caught sight of something that made him freeze, then smile. A pair of hamsters stood on their hind legs in the laurel, chattering as if talking to each other, and in an anxious way.
“Larry, take that stuff to the grill!” Julian called, and Larry moved.
When Larry looked again, the hamsters were not there. Had he imagined them? No. He had seen them.
Kar-rumph! The bulldozer bit out another hunk.
Betty joined Larry at the grill, poured a bit of paraffin on the charcoal, and struck a match. Larry dutifully added his twigs.
“Hand me the stakes, dear,” Betty said.
Larry did so. “He’s not going to stab them with the stakes, is he?” asked Larry, suddenly near tears. He wanted to fight his father with his fists. If he’d only been able to tackle his father man to man in a fight, he wouldn’t be about to cry now, like a coward.
“Oh no, dear,” said his mother in her artificially soft voice, which always meant some crisis was at hand. “He’s just going to smoke them out. Then you can catch them and put them back in the warren.”
Larry didn’t believe a word of it. “And what about the little ones? All underneath? Without their parents?”
Betty only sighed.
Grimly, Larry watched his father poking with the tip of one of his crutches at the ground. He knew his father had found a hamster hole, and was trying to make it bigger, so a burning brand would go down there.
“Take these to your father, dear,” said Betty, handing Larry two burning sticks at least three feet long. “Never mind if they go out. Hold them away from you.”
Larry trudged across the lawn with them.
“Ha!” laughed one of the workmen. “You’ll need more than that!”
Larry pretended not to hear. He handed Julian the stakes without looking into his face.
“Thanks, my boy,” Julian said, and stuck a smoking stick at once into a hole four inches in diameter. The stake all but disappeared and showed just a few inches above the ground. “Ah, there we are!” Julian said in a tone of satisfaction. “Take this. Follow me.”
Larry took back one stake, whose flame had gone out, but whose smoke made Larry close his eyes for an instant. His father had found two holes, the next just a yard or so away. The second stake went into this one.
“Splendid! More sticks, Larry!”
Larry walked back towards the terrace. The boomerang hole was now pretty deep, already looking like a boomerang shape, and Larry kept clear of it. He could not bring himself to glance at it, lest he see more destroyed hamster homes. But the two hamsters he had seen above ground cheered him greatly: maybe they’d all have time to escape before they were overcome by asphyxiation. Larry carried more stakes to his father, six, eight, maybe twelve. The sun was sinking. The bulldozer pulled back and dropped its toothy scoop as if intending to rest for the night.
“Hamsters, come out!” Larry said aloud. “It’ll be dark soon! Night!” There must be some escape holes left, he thought.
The big rectangular lawn smoked from a dozen spots, but Larry was delighted to see that two or three stakes showed no smoke at ground level. He had relit several for his father. The puppy, Mr. Johnson, had retreated to the house, not liking the smoke.
Julian was smiling broadly as he came on crutches towards the terrace fire, which Betty still tended. The workmen had departed. “That’ll give ’em something to think about!” he said, as he surveyed his land. “Larry, go and collect the sticks that’ve gone out, would you, boy?”
“I’ll do it, Julian,” Betty said. “Go in and rest, dear. I’m sure you shouldn’t be hobbling around with your ankle. The doctor would have a fit if he knew.”
“Ha-ha,” said Julian.
Larry avoided looking at his father. His father’s grin seemed insane under the circumstances. Larry stood at a corner of the terrace, straining his eyes to see if any hamsters had come to ground level. But their babies! They were born blind, and some of the poor little things wouldn’t even be able to see where to go to escape.
Betty came back with three stakes that had completely gone out, and stuck them on the charcoal.
“A little more paraffin!” Julian said. “I think we’re getting somewhere!”
“It’s not good for the roses, all this heat and smoke, Julian,” Betty said.
Julian poured the paraffin himself, dropped the tin, and both he and Betty had to jump back as the flames leapt briefly. There hadn’t been much in the tin. Julian laughed again. Betty became more nervous, and a little angry.
“These’ll surely be enough, Julian,” she said. “Let’s let this be the end of it. Larry and I can take them out. It’s almost too dark to see.”
“I’ll put on the terrace light,” said Julian, and hobbled into the house and did so, but the lighted terrace only made the lawn seem darker. Julian found a flashlight. It was difficult for him to hold the flashlight and his crutches too, but it was his idea to hold the flashlight for Betty and Larry so they could find the hamster holes which still needed smoking stakes put into them.
The three of them went out to do this. Larry set his teeth trying to hold his anger and his tears back. He could hardly breathe. Partly it was because of the smoke, and partly because he was holding his breath. He saw a hamster, an adult that he didn’t recognize, look at him with terrified eyes, then flee into some bushes. Larry, in a burst of rage, flung his burning sticks flat down on the lawn. The tips broke off, their flames went out.
“What’re you doing there, Larry?” yelled his father. “Pick those up!”
“No!” Larry said.
“It’s because of you we’re in this mess!” Julian shouted, moving towards Larry. “You do as I say or you’ll get the worst whipping of your life!”
“Julian, please, darling!” Betty said. “We’re finished now! Let’s go in the house!”
“Will you pick up—” Julian toppled. One crutch had sunk deep.
Larry was quite near him, but stepped back in the darkness and dodged a smoking stick that stuck up from the grass.
“Oh, Lord!” Betty cried, and ran—in a curve because of the pool excavation
—towards Julian whose white ankle bandage was the most visible part of him in the darkness. She got a nasty whiff of smoke from somewhere, and coughed.
Larry heard the shriek of a fire engine siren, or maybe it was a police car. Under the cover of dark now, Larry removed every projecting stick he could see, and dropped them on the lawn. The rather dry grass was smoldering in some spots. Larry held his breath in smoky areas, and breathed only where it was a bit clearer. He saw that Julian was on his feet again. His father was yelling at him.
Larry didn’t care. Now there were fire bells, rapid clangs. Good! A coal got into one of Larry’s sneakers, and he had to remove his sneaker, knock it out, untie the lace and pull it on again.
Now the firemen were coming around the side of the house! With a hose! Larry could see them in the light of the terrace. Two or three firemen were getting the hose in position.
Hooray! Larry thought, but he didn’t want the hamsters to be drowned either. He’d tell the firemen not to turn too much water on, he thought, and trotted towards the terrace.
Betty screamed from the lawn. “The hamsters! They’re biting!” Three or four were attacking her ankles.
Julian stabbed at a hamster with his crutch tip. “Damn them!” They were all around him and Betty. He lunged again, lost his balance and fell. One rushed at his face and nipped. Another sank its incisors into his forearm. Julian struggled up again, despite the fact that a hamster clung to his wrist. “Betty!—Tell the firemen—”
At this point a spew of water like a battering ram caught Julian in the abdomen, and suddenly he was flat on his back with his breath knocked out. At once a half-dozen hamsters were attacking him.
“Julian, where are you?” Betty called. She debated trying to find Julian versus going to speak to the firemen—who must be thinking the whole lawn was on fire! She decided to run to the firemen. “Careful!” she yelled at them. “Be careful, my husband’s on the lawn!”
“What?” came a man’s voice from behind the horizontal torrent.
Betty got closer and shouted, nearly breathless. “It’s not a fire! We’re trying to smoke out some hamsters!”
“Smoke out what?”
“Hamsters! Cut the hose off! It isn’t necessary!”
Larry watched, standing in the dark near the terrace. The water from the hose had created more smoke.
The great canvas hose abated slowly, as if reluctant, and became limp.
“What’s going on, ma’am? That’s an awful lot of smoke!” said a huge fireman wearing a black rubber coat and a splendid red helmet.
In the few seconds of silence, they all heard Julian scream, a pained scream yet an exhausted one, as if it were not his first.
A dozen or more hamsters, crazed by smoke, shocked by the bursts of hose water, were attacking Julian as if he were the cause of their woes. Julian fended some off with his hands and fists and one crutch, which he wielded clumsily, holding it in the middle. He had wrenched his bad ankle again, the pain was awful, and he’d given up trying to stand up. His main task was to get the hamsters’ teeth out of his own flesh, out of his calves, his forearm which braced him in a half-recumbent position on the smoking grass.
“Help!” Julian cried. “Help me!”
And a fireman was coming, thank God! The fireman had a flashlight.
“Hey, what the hell is this?” the fireman said, kicking off a couple of hamsters with a thick boot.
Larry trotted towards the glow of the fireman’s flashlight. Now Larry could see plenty of hamsters, scores of them, and his heart gave a jump as if he beheld a myriad fighters on his side. They were alive! They were lively and well! Larry stopped short. The fireman had dropped his father, having lifted him a little from the ground. What was happening?
The fireman had loosened his grip when a hamster bit him severely in the hand. The little beasts were running up his boots, falling, coming back. “Hey, Pete! Give us a hand! Bring an axe!” the fireman yelled towards the terrace. Then he began to stomp about, trying to protect the man on the ground from the hamsters that were coming from all sides. The fireman uttered some round Irish curses. Nobody was going to believe this story when he told it!
“Get them off—off!” Julian murmured with one hand over his face. He had been bitten in the nose.
Larry observed it all from the darkness. And he realized he didn’t care. He didn’t care what happened to his father! It was a little like watching something on the TV screen. Yes, he did care. He wanted the hamsters to win. He wanted his father to get defeated, to lose, and he wouldn’t have cared if his father fell into the pool pit—but he was a fair distance away from it. The hamsters had a right to their land, their homes, had a right to protect their offspring. Larry trotted in place and punched his fists in the air like a silent cheering squad. Then he found his voice. “Come on, hamsters!” Larry yelled, and it crossed his mind to release Pirate and Gloria so they could join in—and yet they weren’t even needed, there were so many hamsters!
Now a second fireman was trotting out with an axe. The two firemen got Julian up by putting one of Julian’s arms around each of their necks. Julian’s head sagged forward.
As the trio came into the terrace light, Larry saw hamsters at their feet flee back into the darkness of the lawn. His father’s pale trousers, his shirt, were all splotched with blood.
And Larry’s mother’s face was absolutely white. An instant after Larry noticed this, his mother sank to the terrace tiles. She had fainted. One of the firemen picked her up and carried her into the living room, which was brightly lit now, because the firemen had turned on all the lights.
“We’ve got to get this one to the hospital,” said the biggest fireman. “He’s losing blood.”
There was a pool of blood on the red tiles under Julian’s half-supported feet.
Larry hovered and chewed a fingernail.
“We’ll take him in the wagon.”
“Think that’s best?”
“Anything we can do for him now?”
“He’s bleeding from too many places!”
“Put him on the wagon! The stretcher, Pete!”
“No time for that! Carry him and get going!”
Betty came to as Julian was being borne towards the driveway where the fire trucks were. A few neighbors stood there, and now they asked questions, questions about the fire. And what had happened to Julian?
“Hamsters!” said one of the firemen. “Hamsters in the lawn!”
The neighbors were amazed.
Betty wanted to go with Julian to the hospital, but one of the firemen advised her not to. A couple of the women neighbors stayed with her.
Julian’s jugular vein had been pierced in two places, and he had lost a lot of blood by the time he arrived at the hospital. The doctors applied tourniquets and stitched. Transfusions were given. The process was slow. In came the blood and out it flowed. Julian died within an hour.
Betty, under sedation that night, was not notified until the following morning. With the resources of an adult, Betty mentally gave herself two days to recover from the shock, knowing all the while that she would sell the house and move somewhere else. Larry, realizing factually what had happened, did not take it in at once emotionally, his father’s demise. He knew his mother would never want to see another hamster, so he set about releasing those he could capture into territory where they might have a chance of survival. He made three or four expeditions on his bicycle, carrying his cardboard box loaded with adults and baby hamsters. There was a wood not far away with plenty of trees, underbrush, and not a house for half a mile.
So, his father was dead, Larry realized, finally. Dead because of hamsters which had simply bitten him. But in a way hadn’t his father asked for it? Couldn’t they have taken the time to save the hamsters in the boomerang area, and still gone on with the swimming
pool construction? Much as Larry loved his father, and knew he should love his father—who had been a pretty good father as fathers went, Larry realized—Larry was still somehow on the side of the hamsters. Because of his mother’s feelings, Larry knew he had to part with Pirate and Gloria too. These with a few babies were the last to go one morning on Larry’s bicycle in the cardboard box. Once more Larry fought against tears as he released this pair that he loved the best. But he did hold back the tears, and he felt he was at last becoming a man.
Harry: A Ferret
Harry, a ferret of uncertain age, perhaps one or two, was the prize possession of Roland Lemoinnier, a boy of fifteen. There was no doubt Roland was fifteen. He was pleased to tell anyone, because he considered fifteen a great step forward over fourteen. To be fourteen was to be a child, but to be fifteen was to enter manhood. Roland took pleasure in his new deep voice, and looked into the mirror every morning before brushing his teeth to see if more hair had sprouted where a mustache might have been or under his sideburns. He shaved elaborately with his own razor, but only once a week, because seeing the hair on his face gave him more pleasure than shaving.
Roland’s new adulthood had got him into trouble in Paris, at least in his mother’s opinion. He had begun going out with boys and girls several years older than he, and the police had hauled him in among six other young people, all around eighteen, to caution them about possession of marijuana. Being tall, Roland could pass for eighteen and often did. His mother had been so shocked by the police episode, she had acted on the advice of her mother, with whom in this case she was in complete accord, and moved to her house in the country near Orléans. Roland’s father and mother had been divorced since he was five. With Roland and his mother went the two servants Brigitte, maid and cook, and Antoine, the elderly chauffeur and factotum who had been with the family since before Roland was born. Brigitte and Antoine were not married to each other, and both were single. Antoine was so aged as to be a joke to Roland, something left over from another century and mysteriously still alive, frowning disapproval on Roland’s blue jeans at the lunch table and his bare feet on the carpets and the waxed floors of La Source. It was summer, and Roland was free of the Lycée Lamartine, eight kilometers away, where he had gone for most of the preceding term after their move from Paris.