Prince by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 4
The sudden bang-rattle-bang-rattle-bang of a pickup truck carting evergreen trees on a bouncing trailer woke Polly prior to her boringly trustworthy alarm clock. She bolted from bed to see what the ruckus was all about, as it sounded as if something had exploded right under her windows. She caught a glimpse of the offender before he was far away, seemingly none the worse for having encountered the speed bump in front of her house, as he continued to bob, weave and rattle down pre-sunrise, sleepy morning Camino De Lucia. “Another one new to the area starting gardening early,” she thought as she focused her tired eyes on her quiet timepiece and pushed the button that would ensure it keep its peace for another day.
She went back into her bed and pulled the covers over her head, intending to resume sleep. Polly fidgeted and fussed, but she was up to stay and was all too soon paid a visit by her diligent Mom, who arrived earlier than usual, as she, too, was roused by the rolling local gardening service.
Mom sat on the bed’s edge and furiously rubbed her daughter’s belly, wanting her to come out from under the covers.
She knew her little one was wide awake as she detected movement beneath the sea of cotton. When Polly balked, Mom tickled her
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and her squirms and laughter disabled her ability to remain hidden.
“Stop, stop,” Polly giggled as she moved around, trying to evade the cause of the excruciating laughter. She wiggled to the other side of the bed and slowly slipped off onto the carpeted floor, still unable to keep a straight face. Mom followed, picked her baby up and gave her three wet kisses on the face, which Polly pretended to hate more than the tickling onslaught.
Mom again took a seat at the bed’s edge and Polly sat next to her. Mom said; “Your father and I were talking last night
...... “
Polly interrupted to inject her form of humor, flatly saying; “Congratulations, a major breakthrough.” She giggled and Mom squeezed her nose and continued as if nothing happened, saying; “And we’ve come to the conclusion that you have to carry a cell phone.”
Polly had previously been through this conversation two or three times and was disappointed to see that she had not already disposed of the matter effectively. The two faced each other.
Polly rolled her eyes and through pursed lips said; “No way.”
Mom recognized the impasse, but was surprised that it happened so soon in the discussion. As a matter of practice, she always tried to reason with her daughter, but now they were
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firmly entrenched at yes-no loggerheads. She said; “You know, that guy you were standing with, when I picked you up yesterday, could have been some kind of a nut.”
“He was.”
Mom saw that, as early in the day that it was, Polly was adequately alert to require her to be painstakingly precise in her use of words. She said; “Okay, little Ms. Difficult, let me make it easy for you. Dad and I have determined that in order to maximize your safety, you will be required to carry a cell phone.”
Polly searched for something debatable in that statement.
She said; “If you really want to maximize my safety, let me stay home from school.”
Mom considered a revision. She said; “Given, that the law requires you to do certain things, alone and away from home and, that it is in your own best interest that you do certain things, alone and away from home it is incumbent upon us (Dad and I) that you be protected ......” Mom stopped, looked into Polly’s concentrating eyes and determined that no matter what she said, her argumentative little one would find some way to dispute it.
She secretly was pleased, as she thought that this boded well for a career as an attorney, not a bad job for a woman, no matter the political and cultural scene, but, for right now, she said; “The heck with that nonsense. Think about it today, as
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tonight your father will insist and he’s not averse to spanking.”
Polly was shocked, as she had come to believe that physical coercion had gone the way of the dinosaurs, at least in her household. Mom saw her distress and added; “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. All you have to do is put the thing in your bag and dial 911 if something happens.”
Polly was still primarily focused on the word “spanking.”
She thought; “Doesn’t that mean uncivilized striking? Is my father capable of that?” She started to cry.
Mom sadly looked at her upset little girl, who displayed wet eyes, tousled dirty blond hair and was wearing her pink Tinker-Bell jammies. Mom knew what the problem was with her willful baby and she knew that her husband would not resort to corporal punishment. She said; “No. ...... I just said that in desperation.” Mom put her arm around Polly and added; “I’m sorry. We just worry about you having to be out there alone.”
She considered saying something about all the nuts running loose. At least she heard that this was the case, but often wondered if today people just fretted about the subject more than in the past. She decided not to instill any unnecessary fear in her child. She had already told Polly not to talk to any adults that she or her Dad had not introduced her to and not to go near cars if called over by strangers. Still, she wished
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that Polly would carry a cell phone, especially when she went walking in the woods by the river behind their housing development. When the house was purchased, the realtor and others told them what a great thing it was to have “Bosque,” as it is called in New Mexico, access, both for recreation and property value. Now she questioned its desirability, as the private easement led to a rather remote part of the woods. She had never heard of anything bad happening there, but why risk being the first tragedy? She said; “The phone will help me worry less. Everyone has them now.”
Polly felt better, slightly reverted to her jovial self and said; “Yeah. That nerd you saw me with yesterday was especially proud of his.” She giggled while her mother frowned.
Mom said; “You can put it in your pocket or bag and you won’t even know it’s there.”
“Until it rings or beeps disturbing the tranquility of nature.” Polly saw the disappointed look on her mother’s face and quickly added; “I’ll give it serious thought today at school. I’m leaning toward yes.”
Mom smiled, took her by the hand and led Polly to the kitchen as the first rays of sunlight streamed through its naked window. She ate, dressed and got her ride to school and Ms.
Dermer.
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Polly sat in her front row seat and ruminated about the new fascination; the necessary suburban bourgeois status symbols called cell phones. She wanted her parents to feel that they were doing their proper job in protecting their little girl, but thought the reality of the situation was that anyone who intended her harm would be smart enough to first disable the plastic piece of dog doo. She also tried to look at things from their perspective. If something did happen to her, how deficient would they appear to investigators and the inevitable busybody club of Corrales for not taking every step to effectively do their job as the consensus had dictated? She was leaning toward deferring to their wishes and carrying the noisy monster, when she realized that it would create its own problems. There was no doubt that once she carried one it would invite unwanted calls and if she chose not to respond, or dare she turn the thing off, it would prompt some kind of big deal emergency. Her reverie was broken by the stench of Ms. Dermer’s
“perfume” choice of the day. This one was stronger than most and was reminiscent of the muriatic acid her father once used to clean an extremely dirty bathtub. She wished someone would care enough to protect her from the daily nasal assault on her lungs and sense of aesthetics. She thought; “Ms. Dermer must be one dirty old bat to require a daily dosing of heavy duty
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cleansers.” She didn’t want to pursue that thought and returned to her current family generated consternation.
Polly got a brainstorm she hoped was not induced by inhaling toxic fumes. “Protection” was the stated reason for her need for plasticized safety, with all its deficiencies and complications. How about a flawless flesh and blood defender, devoid of a penchant to disturb the peace and tranquility of nature; a guard dog! She had previously entertained passing thoughts of having a canine companion, but didn’t know anything about how to take care of one. She was also a bit fearful of dogs, probably emanating from her cousin’s visits with his puppy years prior. When she was very little he brought over a nippy little guy and it seemed that once Polly showed that she was afraid of being bitten, the dog liked “pecking” her all the more. She wound up spending the majority of the visits on her bed, where she couldn’t be reached.
In more recent times she became a bit more at ease around dogs, as many of the people she met when out walking the Bosque were accompanied by leashed, well behaved pooches which weren’t inclined to any nonsense. Upon invitation she had petted a number of the friendly, furry creatures without incident. She realized that these experiences were controlled and involved dogs, which seemed to have been trained out of all wild instincts. They walked dutifully at their masters’ or
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mistresses’ side at the dictated pace and she felt sorry for them at times, but appreciated their reticence to get aggressive.
She sat on her one-piece, laminated chair, leaned forward, elbows resting on the tiny attached desk and doodled in her notebook, as Ms. Dermer, head down, read from a history book about Patrick Henry. “Give me liberty or give me death.”
“Radical,” she thought, her initial reaction one of wondering what country he founded, immediately eliminating the possibility of the one in which she resided. “That was a long time ago, probably before cell phones had been invented.”
Her mind again returned to its most pressing problem. She did not want to carry a cell phone, no matter what. That would be the efficient end of any semblance of liberty that remained in her life. So that made a dog the rule of the day. But, that opened other considerations. She’d have to convince her parents. She’d have to learn to take care of it. She’d have to totally overcome her fear of dogs. It would have to be fierce and ready to protect her, but not from things that meant no harm. It would have to be disciplined enough to listen to her.
She didn’t want a depressed one which boringly remained at her side. She didn’t want one that would pull her all over the place. She didn’t realize it, but she was trying to do something few have had any success at and she was still only ten
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years old. She and the dog would both have to be extremely smart and extremely lucky.
“Ms. Polly,” shouted Ms. Dermer. “Do you have the slightest idea of what I am talking about?”
The shock of reality overtook Polly’s mental meanderings and she knew she would have to pay some type of lip service to the stinker’s tedious diatribe. She again wished for a comfortable rear seat and she said; “I think so,” wanting to remain as brief as possible.
“And your informed insight into that is what?”
“The importance of liberty, obviously.” She shrugged her shoulders and grimaced, as if to say; “Tell me something I don’t know.” There was a modicum of giggles from her classmates, to the consternation of Ms. Dermer, who drummed her pointing stick on her desk, restoring order.
“Ms. Polly, I don’t think you’ve been paying the least bit of attention.”
Polly was silent.
Ms. Dermer said; “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
Polly reached her threshold of patience and responded with an edge, saying; “What is it you’re asking me? I don’t understand.”
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Ms. Dermer didn’t precisely know what it was that she was asking and that made her more agitated. She directly accused Polly of being remiss in her duty to pay attention, saying;
“Your mind is obviously elsewhere.” Her agitation must have inspired perspiration, as the scent of household cleansers was magnified.
Polly concluded that by this time she was already in deep doo-doo and consequently didn’t have anything more to lose and said; “What do you expect from a C+ student?”
Ms. Dermer again played an out of sync tune with her pointer, as she couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say, not that she had yet demonstrated such an ability to anyone other than herself. As what is pitifully typical of idiots in charge, she reverted to a command and said; “You will give me your undivided attention!”
Polly concluded that Ms. Dermer was German, nodded “Yes,”
and said “Yavol,” at the last minute deciding not to do the Nazi salute. Ms. Dermer, not certain if she was being mocked, but momentarily satisfied with having re-established her governing authority over an inattentive ten year old, put her eyes back in the history book and commenced reading of the great thoughts of this country’s founding fathers concerning freedom and liberty, with no concept of what the direct, simple words meant. They were merely short phrases to be memorized to pass standardized
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objective tests. Her understanding began and ended with independence from Great Britain. She hadn’t gotten out more than a sentence or two, when a little boy, near the back of the room put the back of his hand to his mouth and unleashed a vulgar sound approximating; “Thrp-poo-phrrt.” The day’s lesson in history was firmly established without the benefit of Ms.
Dermer’s book, as the class could not refrain from outbursts of laughter the remainder of the afternoon and collectively, could not be controlled by the headmistress.
Prince woke from his morning nap, feeling as well as a dog sequestered in a tiny cage possibly could. He instinctively knew that he would not be required to fight and despite the break of day flirtation with disaster, recalled and was grateful to Ramon for bringing him to a peaceful place. The fiftyish Spanish man worked as a cleanup man at the dog fighting compound that contained Prince’s earliest memories. The two had established an eccentric friendship. Ramon didn’t want to be there, but was considered mildly retarded and he needed a job, any job, though in fact his malady was that he had undiagnosed autism spectrum disorder. Prince didn’t want to be there either, but also had little choice in the matter, perhaps resulting in an undiagnosed depression. Each seemed to sense the other’s frame of mind and as top dog, Prince had the run of
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the place. He took to following the short, enduring man around while he performed his tasks, often getting underfoot. If none of the owners and organizers were present they would play.
Ramon would throw a rubber ball and Prince would scoot to fetch it and then it was Ramon’s turn to catch him to get it back.
This wasn’t easy for Ramon, unless he could corner the fast and agile dog and most often Ramon would give up after tiring himself out and sit down, at which point Prince would walk to him and drop the ball at his feet.
What Prince didn’t know was that a few days ago Ramon became aware that the following day there was going to be a big money match between Prince and an imported pit bull-boxer cross, a type new to him and like Prince; the pit bull- boxer had never been beaten.
He also had overheard a phone conversation in which the principal owner, “Hatchet Man” discussed the state of the facility. It seems that the foundation, walls and roof were all in serious need of repair. Brown and muscular “Hatchet Man” had been offered a proposal from one contractor to do all the work, starting each segment simultaneously, but found that to be a stupid and possibly expensive showing of faith. Though it was much more expensive this way he insisted that the work should start solely with the foundation, as if it could not be properly repaired he wouldn’t waste money on the walls and roof. If it
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was fixable, then he wanted the walls done prior to the roof with the same rationale. While the contractor was amenable to the owner’s request because he would definitely make a lot more money if all three things were done and priced individually, he preferred the “all at once” approach as this guaranteed him a higher profit than just one aspect would. He also wanted to get going on the roof because he wanted to keep any rain off his work and his head. The owner insisted on having things his way and foundation work was to commence any day. Ramon knew it was beyond repair, because he had a small area of genius, being an idiot savant, which was probably a result of his autistic spectrum disorder and that was foundations. He also knew that the crumbling hard concrete foundation was the cause of the wall and roof problems and that the only possible solution was complete replacement with a mix of stone and a soft bonding compound like that which was used in the nineteenth century.
Hatchet Man wasn’t open to doing a complete repair and even if he changed his mind there was no longer any artisans experienced in working with the soft bond. Undetectable or overt earth tremors dictated the use of something capable of swaying without breaking apart. He saw confident “Hatchet Man” with the phone in his right hand and the source of his self-assurance, a nine in his left, point the barrel down, grin and say; “What am I gonna do with the dogs if I can’t fix it? I’m going to shoot
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them myself. I’d like to watch them die. The first one will be surprised, but the rest will know its coming. I’d like to see how brave they are then.” He laughed and fondled his nine.
“Yeah, they’re insured.”
Rightly fearing for his friend’s life for two sound and fundamental reasons, Ramon led Prince out of the otherwise human-free facility, put him in his car and drove him to the Corrales Humane Shelter. He had no trouble getting Prince into his cage as the spotted marvel trusted and liked him. Ramon said a tearful goodbye, kissed Prince on his big, silly, black nose, which was extended between the bars and hoped that the smart animal would understand why he was caged. He drove back to his job as quickly as he could and hoped no one discovered his temporary absence.
Prince understood somewhat by the next day when he was not required to perform any acts of violence, but was befuddled that the price for this was being all too often confined. He had no conception of adoption and like the aborigines, thought that the current situation would last forever. Further reflection on the subject resulted in the dismissal of the first thought as his circumstances had already changed, so why couldn’t it change again? He hoped it would be to a place where combat and incarceration were not part of the status quo. Does such a place exist? Or was he engaging in hopeless fantasy?
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He lazily gazed around the single room that was already becoming a bit too familiar. The blinds had been opened, presumably by Debby and the parking lot view it afforded was better than nothing, but naught to sustain. He looked to his midnight marauding brothers and sisters and they returned the favor. Their faces were questioning and anticipatory, no doubt waiting for the moment they could all be again allowed to use their legs for the things they were made for. Cage sitting was for quadriplegics. Though not feeling up to it, Prince tried to summon up a confident look, as he thought that, by default, he was now obliged to provide some kind of hope to his fellow prisoners. He worked up the mettle to self-assuredly nod in their direction. With bright eyes he attempted to say; “Just wait. We’ll have our time,” though he was far from certain of that. They looked back at him with faces that reflected the way he truly felt and he wondered if they were oblivious to the phony façade and could read his mind. He also wondered how long they had been there. Two days of “humane” treatment were already beginning to take its toll on him. Imagine two weeks, two months, or two years. Better still, don’t imagine it. He saw Debby at her desk, frustrated and animatedly speaking into her phone. He didn’t know that she was trying to explain to the landlord that dog-doo in the back of the property was not likely to be causing poor attendance at the other retail facilities in
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the strip mall, all of which were only open to front end access and, yes, that she would make a better effort to expeditiously remove the health hazard in the future. He couldn’t wait for evening when he would probably be able to again free himself and his companions and they would all be able to experience the exhilaration of running the entirety of the twenty foot by twenty foot facility in the dark, illuminated by the indirect glow of the garish, red, fluorescent lights next door, proudly highlighting the existence of “Nunzio’s Native American Chinese Imports.” Under the circumstances Prince decided that the best thing he could do right now was return to sleep and wait for the magic of the night. He turned his back to everything in his purview, lay down and shut his eyes.
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