Mary Wolf (12 page)

“Well, she got the family.”

He shot me a look. “No way I'll get a swelled head with you around. Isn't it sad that I command more respect from the people at this campground than I do from my own daughter?”

“Very,” I said, but he missed the point. He thought I was apologizing.

“Sad, but that's the way of the world. A prophet is never recognized in his own country.”

He handed me the pistol. I pushed the hair out of my eyes. The wind was blowing strong.

“Daddy,” I said, “don't take this wrong, but you're not a prophet; you're an insurance salesman. The people here look up to you because you used to be rich, compared to them. You're sitting there in that big RV. They're living in cars and tents. And you always sound like you know what you're talking about.”

“Even when I don't, you mean.”

“Yes.”

He looked shocked; then he laughed. He put his arm around me. “Honey, I can count on you to keep me honest. Let's face it: I'm selling hope to the hopeless, the insurance for people who've got nothing left to lose. Hold it steady and aim for the center.”

“I don't want to do this! We're wasting bullets.”

“Look around you, Mary. It's a crazy old world. We didn't make it that way and we sure can't change it. All we're trying to do is survive. Take a shot.”

I steadied the gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced the middle of the target.

“Not bad!” Daddy said. “You're learning.”

Dave came loping down the beach, his bad leg swinging.

“Andrew, you better come up,” he called.

“What's the matter? Trouble?”

“The rangers are here. Freddy's been mooning the people on the ridge again.”

“That was smart.” Daddy grimaced. “What an idiot.”

“Well, I know,” Dave said. “But once he starts drinking, he stops thinking.”

High above River's End is a ridge fronted with huge new homes. The people who live up there don't like us. We ruin their expensive view. This isn't the first time they've complained to the rangers, but so far nothing bad has happened.

“We better see what they want.” Daddy pockets the pistol and we hurry up the beach to the campground.

The rangers are waiting beside our RV, sunglasses masking their tanned faces. Mama stands by the back end, holding Andy, picking at the flag decal on the window, rolling pieces into tiny balls. A small crowd has gathered, talking and laughing, waiting to see what's going to happen.

“Rita! Tom!” Daddy greets them warmly. He has a talent for remembering names. He says that comes in handy in business. “Can I get you some iced tea? Wendy, get some glasses.”

“No, thanks, Andrew. We just wanted to let you know that we've had some complaints.” Tom nods toward the ridge. “Somebody's been mooning them.”

“Hmmm,” Daddy says. “Sounds mighty serious. Good thing they have binoculars or they couldn't tell.”

The people on the ridge aim telescopes at us, as if they were studying an enemy encampment.

Tom grins. “Well, I know. Personally, I don't care. But you guys aren't even supposed to be here. Things like this don't help.”

“We'll take care of it,” Daddy promises. “We don't want any trouble.”

“They say your dogs chase their cats. They've heard gun shots,” Rita adds.

Daddy shakes his head, puzzled. “You can't shoot a gun on the beach. We know that.”

“They want the beach cleared. They say it's a public nuisance.”

“They're the nuisance!” Dave exclaims. The crowd mutters agreement.

Tom holds up his hands to quiet them. “We're not saying they're right and we're not saying they're wrong. But if word comes down, we'll have to enforce it.”

“You can't!” Dave cries. “We've been living here for years. Where would all these people go?”

“Just calm down, Dave,” Daddy says. “Rita and Tom are trying to help.”

“We've looked the other way for a long time,” Tom reminds us.

“We know that.” Daddy nods. “You've been awfully kind. You'll let us know if anything changes?”

“You'll know as soon as we do,” Rita promises.

“They'll never get us out of here,” Janice tells the crowd. “This is our beach, too! Those people up there don't own it.”

“Well, I know that,” Tom says, “but they think they do. And the state's starting to talk about clearing the beach. It might be a good idea for you people to look for another place, just in case.”

“Like where?” someone shouts. “Up on the ridge? Look around you, man. People are hurting!”

“We know that,” Rita says. “But the state makes the rules, not us.”

“What is this, Russia? What's happened to people's rights?” someone shouts. The crowd's turning ugly.

“We didn't come here to argue. We're just doing our job.”

“We appreciate that, Rita, we really do. But people can't just pick up and leave,” Daddy says. “They've lived here for years. They have nowhere to go.”

“We're not saying you have to leave right now. But those people up there are making lots of phone calls. It's better to plan ahead.”

“Tom, Rita, we want to thank you for coming down here. And we'll take care of those little problems you mentioned.” Daddy shakes their hands. “Can you join us for dinner? We're having a cookout.”

“Barbecued rich people,” someone says. People laugh.

“Thanks anyway,” Tom says. “We'll be on our way.”

They get into their truck and drive off. Daddy says, “Where's Freddy?”

“In his tent,” Janice says.

“Get him up here. Get everybody up here. We've got to have a meeting.”

Mama touches his arm, scared. “Andrew, what's happening? Does everybody have to leave?”

“Not if I can help it.” He looks exhausted.

“What should I do? Should I make some coffee?”

“For God's sake, Wendy, we're not having a party. The world's ending and you're serving refreshments.”

“Don't get mad at her. It's not her fault.”

“It's all right, Mary.”

“No it's not, Mama. He doesn't need to talk to you that way.”

Daddy glares at me, then glances at Mama. Her chin is quivering. He draws her close. “I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just so tired.”

“It's all right, darling.” Mama hands Andy to me and rubs Daddy's shoulders.

Within minutes most of the people at the campground are milling around outside the Wolfs' Den, even the men from the driftwood huts.

“What's up?” Rocky asks me, tickling Andy's toes.

I nod toward the ridge. “They want us out of here.”

“They don't own the beach. They can't make us leave. Can they?”

I shrug. My father's talking.

“We just had a visit from the rangers,” he tells the crowd. “Seems someone has offended our upstairs neighbors.”

“Poor things!” someone shouts. “We've hurt their feelings.”

“They don't have any feelings,” someone says.

“This is serious.” Daddy frowns. “They could get us kicked out. We're not supposed to be living here in the first place.”

“We're not hurting anybody! We're not ruining the beach!”

“I know that,” Daddy says calmly, as if he's talking to children. “But the rules specify a one-week stay. We're way over the limit. The last thing we want to do is give them an excuse to boot us out.”

“We've changed the rules! This is our beach now! We were here before they built those houses up there.”

“I realize that, John, but who's the sheriff going to listen to, them or us? Now if Freddy could keep on his damn pants—”

“So I mooned them!” Freddy shouts. “Big deal! So what!” He's a skinny man, swaying in the breeze of too much beer. “They couldn't even tell if they didn't use their goddamn spyglasses!”

“But they do use them, Freddy! They do! That's the point! Exposing yourself is a public offense.”

“I was just being friendly.”

“Then smile and wave! When you see those glasses on you, do this! Hello! Hello up there!” Daddy grins and waves hugely. Laughter ripples through the crowd. “We don't need to sink to their level, people. We're better than them. We stay nice and polite.”

“That won't work,” Dave says grimly. “We could go around in tuxedos and they still wouldn't like us. They're going to try to kick us out.”

“Maybe,” Daddy says. “But there are things we can do. We're not helpless. We can make phone calls too. We can talk to the newspapers and the TV people. How would that look on the evening news; all you nice people getting kicked off the beach? We can drive up to the county and visit our supervisors. How would they like to see us walk in, with our wives and our kids and our babies? We've got a lot going for us, people, but we've got to stick together and use our heads. No mooning the neighbors, no dogs chasing their cats—”

“Dogs chase cats,” Freddy says. “That's what they do.”

“Who's in charge, Fred; you or your dog? We tie up the dogs. We don't give these people any ammunition. If we do, it'll be our own damn fault. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Anyway,” Freddy says, “who elected you God?”

Everybody looks at Daddy, waiting.

“The twelve disciples,” he snaps. “You've got a better idea? Come on, Fred, we're all waiting to hear it.”

Freddy hangs his head. “I didn't mean nothing. It's just, you know, it's a bunch of bull.”

“I agree with you, my man, but we play by the rules or we're going to get thrown out of the game.”

“Andrew, can they really make us leave?” someone asks.

“I don't know, Ruth. But even if they can, nothing's going to happen right away. These things take time. We can talk to a lawyer.”

“Not without money,” Dave says mournfully. I've never seen him so discouraged.

“O ye of little faith! What's the matter with you, Dave? Haven't you heard of public-interest lawyers? We're the people, remember? And this is still America. In the meantime let's all keep our cool. We're going to make those people on the ridge love us. They'll love us so much they'll want to adopt us.”

Dave points to the ridge. “They're watching us right now.” Sunlight glints off their binoculars.

“You know what to do, people.”

The crowd follows Daddy's lead. They turn toward the ridge, smiling and waving. A few tip their hats and tap-dance.

Laughing, they drift off to fix their suppers. Some shake Daddy's hand and thank him.

“Andrew, man, I don't know what we'd do without you,” Dave says, his voice breaking.

“Don't worry,” Daddy tells him. “Everything's going to be fine.”

I ask Daddy if Rocky can join us for supper.

“Not tonight,” he says. “It's a family time.”

“He won't eat much.”

“Not now, I said.”

The show's over. I tell Rocky I'll see him tomorrow.

In the Wolfs' Den, Mama's warming soup. Danielle wants to go to the cookout.

“Not tonight,” Daddy says. “We've got to make some plans.”

“What kind of plans?” Mama asks.

“We're leaving.”

“Now? But you said—”

“I know what I said. But any fool can see the writing on the wall. It's just a matter of time before they close the beach and kick us out.”

“But I thought—”

“Don't think, Wendy. Let's just eat.”

She passes around bowls of tomato soup and a plate of cheese sandwiches.

“If you think we've got to leave, you should've told them the truth,” I say.

“Right.” Daddy grunts. “That would've gone over good.”

“But what about the lawyer and the TV people?”

“Listen to me, Mary. I'm not Jesus Christ. I'm just an unemployed salesman, as you so often point out. These people don't want help; they want a baby-sitter. They want someone to solve all their problems. I've got enough problems of my own.”

“But Marie's got a skirt on her trailer,” Mama says.

“Then they'll have to take off the skirt or dump the trailer. I don't know what they're going to do. All I know is, we're hitting the road before the rangers come back with an eviction notice.”

“I don't want to leave!” Erica wails.

“Don't you want to go to school? Don't you want to live in a nice house?”

“No! I want to stay with my friends!”

“You'll make new friends,” he says.

“I don't want to make new friends!”

Danielle says, “Don't we even get a vote?”

“No.”

“I thought this was America.”

“Just eat your dinner.”

“I don't want to eat! I'm not hungry!” she shouts.

So fast we don't even see it coming, Daddy grabs her bowl and hurls it into the sink. It shatters. Soup splatters across the counter.

Now Danielle's crying and Erica starts. Andy studies them, his eyes alarmed. I pick him up and cuddle him close.

“Look, Daddy, I'm eating.” Polly slurps her soup.

“So when are we leaving?” I don't feel glad. I can picture Rocky's face when I tell him we're going.

“Soon as we can. I'll check out the RV tomorrow. The battery might need recharging.”

“What are you going to tell Dave?”

“What do you mean, what am I going to tell him? I'm going to tell him we're going. He's a grown man. He can take care of himself. For Christ's sake, Mary, we hardly even know him.”

“He thinks you're his friend.”

“I am his friend. But it's every man for himself. Dave knows that.”

“I'm sure glad I'm not a man,” I say. I wrap Andy in his blanket and carry him outside and down the beach toward Rocky's hut.