There Are Holes, and Then There Are Holes

WE HAD recently moved to Virginia, to a fine two-story brick home with two fireplaces and a wrap-around porch, situated on nearly an acre of land.  The second fireplace was in my father’s and mother’s bedroom, and they kept it lit during the daylight hours and into the night, my father getting up at five-thirty each cold morning to first light the kitchen fireplace and then the fireplace upstairs so that my mother wouldn’t have to get out of bed into cold air.  And we had a warm kitchen, at least, where we sat down to French toast, fatback, and oatmeal, depending on what my father felt like making that day.  Those eating were my brother Frank, my sister Mathilde, and me.  There was a hot water problem. There was never enough time for us each to shower as thoroughly as we wanted while maintaining hot water for the rest, and so my brother and sister often raced through their breakfasts to get upstairs first, Frank and Mathilde having a substantial advantage over me as I was five years their junior, and a picky eater.  

     So on this particular morning I was dawdling through my oatmeal, popping errant bubbles, while my father talked on the phone.  I wasn’t paying much attention to what he was saying, just letting the rhythms of his voice fill the empty spaces in my subconscious.  But then he said something that sounded excited, and I started listening more intently.

     “Fifteen,” he said. Then he listened.  “So I heard you correctly.  And why are you giving me this stunning offer?”  Pause.  He was trying to sound dismissive, but I could hear the interest perking up the corners of each word.  “Who says I have the time?”  Pause.  “And what makes you so sure that I, among all the entries in your rolodex, can get there?”

     I took a bite of oatmeal and let it cool against the roof of my mouth, and swallowed.  I had no idea what the content of this conversation meant, but I knew my father, and I knew that something important, something that would have ramifications, was passing over the telephone lines.

     “I would expect that, in a situation such as this, the board would take bids,” he said, “and not just call people up to tell them about it.  You would publish that.  I suppose that might be what you’re doing.  And I am a believer.  But honestly, I think you’re pulling my leg.”  He looked over at me and saw how little progress I was making.  I could hear the water coming out of the shower upstairs, squealing with steam, and knew that, by the time my time came, it would be tepid at best.  Unless I went slow enough to give the water heater enough time to get back going again.  “Stuart,” he said, with his hand on the receiver, “would you try to make some progress through that oatmeal?  How are you going to get ready in time, sitting there staring off into space?”

     “Ok,” I said, and took another bite, watching him turn back to the phone on the wall and say, “You make an offer like that over the phone, you expect a person to know what to say?  I’ll tell you,” he said, “show me the equipment, bring it right here, and then we’ll talk.”

     My father put the phone on the receiver and turned to me.  “Ok,” he said, “What’s it going to take to get that oatmeal in your tummy and you upstairs getting ready?”

     I heard the water turn off upstairs.  My sister had already taken her shower, and now my brother had had his.  There was no excuse keeping me from the bracing cold water.  “I think I might like to eat more, but eating takes time, Dad,” I said.

     “Eating takes time when it’s interspersed with not eating,” he said.  “Can’t you daydream while shoveling that stuff in?” 

     I took a bite.  “You’re going to have to go faster than that,” he said.  He looked at his watch.  “You’ve got to be out that door in twenty minutes.”

     “I could,” I said, “not take a shower.  And that way I’d have plenty of time to, uh, shovel this stuff in.”

     “I don’t know about that,” he said.  “I don’t know about letting my youngest son be known as the stinky kid in school.  Would you like it if they called you Stinky?  They’d call you Stinky, and you might never know it.”

     “No,” I said, “I’d know it.  But I’m not stinky Dad.  Smell me.  I’ll shower at night,” I said, “from now on, I’ll shower at night, and that way the water will never be cold.”

     “The water’s cold, is it?” said my father.  “That’s a problem with the water heater.  We’ll need a bigger one.  How long have you been taking cold showers?”

     “It’s ok, I’ll just shower at night, and now I’ll have lots of time to sit here and eat my oatmeal,” I said. 

     My dad raised my arm and stuck his nose right in my pit.  “I guess you’re not too odorous today,” he said. 

     When I crossed into the schoolyard Michael emerged from behind a tree, took two steps towards me, and knocked my books out of my arm.

     “Wussy,” said Michael.  “Get a knapsack.”

     As I bent to pick up the books my glasses slipped down the bridge of my nose.

     “Four-eyes,” said Michael, “your four-eyes are falling all over the place.”

     Steve and Diego were standing behind Michael, laughing.  Steve wore the leather bomber jacket he more or less always wore, in all seasons, which was growing too small for him, as it had been purchased last year, and a dirty t-shirt.  Diego wore, as per usual, a leather football helmet.  Michael just wore regular clothes.  Everything about him was regular so as to forestall any possibility of a comeback.

     As I stood up with my books, Michael picked the glasses off my nose.  “Look at him now, he’s just a little mole,” said Michael.  I could see only the rough shapes of the other children standing about ten yards away on the schoolhouse steps. 

     “He’s an ugly mole,” said Diego.

     “What an ugly little mole,” said Michael.  “Without his glasses,” said Michael, “he’ll have to crawl back into his little hole, and then he’ll have to stop pretending to be a little boy.”

     “He’ll have to stop kissing ass,” said Steve.

     “That’s right, he’ll have to stop kissing assholes,” said Michael, and took the glasses in both hands.  They were tortoise shell standard round glasses, nothing frilly about them, lots of distinguished men wore them, my father said, including the president, and they presented to no cause for shame; in fact, I had grown rather fond of them, so it was with foreboding and regret that I watched Michael prepare to break them in two, and with deep relief and gratitude that I watched Miss Stansworth pinch Michael’s ear, pull it hard, and simultaneously grab the glasses from Michael’s hands.

     “Michael Orval Cafferty, what in God’s green earth do you think you’re doing here?” she said.  “You’ll be after school for the rest of the semester.”

     Steve and Diego looked at each other and walked away as nonchalantly as possible.  Miss Stansworth gave me back my glasses, and I put them on to watch her pull Michael by the ear all the way up the steps and into the building.

     I nodded to the other students who were just standing there watching me, wondering who had gone inside to get Miss Stansworth.  It could have been anyone, Freddie here who was picking his nose with his stocking cap almost covering both eyes, or Lawrence who gave me a thumbs up, stretching a smile full of braces.  Whoever it was, I owed that person a debt of gratitude.  For when we went outside for morning break an hour and a half later, Michael stayed inside, and on my way home that day, Michael was, once again, inside with Miss Stansworth, writing self-admonishments on the blackboard or reading aloud from the Manual on Interpersonal Relations, or doing something else which he would find equally unpleasant.  But when I asked Freddie and Lawrence whether they had themselves gone or seen anybody go inside to get Miss Stansworth, they said they hadn’t done so and hadn’t seen it; they had only watched our Fourth-Grade teacher rush down the steps, her arms raised.

     “It was probably one of the girls,” said Freddie, as we walked with our books home for the afternoon.  The sun was already low towards the horizon; there were tumbling birds above it and a sharp wind stinging our noses.  But which girl was it?  They were a monolithic species in my mind, with only a few notable exceptions:  Suzie, who always got math questions right, leaning on her left foot, at the board with chalk in hand, an air of casual confidence, and Ellie, who towered above the rest of the class and tended to dominate the basketball and volleyball courts.

     “I’d like to thank her,” I said.

     “You can thank them all I guess,” said Freddie.  “Bring cupcakes to school or something.”

     “Then Michael would have one.”

     “Put a piece of crap in one of them,” said Freddie.  I seriously considered how I would convince my mother to put a piece of crap in the muffin tin.  It was not conceivable.

     “I’ll spit on one,” I said, and, as we had reached the intersection which called for me to turn left onto my elm lined street, and for Freddie to head straight, I told him goodbye. 

     There were bulldozers in my backyard and a big gaping hole where once I had played half-rubber.  One of the bulldozers was currently extracting dirt from the big gaping hole.  It dumped the dirt in a mound at the very back of the yard, where hedges stood.  My father was standing between the hole and the side of our house with a clipboard in his hand and his tongue resting against the corner of his mouth.  I watched him push his wireframes up the bridge of his nose.

     “Dad,” I said, “What the hell?”

     “What the hey Son.  Say what the hey.”

     “What the bleeping hey Dad!”

     “It might not seem that way son, but things are all going according to plan.”

     “Whose plan?  I play out here.”

     “You know, some say the Lord has a plan,” said my father.  “And I am sympathetic to that view.  Your mother thinks that I have a plan, and most of the time, I do.  This is part of my plan, and the plan of the Wausheegee Electric Company, and maybe the Lord’s plan too.  You’ll have to play in the front yard, or over at your friends’ houses, but I think you’ll see the higher purpose behind this whole affair soon enough, and come to peace with it.”

     Then a man got out of one of the bulldozers and walked over to my dad, and began to say something.  My dad turned to him, and I was left staring at the big gaping hole.  The smell of fresh dirt was everywhere.  I watched Gregory sunning himself by the giant mound of dirt in back, lying on his side, his tummy going up and down quite peacefully.  Perhaps everything was going in accordance with Gregory’s plans, as he liked to dig holes.  I was not in control of a great many important things which pertained to my life, and I had made peace with this fact, but this was one thing which I could not abide without a complete explanation.

     “Father!” I shouted, interrupting him and the man from the bulldozer, “Tell me what the hey is going on right now, goddamn it!”

     “Son there is no cause for language,” said my father.  “You do not curse at your father in any instance.  I ought to escort you inside right now and show you just what your language amounts to.  However, while I am not sure that you are owed it, I am inclined to give you an explanation.”  He turned to the man in the hard hat.  “Excuse us for a moment,” he said, and took me and walked me up to the very lip of the great gaping hole.  

     “We live,” said my father, “in an inverted world.  I want to let that sink in.  You have been taught that the world is an orb, that the heavens surround it, and beyond outer space, other planets, the sun, and beyond, other suns, which make up the stars, comprising a galaxy, and that, in fact, the universe is composed of 200 billion of these galaxies.  No, no, my son.  Not so.  The earth is concave, and while it is circular, it curves outward, not inward, coming together at all points.  This has been proven.  Everything you have come to believe as the entire universe is contained in the middle of the earth, the sun, the stars, and each of these planets, and the sun, are merely rotating around themselves there in the center, where we are always looking.”

     “And beneath the earth . . .” I said.

     “Is unknown territory!” said my dad.  “We do not know how far it goes or what is on the other side.  But we aim to find out,” he said, “oh yes, we aim to find out.”

     “Why now?” I asked him, “and why haven’t you ever told me about this before?”

     “An investor has agreed to hire me for this project,” said my father.  “And you weren’t ready.  You’re still not ready.  Typically, knowledge such as this is passed when a boy or girl reaches twelve, but you have got to learn to adapt early, my boy, because your family is playing an important role.”

     I had one more question.  “If the earth is inverted,” I said, “and the sun and moon are inside of the earth, why do the sun and moon appear to set?  Where do they go?”

     “Good question,” he said, “yes, questioning is good.  We have tested many hypotheses, and come to the conclusion that they are either hiding behind a giant hippopotamus, or that they in fact pass through the earth and into the nether region which we are set to explore.”

     With that, I went inside to find my mother.  She was standing in a house dress, smoking a cigarette, staring out the kitchen window.

     “Mom,” I said, “how much are we getting paid?”

     “A lot, honey,” she said.  The lights were dim, and everything that was going on outside took on a heightened tint.

     “Enough to buy a new house with a new backyard?” I asked.

     “Don’t you like this house?” she said.  She took a puff on her cigarette and exhaled.  “I know,” she said, “we’ve entered new territory.”

     “Why did they want to dig in somebody’s backyard, rather than in an empty lot somewhere?”

     “Your father said they needed someone with complete ownership over the hole.”

     “Is he going inside of it?”

     “In fact, they’ve asked him to do that, honey.”  She stuck the butt into the coffee cup, where it fizzled into the water, and immediately reached for a new cigarette. I looked, for the millionth time, at the long row of kitchen knives stuck to the magnetic strip right above the sink.  I imagined what would happen if magnetism suddenly stopped working. 

     “Mom,” I said, “can I bring cupcakes to school tomorrow?”

     “You mean you want me to make cupcakes tonight?” said my mom.  What one might recognize as a wry smile was teasing at the corner of her mouth.

     “Yes.”

     “What’s the occasion?”

     “I want to thank somebody.”

     “Well, why don’t you bring one item?”

     “I don’t know who it is.”

     “You know what I always tell you to do when there’s something you don’t know,” she said, lowering herself to meet me eye-to-eye, “that you’ve really got to find out?”  She waited for me to say it, but I didn’t say anything.  “Communicate,” she said.  

     “I will,” I said, “I will communicate, but I think it’s a good idea to take those cupcakes to school anyway, because maybe it was, like, more than one person I needed to thank.”

     “Tell you what,” she said.  “Mother’s had a long day and doesn’t want to make cupcakes right now.  Mother needs to adjust to the current situation, just like everybody else.  Why don’t you go down to Fair Oaks to the little donut shop next to the Mobil, and buy twenty-four donuts for your class tomorrow?  Here,” she said, and reached into her purse for money, “put it in your pocket.  Now vamoose!”

     They were coming out of the donut shop as I passed in, crullers and eclairs in hand.  I tried to pass in behind them before they had time to react but Diego put his hand on my shoulder and soon I was wedged into the doorframe.  

     “Stinky’s back!” said Michael.

     “It’s that stinky little mole from school,” said Steve.

     “I’m not stinky!” I said.  “Get off of me!”

     “You didn’t shower today though,” said Michael.  “I can tell from the way your hair’s plastered down.”

     “It’s just one day,” I said.  “I’m taking a shower tonight.  And anyway it’s none of your business, and get your hands off me!” I said.

     From inside the store I heard Mr. Abelson, standing behind the counter.  “We don’t want any trouble in here boys,” he said.

     “Don’t worry,” said Michael, “the trouble is leaving,” and I felt them yanking me out the door.

     “I bet he’s got money on him,” said Diego.

     “No shit,” said Steve, “he was only going inside a donut shop to buy donuts.  Do you think he was planning to dance for them?”

     “Help me!” I shouted.  “I don’t want to go outside!”

     “Damn it,” said Mr. Abelson, “I don’t want to go outside either.”

     I could see, though I was being forced horizontally out of the doorframe, Mr. Abelson throwing his apron down onto the counter and walking, the pomade shining in his hair, around the counter and out towards the door.  But then I was all the way horizontal, and when I looked forward, I just saw my feet and the door closing behind me.

     Then I saw the door open again, and the tops of two brunette heads coming outside, and heard, “Put him down asshole,” from a voice I believed to belong to Katy, a classmate.  She didn’t normally say too much, and I wasn’t certain it was her, but I thought so. 

     “Language,” said Michael.

     “Drop him,” said Katy.  I could now see the top of her head near my feet, with another girl, I thought she was Beth, behind her.

     “You seriously want me to drop him,” said Michael.  “Like, pow! On the sidewalk.”

     Mr. Abelson was towards the back, in the doorway, and the two girls were in front of him.  Mr. Abelson had a rolling pin in his two hands, as though he were to make the three ruffians into a pile of biscuits.  They were backing me up over the sidewalk and towards the street, where cars were passing.

     “You’re backing out into traffic,” said Mr. Abelson.  “Better stop.”

     They put me down.  There were, in fact, cars passing at my heels.  I steadied myself and watched Katy kick Michael hard in the crotch.  The other two boys raised their fists, but Mr. Abelson shouted, “Enough!” and they dropped them in time.

     “None of you are welcome in my shop!” shouted Mr. Abelson.

     “But we were just helping,” said the girl whose name I thought was Beth, “and he was just on his way in . . .”

     “Enough!” said Mr. Abelson.  “I do not want trouble.”

     “They’re the trouble,” said Katy.  “You can ask my father.”  

     “You’re all just kids making trouble,” said Mr. Abelson.  “And I, can’t you see, am an adult, with a business, who doesn’t want trouble.”

     “We were just leaving, anyway,” said Katy.  Diego was patting Michael on the back.  Michael was coughing something up.

     “I wanted to buy some donuts,” I said, and instinctively felt in my pockets for the money, but the two girls took me by the arms and we walked away from the scene, down the boulevard.  We walked with purpose, though not with undue hurry.  “I was supposed to bring them to school,” I said.

     “The donuts?” said Katy.

     “That’s right.”

     “What for?”

     “Well,” I said, “because someone went inside and got Miss Stansworth this morning,” I said. 

     “That was me,” said Katy.

     “That was us,” said Beth.

     “She came too,” said Katy.

     “Well I was going to make you cupcakes, but my mom wasn’t in a good headspace—” I said.

     “You mean your mom was going to make us cupcakes,” said Katy.

     “For the whole class,” I said.  “Because someone clearly—”

     “That was us,” they both said at the same time.  

     “We already had donuts,” said Beth.

     “We don’t need any,” said Katy.    

     We had reached the intersection of Maple and Nutley, and the light was flashing red.  “Better run for it,” said Beth, looking over her shoulder, and I looked over mine, and saw Michael, Diego, and Steve taking their initial steps from the curb.

     “No, I think not,” said Katy.  I looked back and saw Mr. Abelson pointing a finger at them, saw his mouth moving, and watched them slump just a little, Mr. Abelson now waiving the rolling pin in the air.  “We can wait,” she said, and, sure enough, I watched Michael spit on the ground and take the other boys by the shoulder and walk off in the other direction.

     “Let’s go to my house,” I said, “I have cookies.”

     “We don’t need cookies,” said Beth.     

     “We just ate donuts,” said Katy, “and soon there’s dinner.”  

     I considered.  There was nothing I could offer them.  The light changed and we looked at each other and crossed together, unsure, each of us, as to where we might next go.  Then I said, “My father is drilling a big hole in the back of our yard.  There are caterpillar vehicles and everything.  He’s digging a hole to—”

     “China,” said Beth.

     “No, it’s even better,” I said.  “To . . . the undiscovered.”

     “So there’s a big hole,” said Katy.

     “It’s not that big.  I mean, it’s pretty big, but it’s not nearly as big as it’s gonna get,” I said.

     “Then what happens,” said Beth.

     “I don’t know,” I said.  “I guess someone goes down there.  Or through there.  Properly equipped.”

     “What do you mean through there?” said Katy.

     “In the hole,” I said.  “You see, it’s not like you think.  It’s more like a donut . . . or more like, the inside of a ball, is more precisely it, with all the stars and sun and moon and stuff in the inside.  And were just on the very surface of the inside of the ball.”

     “Surface of the inside?” said Katy.

     “What’s on the outside?” said Beth.

     “That’s precisely what my father aims to find,” I said.  “So do you want to see it?”

     “I think we should go find my father,” said Katy, “and tell him to go swear out an arrest warrant.”

     “Can he do it?” I said

     “Will he do it?” said Katy.

     “No, and no,” said Beth.  “We can find him, but he won’t do anything.”     

     “You guys did it,” I said.  “I mean, I’m free.  Let’s go to my house and look at the hole, and I bet my mom has lemonade.”

     They both shrugged, which was good enough, and when I turned left toward Knoll, they followed me, and we went on down the sun dappled sidewalks, ruptured by roots and scattered with leaves, until, eventually, we came to the house with all the noise in back.

     An enormous cylindrical machine, taking up the majority of the yard, was sitting on the lawn, with its nose near the hole.  The nose was cone shaped, bright steel, with nasty little teeth going in a spiral and very sharp at the tip.  The cylinder sat on its side, on tiny wheels.  The main part of the object, excluding the bright silver nose, was painted mustard yellow, like the other equipment in the yard. There was one small window on the side facing me, like that on a commercial plane.

There was a lot more dirt now surrounding the hole.  It was piled way up above the fence between our yard and the Abernathy’s, near the wood in back, and even up against our house, covering almost the entirety of the back of the house, up and above the twins’ windows, cresting near the roof.  Mother’s tomato plans were completely encased in dirt.  There was little to be seen but dirt, machines, and the hole, which had widened considerably.  There was a ramp leading into it on the other side, near the Abernathy’s, into which the caterpillar machine could travel to dig more dirt.

My father was standing with his hands on his hips, clipboard at his side, just next to the pile of dirt nearly covering the house.  We approached him.  I introduced the two girls and he said yes, pleased to meet you, but you see I’m a little occupied with the digging of the hole.  “Run along inside and see if your mother can scare up some lemonade,” he said.  There was no way in through the back, so we went around to the front.  I opened the door.

In the Hall of the Mountain King was playing on the stereophonic system, and mother had it up very loud.  I had to shout.

“Mom I brought friends!” I said.

“I can’t hear you,” she mouthed.

“Why don’t you turn down the music?” I said, pointing at the system, and pointing down.

“I don’t know what you’re saying dear, but you should introduce your friends,” she said.  I pointed again to the system.  “Yes, I’m playing music, dear, to drown out the sounds of that awful machinery.”  

I went and turned the knob.  “These are my friends from school,” I said, “Katy and Beth.”

“Actually my name’s Mary,” said the one I had thought was Beth.

“Don’t you sometimes go by Beth?” I asked.

“No, that’s Beth,” she said.

“Well that’s rude of you,” said my mother.  “One ought to learn names.”

“He’s still new,” said Mary.

“Well this is Mary and Katy,” I said, “and Mary and Katy, this is my mom.  Mom, do we have lemonade?”

“You know we do my dear.  And you know where to find it.”

I started towards the refrigerator when I heard Frank and Mathilde bounding down the stairs.  “You turned it down!” said Frank, “thank God I can think!”

“Why didn’t you turn it down yourselves?” I asked, but as I did, mother walked to the stereophonic console and turned back up the volume.  

I thought she said, “because I’m your mother,” but I couldn’t be sure.  

Frank and Mathilde put their hands over their ears and shouted “Noooo!” which only added to the surfeit of sound.

“I think we should leave,” said Katy.  Or I assumed she said something like that.  But I was still feeling very gracious for the way they had come out of that donut shop and basically saved my life, and wanted to show it by insisting on socializing through a situation that was making everyone uncomfortable.  So I just went to the door and opened it and, quite naturally, as though atoms released from a contracting balloon, the other children, my two friends and two siblings, all followed.  Mathilde shut the door behind her.

Then I said, “Why don’t we all stick around and go over and look at the hole for awhile?”

“We weren’t going anywhere,” said Mathilde.

“Right, but I mean everyone,” I said.

“I suppose I could take another look,” said Katy.

“I didn’t quite look all the way down into it last time,” said Mary.  So we walked through the grass around the house to the back, where a huge dirt pile threatened to engulf my home, and my father stood, peering down into a hole.  He had his left hand on the large yellow drilling vehicle, and the other hand gripping his clipboard.

I don’t know why it took me so long to put two and two together, but it just occurred to me then that my father would be getting in the vehicle and going down into that hole, and that it would be soon.  Had he made provisions for us?  Would the Wausheegee Electric company take care of the twins, mother, and myself?  Who would light the fires, and who would fix breakfast?  Who would get a new water heater?  If anyone should be tunneling into a hole, it should be me, as it was my life that was in danger.  I felt suddenly a pulse of enlivening anger.  “Dad!” I shouted.  “What the fucking hell!”

The other children hushed behind me.  “How much are they paying you to go down into that hole?” I asked.

“Down, you see, is not the right term,” he said.  “But they’re paying me a lot.”

“Wouldn’t you rather stay on the surface of things?” I said.  “Or at least, on the inner surface of things?  Where mom is, and I am, and Frank and Mathilde are?  Don’t you think somebody ought to take care of us?”

“You’re going to have a whole new team of butlers,” he said, “and the Wausheegee company has supplied us with top notch walkie-talkies.”

“Why does the Wausheegee company need you?  Why can’t they have somebody else?”

“I’m just the man for the job.  There are other adventurers, there are other resourceful chaps.  But the Wausheegee company chose your father to go into the hole, and he took the offer.  But rest assured, he’s coming back one day.  Rest assured, he loves you very much.”

“Dad, we don’t want butlers!” said Frank.

“I’ll just be right outside,” said Dad.  “The whole time, I’ll just be in the backyard, you see, just a stone’s throw away.”

“Dad, there are bullies after me,” I said.  “These two girls had to save my ass.”

“Language,” he said.  

“Who’s going to tell me about language?” I asked.

“The butler assigned to that duty,” said my father.

“We want to go with you,” said Mathilde.

“No, honey, you really don’t want to go into a hole in the ground.”

“But you do?” she said.

“I’m a different kind of fellow,” he said.  “The Wausheegee company knows that about me.”

“Will a butler be assigned to beat up the bullies?” I asked.

“No, son, you’ve got to do that yourself.”

“But they’re twice my size!”

“And who hasn’t been eating his breakfast?”

“Mr. Hersevoort,” said Katy, “maybe you shouldn’t leave your family and go down in that hole, no matter how much they’re paying you.”

“It’s not just the money you see, it’s the adventure one has by having all the money.”

“They could be literally anywhere,” I said.  “I don’t have a solution.”

“You grow up is the solution,” my father said, “I mean, eventually.  Then people are limited insofar as what tactics they can use.  Until then, things might be hard.  But you’ll always have your mother, and you’ll always have me, on the walkie-talkie.”  He popped open the door to the giant drilling vehicle and turned around with an arm full of walkie-talkies. 

“You each get one of these,” he said, “Frank, Mathilde, Stuart, and one for mom.  Not any for you though,” he said to Katy and Amy. 

“Dad these are toys,” said Frank.  “These aren’t going to work once you go very far.”

“They may look like toys,” he said.  “They may very well be toylike.  But they will work for as long as we need them to, I will promise you that.”

“I need you to stay here and train me,” I said.  “I need to you to be my sensei.  I am in serious trouble all the time.”

“I think I need it to work longer than it’s going to work,” said Mathilde.  “This says the range is two-hundred yards.”

“And I’ll be in the same yard,” said Dad.  “Ok, don’t worry so much about the walkie-talkies.  I’ll be with you in spirit.”

“When are the butlers coming?” asked Mathilde.

“Tomorrow.  Now go get your mother.  It’s time.”

“But you haven’t even had dinner yet,” I said.  “We’re all supposed to have dinner.  That’s definitely supposed to happen.”

“Your mother is making me a sandwich,” he said.  “She’s going to bring it out in just a moment, when you go and get her.”

Nobody was moving, so I turned away from my father and walked around the dirt-mound-covered back of the house to the front, where there wasn’t any dirt.  From the front, this looked just like the house as I had seen it on most any other evening since we’d been here.

I opened the door.  “Mom,” I said, “Dad says he’s ready for his sandwich.”

She had turned the music down to a normal volume, and I watched her silhouette, all the way through the foyer and the dining room, very elegant and pretty.

“Honey, you’re crying,” she said.

“So are you,” I said.

“No,” she said, “there’s just something in my eye.”