CHAPTER NINE
The kayak dipped into the white foaming fluff of the water like a swoon into goose down. The bow lifted and the rest of the boat sank deeper into the cushion. Then it was sitting on the surface. A stroke of the paddle and it was scooting forward across the glassy sheen of the river.
The canoe listed perilously to one side. It was corrected only to fall to the other. The pendulum action ceased but the kayak pivoted perpindicular to the river's push and bobbed downstream.
The water flowing over the boulders looked like satin gently billowing in a light breeze. But below the surface was a turbulent rush over a rocky bottom. A rush powerful enough to snap a fiberglass boat or hold a person below its surface. The kayak was pushed towards the small drop. It wasn't a clean run over the falls. He'd made it backwards and clearly off kilter but once inside the safety of a still pool he bubbled, "That was better than great! What a ride!"
As they loaded the kayaks onto the car, Kidd mirrored Rap's attention to the details of securing the restraints. He had been apprehensive when he awoke. As the early light pricked just behind his eyes, he had considered what the morning might bring. Experience had shown him that people's moods change as often as the sea. One day brings waves lapping into the beach politely with a timid voice. The next finds foaming spitting avalanches of water pounding their demands across the shore. Even during days of storm surf, subsequent days change the speed and direction of the swell and the waves come in differently. Then the rage subsides and the sea yawns once more.
Kidd had stumbled out of the guest room and Rap had said, "Well, look who's up. Glad you could join us. Did you have a nice sleepee?" Although he didn't appreciate being talked to as a two year old, he did feel welcomed.
Before Connie went out through the door she said, "I hope you slept alright. It dipped down pretty cold last night."
"I was fine thanks." The quilt had kept him comfortably wrapped.
"How would you like to take a trip to the river?"
Kidd's reply had been slow in coming. He'd already seen the thing once and felt no need to view it in another light.
"Of course you'll have to carry your own boat. Guest or no guest, those are the rules."
Kidd had crammed his feet into his shoes and raced over the knots in anticipation of getting a paddle in his hand. Although he had been clueless about what to expect, he had been excited at the prospect of climbing into a boat.
Rap had gone through the lessons and Kidd had paid close attention. When Kidd skiied, he sometimes found a piece of the mountain where the voices and commotion of other skiers didn't penetrate. And the silence caught him. Too much time spent in front of the tube had conditioned him to hearing movie music where none existed. The silence, then, always came as somewhat of a surprise, an eerie surprise as if the silence knew his presence. Except for the absence of music, the river was different. The din rushed into his ears and deafened all other sounds. He took to heart Rap's warning. "The river doesn't need you. It doesn't know you. It doesn't care if you have the best time of your life or if it drowns you. You don't fight the water because it doesn't fight, it simply is." On the water he had imitated Rap's movements. Once off the river and porting his boat back to the car, he found himself following Rap's lead, even to rolling up his sleeves in the same fashion.
Kidd looked up and said, "No birds today."
Rap's eyes lifted, "Yeh, the ducks use to stop here. Not any more."
"Ducks?" Kidd thought. "Who mentioned ducks?"
But he let Rap continue.
"They pretty much just quit coming. Who knows why. Maybe there's not as many fish as there use to be; too much algae. Maybe something along the line got paved over or poisoned. But they haven't been around lately."
Kidd didn't hold Rap's theory in too high regard. He'd heard it all before. That the snow use to be purer, the ocean cleaner. In Kidd's mind, old guys exaggerate the beauty of their youth.
As the two fastened the last strap and got back into the truck after the run, Kidd felt fortunate that his anticipation had been rewarded. His senses had been churned in the white water like they were going through a wash cycle. He knew he wore a Chesire grin smeared across his face as he breathed in the rejuvenated air.
The engine started and the radio blared, "Success is the measure of all things." Kidd looked at the car's radio. The voice continued to drone, "The scripture tells us that you shall know them by their fruits...". Rap punched the button and cut the Sunday morning preacher off in mid sentence. He drove the car down the road.
The two were interrupted as they were unloading the kayaks by the auto parts delivery man. Rap rubbed his palms together and said, "We've got our water pump."
Kidd thought he made it sound like some kind of an excursion. He was in the garage ahead of Kidd, laying out his tools and taking the pump out of its box. He had his head under the hood as Kidd looked on, staying out of the way but trying to be involved nevertheless.
Rap put some goop on the gasket and slipped it over the bolts. With a little wiggling he was able to set it flush against the engine block.
"Mmm. The hose outlet on this is just different enough to screw up the placement of the air conditioning pump." Rap was inside the hood moving his head around looking from different angles at the predicament.
"You might be able to slip the air conditioner down the bracket." Kidd pointed to a mounting bracket connecting the air conditioner to the side of the block.
Rap moved over to where Kidd was standing. "Good eye. I think you're right." He grapped a socket wrench and went to work on the bolts.
The phone called out for assistance. "Could you answer that, Kidd?"
Kidd went to the phone, "It's Mr. Hardon. He wants to know when the car will be done."
"Tell him we'll pick him up in an hour and a half." He added, "And tell him there's a nice hike around the lake that takes about an hour. They can ask whoever's around and they'll point it out."
Kidd relayed the message.
"So the damn nut's corroded, is it?"
The expletive didn't come out as a curse, more as a response to a good-natured challenge. To Kidd, Rap wasn't showing the proper angst that work required. His spirit was much too buoyant.
Rap was way inside the engine compartment working on the nut with a pair of pliers. "The last thing I want to do is strip this bolt since it comes up from the block."
Kidd couldn't see past Rap so he took his word for it. Actually, he had just enough knowledge of mechanics to know that an unanticipated problem always arises and never the same one twice. Every time he went to fix something, he broke something else.
The nut came loose. The air conditioning unit was adjusted and the water pump secure and Rap was tightening the clamps of the hoses, "So are you a natural or is fixing automobiles your real line of work?"
Kidd smiled. He had to admit that he received an amount of satisfaction from his small contribution to the job. "No. I've just done the usual; tune-ups, oil changes." It had been the same with all his ventures into repairs. He'd always felt that he'd affirmed some aspect of his personality, not anything he'd be given to brag about, but a bolster to his self-reliance.
Rap filled the radiator, started the engine, and checked for leaks. "That should get you back to the airport." He threw Kidd's bags into the trunk, opened the driver's door and motioned for Kidd to get in. "Or at least get you far enough so you can't walk back to here." He came around to the passenger side. "Let's go pick up the gang."
As Kidd drove the car down the two lane road, Rap asked, "How's she sound to you?"
"Sounds better than the squealing mass we drove in with." Kidd realized he was not particularly looking forward to the rendezvous with his colleagues. It was probably the shared experience of running the river and fixing the car but he felt more akin to Rap. He felt more comfortable with Rap. He could attribute some of his feelings to his position as an employee of Hardon's on the bottom of the pecking order, but not all of them.
Kidd saw Greenscart first. Dressed as always like he had just stepped off the links, he had evidently been waiting for them. He summoned the others. Hardon came out carrying his bags followed closely by Tudley.
Hardon spoke seeming more jovial than Kidd had remembered him to be. "Looks like you did a good job on our car. You saved our lives. I think we'd all go crazy if we had to stay another hour."
Rap had opened the trunk and each stored his luggage.
"Jeez Studly, what did you bring, your damn train set?" Greenscart was having trouble making room for his suitcase.
When the car had been first loaded Kidd had reached for the same bag and noticed its weight. "Bet you mine weighs more than two of yours put together," Tudley had challenged Kidd.
As the youngest, Kidd deferred and sat in the middle of the back seat between Greenscart and Tudley. Hardon was at the wheel.
"Did you happen to get out and hike around any?"
"No. But I was planning on showing the guys the view from up on top of the ridge there. Unless you have to get back."
Rap wasn't protesting. The car moved its way up along a ridge road. It pulled to a stop still several feet below the summit and the two in the front seat popped out before the dust had fully settled. Hardon looked back, "You three like it there all cozy in the back seat together? Maybe we should leave you alone." The unbroken glare of the sun made the air outside the car seem less inviting and coupled with the lethargic drive, the three in the back had become sluggish. They lifted themselves out and moved over to where Hardon and Rap were overlooking the valley.
The effort of having to remove himself from the car while Greenscart preceded him and broke the heat brought to Kidd's mind one of the articles in the sports magazine he had read on the way to Rap's place. It told about the European bicycle tour. To Kidd it was a funny sport, bicycling. One fellow was declared the winner but without his teammates banding together to propel him and conserve his energy and obstruct others, the guy didn't have a chance. Maybe that was why Hardon continued to demand the presence of Greenscart, Tudley and himself, Kidd thought, so they could team up. And then the fatigued Rap would accept the company's terms.
Hardon stood above the others a couple of steps up the bluff leading to the crest. "I have a vision for this valley. I can show the world an Olympic site they'll never forget. Show them what we stand for. Kidd, take a look because someday you'll be skiing down that hill and over that meadow."
They all looked down on the valley, except Rap who set his gaze directly on Hardon. Kidd pondered the serenity in the view. He found it difficult to slide another picture before his eyes other than what lay below. It seemed to him the land would always exist there. It might be covered by a development project but it would remain somehow unchanged beneath the surface.
"Hotels and eateries. Bobsled rides and summer attractions. Plenty of jobs. And we'll do something with that river. We've already got the permits pushing through the bureaucrats' desks to produce our own power. I'll build a small hospital over there." Kidd had to hand it to Hardon. He had vision. He could make come true an undertaking so massive that most people wouldn't even dare dream it. Was Rap brought up to the viewsight, Kidd wondered, so that Hardon could share his inspiration or was it so Rap might be duly intimidated by the scope of the dream and the power to make it reality? "People deserve entertainment. As a matter of history, that's what separates advanced societies from those that aren't. And I can give it to them. I can turn this place around so that you wouldn't even recognize it. It'll be the best."
The radio preacher's words still bounced around in Kidd's ear. It was a thing worthy of achievement; to be the best, he thought. And to be the best, you have to ski with the best. If he hung in with Hardon, he could get the chance to prove he was among the best and then he wouldn't need Hardon and all his sponsorship dough anymore. He could command his own terms. But he needed the chance. He wouldn't be a slobbering lap-dog just because he wore their sponsorship. No matter how he looked, he'd still be the same inside. Without averting his eyes away from the valley, Kidd focused on Rap. Rap had been given his break, Kidd brooded. He had made it to the big leagues. He had his chances. What he chose to do with them was his business. Kidd saw himself as bereft of all opportunity without Hardon. And he saw no reason why he should suffer that injustice.
Hardon was continuing to espouse the beauty of the land. "It will be an irresistable attraction. The kind that people talk on the street about and ask the question to each other, 'Have you ever been to the Olympic site?' Think about it. You saw it before anyone else. You saw what will become the number one attraction in the country."
"Then what?"
The four turned towards Rap. Kidd wondered if they had all been as startled as he to hear a voice other than Hardon's.
Hardon echoed, "Then what? Then I suppose I'll find another place where there's nothing and go at it again."
Kidd felt embarrassed for Rap. He just didn't seem to get it. Kidd looked down on the thin curling line of the river. In all but a few places the water was hidden by trees, so he followed the trail of green. He let the trail meander down pointed at the sea and he recalled another occasion.
He had been on vacation with his family. They had all journeyed to the ocean and he was having a good time playing in the surf and watching the girls pull at their swimsuits. He had been attracted to a portion of the beach that had a giant inflatable beer mascot and flags flying and an announcer's stand and a large clump of people. He found an unoccupied spot of sand and sat down to watch the surf contest. As the horns blared, the names changed in the heat. But they meant nothing to Kidd. However, the word "Pro" was so conspicuously displayed that it was hard to miss that these were the best in the sport. Kidd watched the surfers make their way to the water. Some had faces fixed on the waves but Kidd couldn't help noticing a goofy energy that gamboled through stretching exercises, jumping up with legs together and then doing the splits only at the knees like cartoon characters. They were going out to walk on water and win their heat but they were also going out like pranksters to slip the grip of the waves. Kidd had watched enough heats to understand some of the basic rules. One rule was that when the horn blew, those who had just ended their heat had to belly-in on their surfboards. They couldn't stand and ride the wave or they would be disqualified. The surf was big. To Kidd it was plain menacing. He heard the air horn blast to end one heat and then start another. He watched first one and then another surfer match the force and power of the water with grace and style. Again the horn sounded to end the heat. The next group of guys were not yet in position and most of the just-ended group were proning into the shore. Except one. He was scratching not towards the beach but out to sea. A large shadow of water was lumbering outside like a hulking hunchbacked ogre ready to bare its teeth. At first Kidd thought the surfer was paddling out trying to get past the threat of the wave but then he abruptly swung his board around. The announcer called out, "Red, your heat is over. Red, that is not your wave." Although it was clear it was no one else's either. The guy in red was the only one in position. He knew it and the crowd who had impulsively risen to their feet at the sight of such a large mass of water stalking inward knew it also. And they knew he was taking off on the wave. When he got to his feet Kidd heard the beach inhale as one. It was a magnificent sight to Kidd. The surfer came down the closing teeth of the whitewater like he was riding a wind through an open tunnel. He turned at the bottom and looked teasingly straight into its face and then climbed back up the wave. Whistles and hoots danced out from the crowd as the guy in red came to shore. "Red, I'm sorry but you will not advance from your heat." Kidd wasn't sure "red" even heard through the adulation of the crowd. When Kidd had seen enough of the contest he headed back to from where he had come. As he passed the competitor's area he heard them talking. "You would have advanced, man." And the guy who had been in red replied, "What was I suppose to do? You saw that wave. I was gonna let that wave go unridden, no way. That wave was so good that even if I'd blown the take-off, it would have been worth it."
Kidd remembered that guy in red and he remembered that ride but it was not something he ever remembered recalling before. As Kidd moved towards the car, he wanted those images removed from his consciousness. He couldn't see what place they had. And he questioned what was wrong with him for remembering such stupid trivial images. Anyway, the guy would have won if he had played things smart.
In stepping down off the side of the hill, Hardon skated on loose dirt and began to slide. For a big man, he had a good sense of balance and a light step. Rap was solidly placed below him so he may have been able to brace against Rap if he had tried but instead he chose to ride it out downhill.
Kidd amused himself by thinking that Hardon wasn't above leaning on Rap, just not for balance. Kidd knew things about Rap that he supposed Hardon hadn't discovered. He'd listened all night to Rap talk about his baseball days but that was just talk. On the river Rap had steered him straight, aiding him with the right amount of instruction, cautioning him about the dangers, and finding the best water for him to run. That had left Kidd wanting to reciprocate in some way. Kidd took his pay from Hardon but that was an exchange based on a contract and he felt no furher obligations toward him other than what was due. He confessed to himself, however, that he hadn't adequately drawn the line between what he owed and what he could pay.
Hardon swung the car back toward Rap's house.
A teenager about 16 or 17 years old waited outside the garage as they pulled into the drive. Rap sprang from the car to greet him. He walked the teen into the garage but Kidd managed to overhear pieces of conversation, "Thanks for letting me work for you, Mr. Gloverman. I had a real good time."
"I hope it wasn't that good a time, it was suppose to be work."
The teen looked kind of flustered until Rap continued, "I'm the one who's got to do the thanking. You did a great job for me and I'm gonna miss you."
"I wish my father would change his mind. I don't think I'll ever get a chance to run a river again."
"That chute you navigated last time out was handled about as good as I've seen it done."
The response beamed out from the teen's face. He was quiet for a moment and then said, "I don't see why we have to move. He told me last night that he came here to get away from the mess but it seems to follow him wherever he goes. If that's the case, then what good does it do to move?"
"Don't sell your old man short. He knows as much about the future as the next person." A moment of awkward silence followed until Rap looked at his watch and said, "He's gonna be expecting you. Be sure and drop by and see Connie before you go." And Rap shook the teen's hand.
Maybe it was the way the hands were shook but Kidd was reminded of his first employer. Kidd had been about the same age as Rap's assistant and he remembered that shaking hands was a self-conscious activity. He hadn't known it then, but his first boss had been a great man to work for. Always fair and honest. He had shuffled in and out of his market doing his customer's bidding never uttering a discourteous word. Kidd had looked then upon his subservient gate and thought that he would have perceptions and experiences at a respective age beyond what that step knew. Of course he had never inquired about the particulars of the trails and walkways the man had travelled. Kidd wished he had taken more of the man's way with him.
The group stood in a loose circle in the drive. Hardon broke the silence, "You two must have been pretty busy fixing our car."
"Rap fixed it. I was only busy watching him work." Kidd set his stare towards Tudley. Looking at Tudley was least likely to evoke eye contact unless Tudley turned his glare back towards the group. As it was, he pointed himself off in the distance with a countenance that was a dissertation on boredom.
"Rap, I've got a proposal that you and your wife will find interesting."
Rap stood without answer but Connie opened the door and called out, "Gentlemen, would you like coffee?"
As the group moved inside, Kidd watched his associates take the house into their experience. As people are want to do when they step inside another's domain, they judged and concluded about the lives lived within the walls without appreciating the history behind, nor the relative importance of, the objects in the room. Hardon, Greenscart, and Tudley sprawled easily into the furnishings. Connie and Rap brought the coffee.
Kidd took a chair and pulled his hands into his gut and looked at his fingers. They were without calluses but strengthened from years of planting his poles on ski runs. He knew Tudley had the kind of strength in his fingers that could crack walnuts because he had seen him do that trick. While he had been impressed, a casual observer, had said, "We have a tool that does that thing nowadays, would you like me to introduce you to it?" and she had handed him a nutcracker. Hardon's hands were buried in his armpits. Rap's hands were up front on the armrests. Kidd became self-conscious and placed his hands out in front of him on his knees.
Hardon began to direct the conversation as if he was on very familiar turf, "We can't make ourselves too comfortable because we've got to get Tudley back to spring training. But you know all about things like that, don't you Rap?"
Rap made no attempt to answer.
"Didn't you play baseball for a living at one time?"
"The way I played, it wasn't much of a living," his answer came by way of a chuckle.
"Is that why you got out of the game, to do better for yourself?" Hardon didn't have to insinuate satire with his voice or make any demonstrative movements with his eyebrows. He was sitting between two men who had made money and gained a fair amount of respect playing the game. And sitting in a modest house that belonged to a man who had to get his hands dirty to pay the rent.
"I'll tell you what happened," Rap said. "On one of our road trips I was separated from my luggage. I went west and my luggage with my uniform and equipment went east with the team."
Hardon let the subject drop, no doubt believing he'd made his impression. "I often like to ask: If you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?"
No one jumped at an answer. Of course everyone in the room understood the question was only directed at Rap and Connie.
"Rap?"
"I've given that question a lot of thought. Third grade. If I could have anything, I'd like to be in third grade again. I always had a thing for Miss Sugaplum."
Connie and Kidd laughed, the others smiled.
"Let me ask you this: What would make your life better?"
Rap paused and his head slowly cocked to one side. "Better? Don't know about better but I can think of lots of things that would make it different. But of course different don't always mean better."
Hardon was looking to take Rap by the hand and lead him down a path but Rap wasn't coming within grasping distance. "How does financial independence sound to you? You and Connie could go anywhere at anytime, do anything. Financial independence can be your ticket to whatever you want."
Rap wasn't jumping up and down with enthusiasm though he did have a studied look on his face. Kidd was desperately hoping Rap would find tasty at least one morsel of the bait. He wasn't superstitious or inclined to believe in karma but he thought it somehow injurious to his peace of mind if the business between Rap and Hardon was not concluded amicably. He wanted the place to only evoke good memories because he wholly expected to be in the hunt for medals at a future date on the very land in question. He didn't want any disruptive thoughts entering his concentration at that future time.
"Something to consider, isn't it?"
"Yeh, I'm considering where it is that I would want to go. Connie, anywheres you'd like to go?"
"You know I've been after you to drive down and see my sister."
"Oooh I was afraid of that. See, in theory financial independence sounds great but in practice, I'm not sure I'm all that hot for it."
Kidd doubted if this was the result Hardon had in mind when he took the tack in questioning. Kidd aimed a look at Greenscart. His mood hadn't changed since they had all piled into the car to begin the trip. He was still glum. He had complained bitterly about having to miss his daughter's birthday. "Look, I know how you feel," Hardon had tried to be soothing, "Hell, it was my anniversary last month when I was away two out of the four weeks. But your family has to understand that sometimes these things happen. Celebrate it a week late and buy her something extra nice. I know it's tough but you'll be back before she knows you're gone, you'll see." Greenscart didn't look anymore convinced sitting in the living room now than he did then. But his contract called for public appearances and technically, this was a public appearance.
Hardon took off again, "We want to negotiate for your parcel of land. I've learned a lot in dealing with people over the years. I'll come right out and tell you; I'm no horsetrader. We're prepared to liberally compensate you for your property because, quite frankly, it's of value to us. My experience has taught me that no negotiation is worth the paper it's printed on unless all concerned walk away satisfied. We plan to make a profit here but it won't be at your expense. Now what would you take for your property?" Hardon was getting no participation and he searched for a hook to bring Rap and Connie into his net. "Name a price; something in your wildest dreams."
That's a nice offer, Kidd thought, he could come up with several wild dreams. But he knew he wasn't aware of negotiation ploys. A price, any price is grounds for negotiation. That makes any answer the wrong answer for one who does not want to negotiate.
"The Grand Canyon."
Except that one.
"Connie and I have always wanted to own the Grand Canyon. You get a fine view, a nice dam with its accompanying revenue, and of course that magnificent river. If you'd trade straight across, we'd only ask for moving expenses."
"I know you're joking, but seriously make us an offer."
"I am serious."
Hardon laid into Rap with a stare designed to establish his command presence. According to the rules, the one who averts his eyes first loses the upper hand. Rap, however, wasn't fixing his pupils long enough to register a start to the contest. "We came here in good faith but I must say I'm disappointed in your lack of candor."
Rap was expressionless. Kidd felt a pang of sorrow for him. He was outnumbered and outexperienced. He might easily be made to look foolish, and in his own living room and in front of his wife. Still, Rap sat seemingly unfazed. Perhaps comprehension of his position was beyond his ken. Perhaps Rap and Connie couldn't fathom the weight of the enevitability of history. They were like two pepples caught in one of those giant mining operations. Nevermind that they didn't want to be moved. Once in the path they were going to be picked up and put on the belt and once on the belt, moved aside.
Connie rose to refill Greenscart's cup. "I might have known he'd get the royal treatment," Hardon teased, "wherever we go, he gets the most autograph seekers and well-wishers. He was quite a player, you know, and people have a lot of respect for him."
"Your family, Mr. Greenscart, they must be very proud."
Greenscart said nothing but Kidd thought he seemed to slump deeper into his chair.
Hardon cast his eyes around the room and then fixed on Connie and asked, "How big's this place? Three bedrooms, four? What else, not counting the garage?"
"Two bedrooms and a large rec room, our pool hall."
Greenscart popped awake like a beeraholic hearing a top pop off. He told Rap, "I haven't played pool in years."
"The table's ready if you want a game," Rap was out of his chair and Greenscart needed no prodding. But Hardon wasn't so energized. He looked as if he'd just methodically reeled in a large marlin only to have his line cut as it got within sight of the boat.
"Product of a misspent youth?" Rap queried as they moved to the rec room.
Greenscart responded, "Not so much a misspent youth as the product of small town minor league bars."
Kidd waited for a signal from Hardon. Tudley for his part wasn't bursting out of his shoes to get a cue in his hand. He looked as though he thought if he got out of his chair, the seat would rise to the ceiling like it was filled with helium and he'd lose his place. Kidd was somewhat surprised Tudley hadn't immediately followed Rap and Greenscart and tried to beat them to the break. He was sure that Tudley would have liked nothing better than to give Greenscart a good drubbing at something. Kidd assumed Tudley wasn't much of a pool player.
Connie was on her feet and moving to the pool room which put the spurs to the issue. They were playing pool. Kidd was torn. He couldn't play pool worth a darn but the way Greenscart had perked up his ears and panted all the way to the table made him anticipate the clap of the balls.
Greenscart and Rap were running over the towns they knew and which state had the best pool-playing girls while they readied the table by pulling the stripes and solids out of the pockets. Rap looked up, "How about Eight Ball? Teams? Greenscart, teams alright with you?"
"Sure, it's a big table. Kidd, you a pool player?"
"I'll give it a try but I'm not any good."
"That's perfect, you're on my team. See, in teams I can't really lose. If you don't put any balls in the pocket, then I've got more to aim at. And if you clear the table, then we win."
"Who's on my team?"
Hardon stayed in the doorway behind Connie. Tudley was already picking out a cue from the rack off the wall, "I'll go."
"Well, well, Studly, I'm surprised a bonus baby like you had time to learn this kind of a game. You spent maybe three games in the minors? And I know big money in the majors don't hang around pool halls."
"He's on my team now, so don't go worrying about where he learned the game."
"It's not gonna matter anyway because we're runnin'
the table. Ain't that right Kidd?"
Kidd wasn't so sure. While the rules for Eight Ball were being established, Kidd heard Hardon say, "With what we're going to give you for this place you can buy an estate anywhere in the country. Or even stay nearby and buy a house similar to this but supply it with the best kitchen and furnishings on the market today. You can get brand new technology and build cupboards inside cupboards. Opportunities don't always keep knocking. Sometimes you have to open the door before they move on."
"Lag for break." Kidd glanced at the others wondering if he looked as stupid as he felt. Rap clarified for him, "Closest to the cushion after bumping it," and put the cue ball down on the green felt in front of Greenscart.
Hardon was still giving Connie the rush, "You know Constance, there's those that seize the opportunity and ride up front, those that ride on the coattails, and those that get left behind."
Kidd wondered to himself why it was that wisdom like Hardon's seemed to carry a brush full of paint and want to color everything in its own likeness. But let's face it, Kidd corrected himself, people come away with just the lessons they want to learn. He had sat up all night engrossed in Rap's story but at the moment, couldn't recall any part of it. He wished he had heard some lesson about pool playing. He'd heard about baseball and what good was that to him? He didn't even own a glove anymore. He had looked to Rap to supply the cut of the edge that would open up the downhills. He laughed at his innocence. Maybe Rap had a key to running a river with abandon but Kidd would have to feel for his own way down a ski slope. At the moment, he'd settle for some introductory tips about how to hold the cue or strike the ball. He wanted to show the room some awe inspiring feat of skill. He wasn't fooling himself, however. Unless he spent endless hours hunchbacked over the slate, he'd never know pool. Maybe that was the way all activity was. And maybe that was for the best. No one approaches a slalom course and says, "Hey, I'd be pretty good if it wasn't for all those gates." He loved skiing as much for what he had to learn as for what he knew.
It was Tudley who won the cue ball to open the game with resounding applause from the balls.
"Good break. Nothing dropped but everything
scattered. Kidd, they're out there waiting." Kidd had never seen Greenscart this ebullient.
Kidd aimed at a solid colored ball hanging close to a side pocket. He was pleased he hit the ball he was shooting at but after the cue struck, it pushed the solid out of the way and then travelled into the pocket with deliberate speed.
"That's what we call a scratch. No harm though, because we have nothing to spot."
Rap placed the cue ball carefully and sunk a striped ball. Then he kissed another and it dropped into a corner.
"Connie, you and Rap know what it is you want. This is your chance to get it." Kidd overheard and remembered something that Hardon had said before the five had left, "I know what makes guys like that tick. I know their fears and their dreams. I can find their weakness and wind it and wind it until it snaps."
Greenscart and Tudley took their turns without much distinction. It was then Kidd's turn. He had the cue stick in his hand and the cue ball beckoning. But he wasn't answering with authority. He twirled the stick in his hand. A magic stick, he thought, like King Art's sword or that Hans Stinker guy and his skates, would give him the game he deserved. Of course, he continued, if he could really shoot pool, then he'd be offended at such a proposal, prefering to use a broomstick over a magic cue. Yet, if he was like Art, the possession would be enough to make the claim. It's not like he'd be using the cue to do evil, he'd only use it to win what was rightfully his.
He walked around the table looking for an opening. "I can't find a shot here, should I lean back and let it fly and hope one of our solids go in?"
Tudley answered, "Sure, maybe something will drop."
Connie stepped alongside the table. "Well, you've got a choice of things you can do, Kidd. You can close your eyes and hope you luck out. Or you can find your best shot, take careful aim and if everything is perfect pull off a brilliant shot. Or you can place a shot that leaves nothing for your opponent and turns a poor lie into a weapon."
"If it's gonna be three against two, we're gonna have real trouble, Tudley."
Kidd looked over the green felt and weighed what Connie had said. He was inclined to let the cue rip and take what comes. If something dropped, then he was smiled on. If nothing fell, then it just wasn't his day. Of course a true gambler would go for the brilliant shot. No guts, no glory. At least for those who substitute pain for panache. And a pro would practice till that brilliant shot was part of his repertoire. Kidd ruled out the pro option so he studied his remaining choices. Pure blind luck might sink something but a shot that squeezed the cue against the cushion would trap Rap behind a line of solids. It might even cause a scratch.
"Whoa, that's a shot. Dig your way out of that one, Rapper."
Rap was like a hawk over its prey, circling, looking for an opening. "Nice shot there Kidd you rotten son of a ... " and he let his voice trail off down a pocket.
"I like to look at the construction of the Olympic project as an opportunity to give something back. I can do something to this land, something that will make us all proud. And I for one don't intend to disappoint. I see this project in personal terms. It's part of a larger reflection of the greatness of the country and her people. I want to leave the village and entertainment venues as part of an enduring legacy to our children. It's each of our responsibility to leave this 'one nation under God' something of value. And how best to show appreciation for being bestowed with such riches than to take the land and develop its potential as an entertainment facility to amuse and dazzle a generation of people." Kidd wasn't sure where Hardon was directing his words. They seemed to be pointed at Connie but loud enough to be picked up by anyone in the room without too much of a strain on the ear equipment.
Rap played it safe himself and Greenscart sank only one. Tudley quickly dropped two balls in succession. "Rap, I believe we've got these chumps on the run."
"You can believe all you want, Studly, but until I see it, it don't mean diddly. Right Kidd?"
Kidd didn't think anyone really wanted to hear his opinion so he kept it to himself but in his limited experience he had rarely seen belief get in the way of action.
"There's those that do things and there's those that stand in the way, those with visions and those who go through life without seeing the possibilities. And that's the great thing about this country, you're allowed to follow your dreams. Let's hope that things never get so bad that those with vision aren't allowed to see their dreams become reality. I mean, that's what we're all about, doing. It don't even matter what, you just got to keep doing. And when you quit, then get out of the way of the rest of us." Hardon wasn't letting up to enjoy the game.
The cue ball clanked into the yellow solid and the one ball moved towards the corner but fell short of the hole. However, the cue was continuing on a mutated path. "No, no, stop," Kidd protracted the words as the stripe came off the white ball and dropped into the side pocket.
"Might have been a great shot if that was your ball and you were aiming at it. But as it is, thank you."
That's the thing with sides, Kidd thought. Being on one, shades every kind of happening. What gave value to the drop of the ball was not the event, but the perspective.
Hardon wasn't letting up for nothing. "You got any pets out here?"
"None, unless you count our old dog who wanders in to see us whenever it gets a mind to, or it gets a hunger to."
Hardon followed up on his lead, "When I was a kid
we had a dog, and that dog wouldn't stay in his own yard. We built a fence, he dug under it. We cemented under the fence, he gnawed through the gate. We chicken-wired it and he found a low spot to jump over. Finally, my father beat him every time he found him out of the yard. It was for his own good. He eventually got the message but something inside him kind of broke. He seemed to lose some of his spirit. Still, all in all, my father did the right thing. He had the courage to raise his hand to protect the happiness of his family and that's what it often comes down to."
Hardon had bore his stare in on Rap as though Rap were a guy from the wrong side of the tracks come to marry his daughter. Hardon was looking for a tell-tale sign, a flinch, a raise of the eyebrows, something that would telegraph Rap's resolve. Was Hardon making the proverbial offer that can't be refused? Kidd knew there were plenty of ways to twist an arm. Eminent domain, zoning laws, tax assessing. If you get the right lawyers working together with the right government politicos and community members, you can pretty much get anything you want. No need to bring in the heavies. Kidd knew plenty of ways people got their results. And yet, his own experience had the boundaries of youth. He wondered to himself how much more aware Rap might be of the possibilities.
Rap was standing next to Connie layering his cue tip with blue chalk. His expression lacked the concern that should have accompanied a threat, well-dressed or not. "When I was a kid, I also had a dog. And he had this game he liked to play. He'd take something of mine in his mouth and he'd never let it go. I'd try to bribe him, he'd hold on. I'd threaten him, he'd hold on. He'd only let go when he tired of his game. By that time I was so worn out I no longer desired whatever it was the dog had appropriated. He was a stubborn son of a hound." Rap looked Hardon full in the face and he said through a wide disarming grin, "Some people are like that. You just never know, do you?"
"No, you never do." But Hardon had knowledge.
Rap hunched over the table to set up a difficult off-the-cushion shot.
"It's too bad about that neighbor of yours but this is a tough land for a guy that age." Connie was silent but she searched askingly for more information with a rigid gape of the eye. "You hadn't heard? I'm sorry to be the one to have to break the news. I certainly had no wish to be the bearer of this information. Mr. Boone was found dead in his cabin yesterday." Hardon turned back to watch Rap line up his shot, to watch for a moment of hesitancy. Even Kidd prepared for a hitch as Rap moved to strike the cue ball.
Rap's stroke was straight and true and the ball came off the cushion and into the pocket.
"That was beautiful," the words coming from Greenscart struck Kidd as if he'd never heard that more than familiar phrase. How strange that a game of pool could be beautiful. And yet, the plan, the stroke, the execution, and the result had indeed been sublime.
Neither the shot nor Greenscart's critique was lost on Hardon. His gaze lashed into Greenscart as he spoke. "We managed to send our condolences early this morning to some of the family members remaining and learned that Boone had apparently died earlier in the week but wasn't found till Saturday. I guess something like that is to be expected. I mean, living out there all alone. Still, it always catches you unprepared."
Kidd began to figure why Hardon was upset at Greenscart. Greenscart had no business appreciating the esthetics of their activities. He was suppose to have his head down concentrating on the win. If that meant winning "ugly", then so be it. Win ugly, just so it's a win. And Hardon wasn't playing pool.
"He was a great old man," Rap said.
And Connie added, "A real-life original character and I'm gonna sure miss him."
The words that had been told to Kidd on his first day as an employee of the company flashed in his memory like a big bright road sign. "And of course if anything should happen to you while racing or training, and let's face it, you're not engaged in the safest activity, if anything unfortunate happens, then the company will see that you are provided with a position that will develop your administrative talents." There's nothing wrong with having someone watch over you, Kidd thought.
Kidd wondered why the old man lived out there all alone. Didn't he know how dangerous that was? If he fell, who could hear him? If he got sick, who could nurse him? What was he thinking, the old fool? So he had to give up his surroundings, give up looking at trees, was that so big a price? They're queer birds out in the middle of nowhere. Kidd looked at the floor. He wished he was on the hill, easily shifting his weight from ski to ski, gliding down. He'd be on new skis. Maybe ones bought by his sponsors. Their name across his back. Well, that's not much to pay for new skis.
Kidd wasn't surprised that Hardon's revelations about ol' Elbo Boone hadn't kept the balls out of the pocket as Rap took his turn. Rap still had whatever it was that makes a guy dig in against a fast ball. That keeps him coming back onto the field when the score tells the reasonable people to head for the exits.
Rap cocked his cue stick and it hit the wall. He raised it but it threatened to knock a picture off its hook. Kidd knew the stick in his own hands was shorter. He had purposely chosen it thinking that it would be easier to control. But he stood mute letting the oil from his palm gloss the cue. He knew his stick would make Rap's shot feasible but he made no offer.
Greenscart twirled his cue energetically in his hands. He smiled often, laughed frequently. But his eyes belied the off-handed manner of his speech. Hardon had it all wrong. Greenscart's intent never wavered from the field of play. Kidd could see him counting and calculating, judging and extrapolating. And when his ball fell short or took an unwanted carom and ended his turn, he stayed a little too long hunched over the results. He wanted it. Wanted his shots to count. Wanted the victory that would confirm that they had counted.
Kidd wasn't particularly proud that he had neglected to offer his cue stick to Rap. He doubted if Rap considered the act so despicable but that was no excuse and he felt small. Perhaps, he thought, if he had not been teamed with Greenscart, if he had been playing Rap one on one, he would have been more forthcoming with the stick. But he had signed on when he had agreed to play with Greenscart. Signed on knowing full well the terms of the agreement. So in midway he couldn't very well turn back the way he'd come like a scared little mouse afraid to cross the room, could he? He couldn't very well pervert the objectives of the game and still be the kind of team member that held up his end. Kidd adjusted the cue in his hands and felt the ache in the stretch of his fingers. He massaged the tenseness but the cramps in his fingers continued to tap annoying rhythms. He was not fraught with enjoyment. What a waste of a good time, he thought. He should have been reveling in the comraderie, taking satisfaction in doing his best at a game he seldom had an opportunity to play. Instead he was all balled up as if he was little knots of compiled twine being tortured by a cat's paw. He realized without satisfaction that he had already taken on the persona of a gold medal contender.
He looked at Connie who was watching him. When he took the time to consider it, he found it odd how it hadn't occurred to him that she might want to join in the play. It seemed more the order of things that she watch the men face off against one another. Yet, he had a feeling she could hold her own against any of them and was probably a damn sight better than several. She was just too polite not to let Rap play with his friends and make herself part of the competition. Kidd was thinking maybe he'd like a girl like Connie. Well, maybe several girls and one could be like Connie.
"Damn it," Tudley didn't hide it. He was mad because he'd missed the chance to put the game away. It was a difficult shot but he'd goofed it nonetheless and what's more, it was highly unlikely that the cue would go around one more time and he'd get another chance to make the winning shot. Tudley was only playing because he wanted to win. He didn't care about the company, the conversation, or the patterns the cue ball took as it crossed the green patch. He cared only that at the end of the game he could say he beat someone.
Kidd approached the table with an amount of trepidation. The black ball sat within reach of a pocket but the shot would not be straight forward. He had to come up with some english to accent the shot. Kidd wished someone else was standing over the table. He didn't care who. His opponents would be fine. It wasn't that he didn't want to win the game, it was just that he hated losing it. He would prefer to be facing a gate at full descending speed than to have to align and follow through on the pool shot. He knew he could react plenty fast enough. He wasn't sure about taking a slow bead and making the deliberate shot.
Connie explained the peculiarities of a ball with spin on it and how to achieve that spin. "These forces are tricky."
"And dangerous," Tudley interjected.
"Unless you can control it," Hardon put in.
"Or ride along with it. It's a marvelous ride. You can do it." Rap gave his encouragement.
Connie continued, "Find the balance and shoot for it."
Kidd's eyes frantically moved from corner pocket to
side pocket to corner looking for the best placement. The side had the least amount of table to span and Kidd was inclined towards the shortest path but he feared the trailing cue, feared that it would trail right into the pocket. He looked towards the corner.
Rap's finger brought him back to the side. He pointed without moving his hand off his stick but the intention was not lost on Kidd.
Kidd's shot skidded along the felt, banged the black ball and then watched the eight ball reach out for the side pocket. It crept along the green carpet and slowly came to a stop along the lip of the pocket. "Oh, oh, oh." Connie clapped and the ball dropped.
"Nice shot," she exalted.
"Looks like they beat you, Rap." Hardon gloated.
"They sure did. That was a great bank, Kidd."
Kidd raised his eyes and he saw Tudley standing over the table like one of those big balloon characters that are pulled out for parades. But the parade was over.
"I think the win goes to Connie and has little to do with my lucky shot."
"Yes, Connie. Forget the pool, your pie takes the prize as far as I'm concerned," Greenscart evoked unanimous agreement. Kidd appreciated Greenscart directing attention away from him. That was the part of Greenscart that Kidd would never mind sitting down with. But it was the part that Greenscart seemed to be seldom inclined to let out of his living room.
For a brief moment in time, the room was still like a moving picture halted on a frame. Kidd's gaze was fixed towards Hardon. He was pressed against the wall stiff and erect. Kidd found Hardon in his white shirt and tie oddly obscene to his eye the way agents usually are, out of place and distinguished by their impropriety. Kidd's shoulders shuddered in a slight muscle spasm. He didn't want to be like Hardon.
"What time does your plane leave?" Rap was looking at his watch and Connie was leading the party into the living room.
She passed through to the kitchen after the others had stopped and Kidd followed her.
Hardon was checking his watch as he spread his proposal across the table.
"Coffee anyone?" Connie had the pot in her hand.
"I'd like you both to take a good look at our offer and tell me what objections you have to it."
It was Connie who answered, "We'll certainly take a look," and Connie was speaking straight at him as she finished, "and we'll come up with only one objection; we don't want to take it."
Hardon looked towards Rap to validate what she had said. Rap showed no intention towards speaking.
"I'm going to leave our offer on the table, so to speak," and he self-consciously laughed at his choice of words as he placed on the table a sheet of paper with handwritten figures. "Make no mistake about it, we would just as soon pay market value for your property, which is considerably less than our offer, as you know. I don't have to do the subtraction for you. I believe you're playing with your future. I want to secure it for you. You want to stay in the area and work, we'll make that possible. If not, you'll have enough money to go just about anywhere you want. I'm hoping that we can come to an agreement. I think you've got my phone number but I'll write it down for you and feel free to call me when you've thought it over well enough to accept our offer."
Hardon had done what he had come for. Hardon had sized up the situation for himself. He had fired his warning shots over the bow. It was up to Rap and Connie how they wanted to go down, with the lifeboats fully employed or to be blown apart and all hands lost. Still, Kidd wondered how much Hardon knew. Did he know that the river's surge pulsed through Rap's system more directly than community or business or real estate or money? Did he know that the removal of the river might deaden Rap's resolve? Well, Kidd thought, he could undoubtedly pay someone to inform him.
As the group headed outside, Kidd asked Hardon for the keys to the trunk. The three were inside the car staring out at Kidd who stood with his bag at his feet. "I've decided to stay awhile longer."
"I've got a meeting scheduled the first thing we get back," Hardon's eyes stared out at Kidd like lifeless marbles.
Kidd failed to answer. He was back on the slope taking a run. The snow was slushy and slow, the crowds had left with the leaders. He saw that his skis were dinged across the top but the edges were diamond sharp and the wax was chosen with care. His gaze was without trophies and prizes. He could see himself up-weighting against the turns and then picking up speed on the glide. His gear was clean without the clutter of other's names. And his skis were light without the added burden of carrying compromises he had made to get on the track. And he could find a path down the hill without fear of stepping on the graves of people he respected. It was an unfamiliar image and he had to make out the figure at the bottom of his downhill run. It was Rap, no, wait, he realized it was someone else. It was his own reflection waiting at rest.
"Be careful Kidd. You're good, but nobodie's that good where they can do it all alone. No team's gonna let you on it if you've been saddled with an attitude. Don't get in a fix where you can't ever get a chance to go for the gold. Without the berth on the Olympic team you might as well be back in the draw in every race. You're not going to have equipment money, training money, or travelling money. The track, for you, is always going to be slowed and cut up and rutted by the rest of the entries." Hardon's look made it clear he did not like being crossed. "I expect you at our meeting."
Kidd unconsciously leaned backward. Although Hardon had no telling sign like being red-faced, Kidd viewed him as a ripe fruit under pressure and he didn't want to get splattered when Hardon burst.
"You'll have to find your own way back." Hardon looked past Kidd, "You're in the middle of nowhere."
"Not nowhere. I'm a long way off from where I'm going." Kidd swept his eyes towards Rap and Connie. "But then again, maybe not so far." Kidd saw himself at the top of the mountain, his bindings cinched tight, the clock starting and the hill stretched out before him.
10/93