The Incident at Titian Pond
I never said he was the devil. You said that, not me. What happened at the pond was...well...it was just one of those things. One of those things that happens, well...in the spur of the moment, I suppose. A split-second decision. It was a bad decision, I admit that. If I had it to do over again...but I don't. There were choices to be made and I made them. Bad ones, definitely. The wrong ones, I'm not sure. My ma always said you should welcome strangers. At the time it seemed like I didn’t have a choice.
Either way it wasn’t my fault. And I’ll prove it. I promise you, one day, one way or the other, I’ll make him pay.
I was fishing with Rally. You probably know him as Ralston Pepper, but everyone calls him Rally. Now I don't call him anything, that ass stain son of a... that boy is no better than a...well...he’s like a sticky piece of shit stuck half way up your asshole, the kind you're desperate to drop into the tank but it just hangs there, smushing itself up between your ass cheeks, trying to embed itself into some kind of itchy stink to drive you crazy for the rest of the week. If there's a name for that, it's Rally. Wish to god we'd never met.
Anyways, my bad luck, we did meet, and we did hang together for a long time. On the day it all came down, we were fishing together at the pond. It was winter, of course. Early February, so we were all set to spend the afternoon in the shanty and make a day of it. If only.
Now Titian Pond ain’t huge, but ain’t nothing either. Sort of a medium slough, I guess. Room enough for a few shanties, if you’re willing, but access is tricky. You can't just drive your truck out there, and it's a rare few that will go to the trouble I do to get a shanty and everything else out there otherwise. Still, it's nice to be warm, and to have the place to myself, mostly, so it's worth the effort, I suppose.
Some days, other folks might come out and try their luck from a bucket, if you know what I mean, or maybe a pop up. That day though, the day of the incident, we had the place to ourselves.
Now I knew Rally had been making time with, or at least was trying to make time with my girlfriend. I'm not pretending like I didn't know that. I wasn't sure. Hard for a guy to be sure, but I knew something was going on. I’d been thinking on it for a while, and couldn’t quite find the guts to do something about it.
I just wanted to talk about it. Make him tell me, I suppose. Admit it. I don’t deny that. I even prayed for guidance, and I’m not a religious man. Maybe prayed isn’t quite right. More like the way you make a promise to the god you don’t believe in when you’re bent over the toilet with the dry heaves. When you throw up your hands and shout to no one in particular, “Just tell me what the fuck to do, already, and I’ll do it.”
But I never planned to hurt him. Her, maybe, but not him. What happened that day was like I told it. Nothing to do with him and her. It was the other guy. The weirdo.
Now, folks in town will have it like I thought that guy was some mysterious stranger, like I thought he was some magical pond creature, or the devil himself, maybe. I said it before, though, and I'll say it again. I didn't know the guy's name, but I'd met him before. One of those guys I should've known and didn't. Like you see around, you know? Just, well, around. I'd seen him a few times at Hawkhead, I think, probably even heard his name once or twice. Just never cared enough to remember it, that's all.
If I'd remembered, maybe I would’ve called him by name, would’ve said, "Hey Todd, or Jack,” or whatever, “getting a little cold out there?" Something like that. I mean, I'm not good with names, so that was probably never going to happen anyways. As it was, I just faked it, like, "Hey buddy, out for a little fishing?" Course, that's not how Rally tells it, but I don't see how I care one way or the other about what that little shit squeak says.
Alls I know is this weirdo I'd seen around a few times maybe but had never really talked to just came across’d the pond and made his way into the shanty. And by weird I mean...well...for starters the guy was dressed for November, and here it was February. He had this lightweight jacket, bright yellow, like you would wear more for show than for warmth. And no boots. More like sneakers than something you would wear for a day out on the ice. No gloves. Now some guys are fine like that, y’know, pretty on the outside and layered up on the inside, but you could tell, just looking at him, that there was nothing underneath. Didn't look like he could last much more than a half hour on the ice, if that.
Now there's not much room in there. I mean, it's fine for two, and I'm not saying you can't squeeze three, maybe four in a pinch, but it gets crowded fast. Still, I could see the poor guy wasn't prepared for the cold, and figured he needed a warm-up before someone would have to haul him out by hand. I offered him some coffee with a little brandy, and he just sort of nodded his head in thanks.
We all sat there, Rally and me each with a beer, and this guy with his brandy, and no one talking. Quiet. Weird quiet was what it was. Crazy quiet. Then Rally lights a cigarette.
“Your boy’s a smoker,” this guy says to me, ignoring Rally like he wasn’t even there.
I don’t know what I said. Something like, “He’s not my boy and he does what he likes. I got no fight with him on that score.” I kinda gave Rally a look right then, because we had this other score that hadn’t been settled, and we both knew it. Just a look between us. Him though, that giant ass squeak, he just stared at me blank. Just, y’know, nothing.
“I’ve known a few smokers in my time,” the weirdo says. “Never liked it much myself.”
“That so?” I said.
“Well, everyone’s got their vices,” he says. And it got real quiet again. I mean, all three of us. Weird quiet. Like, how do I describe it? Like, normally, there you are, fishing all day, sometimes with the radio, sometimes not. Sometimes talking, sometimes not. But sometimes, the quiet just takes over. Maybe you can hear the wind pushing around the last of the leaves hanging on for winter. Or the few geese lagging behind. This was like that except...well, except it’s just not the sort of thing you expect when you’re with a stranger. With a stranger, you talk or go, you know what I mean? Talk or go. You don’t sit quiet with someone like that. Sitting quiet is for people you know. People who know you.
So it was strange. Real strange.
Finally, I couldn’t take it, and tried to make some conversation. Something like I’d started with. Like, “So, Buddy, what brings you out here? Too cold for you on the bucket?” Just ribbing him a little, trying to break the quiet.
And he looks at me, dead in the eye, like the kind of eye contact you don’t get from anyone but your girlfriend, or maybe your ma, and even then, it’s rare. He looks at me like that and says, “No, Friend. I came out here looking for you.”
That shook me, of course. Thought maybe he was there to serve me a warrant or something. Not that I’d done anything wrong. I just watch too many cop shows I guess. I kept my cool, though. Said, “Well you found me, I suppose.”
And he nods his head. “I suppose I did, Albert, I suppose I did.”
Now nobody calls me Albert. Not even my ma. Everyone, and I mean everyone calls me Ben. Albert, well, that’s my god given name, my so-called father’s name, but he’s dead and gone, and good riddance. My name’s Ben, and I’ll take it to my grave.
I told him to get the hell out.
And right then, Rally looked up at me and said, “What the hell, Ben?”
And I said, “Not you, Rally, this asshole.”
But Rally just looked at me like I hadn’t said anything. And the weirdo smiles at me and says, “It is, we know, incumbent upon a host to accord hospitality to the stranger.” The same damned thing my ma always said. Word for word. That shook me, I won’t lie. Not just implying that I was the asshole for not being a good host to this shitbag I’d never met, but using my own ma’s words against me.
I pulled myself together and told him I wasn’t incumbent upon him for fuck all. And Rally looked up again and said, “You got a problem, Ben?”
Of course, I looked over at Rally like he was crazy. “Can’t you see I’m not talking to you, asshole?”
Rally, though, he just gave me that weird look again.
I looked back at the weirdo, about to toss him on his ass, but he’s standing up. He says, and I swear to god he was smiling, he says with this fucking smirk on his face, “I know where I’m not welcome.”
Just then, Rally fell off his chair. Before I know what’s happening, the weirdo walks over, kicks Rally in the gut, hard, then in the face, then picks him up by the collar and slams his head on the ice. I’m still in shock when he does it again and says, “Looks like you got a situation, here. Clearly, you’re busy. I’d better head out. We can settle up later.”
It took me a minute to register what had just happened, but when I finally came out of shock, I grabbed the weirdo from behind and beat that guy within an inch of his life. Within an inch. He was lucky to stumble out of there, back to his truck or whatever had brought him there. Or maybe he’s dead. I don’t know. Maybe died in the cold. Maybe the morel hunters will find him in the spring. Who the fuck knows?
Thing is though, I can’t really be sure. Rally joined in the fight, and we were knocking stuff down all over the place. It was a fucking mess. When I backed up to take a breather and survey the damage like my uncle would’ve said, I didn’t see the weirdo nowhere, and Rally was in bad shape. And I mean bad shape. It was almost like I’d been pummeling on him with the strength of two men, instead of the two of us pummeling the weirdo.
Almost.
And, Rally, well, I'd never seen him like that. Couldn’t walk. Couldn’t hardly talk. I had to drag him to my truck before I could take him to the hospital. Forty minutes with him choking on his own blood. Maybe I should've called an ambulance. Can’t say. It would've been five to get a signal and another twenty just waiting for them to get to us. Like I said, there were decisions to be made, and I made them. They say if I'd gotten help, maybe he'd still be able to walk. I say nobody really knows that shit.
Anyways, at least the kid lived. The scars are a mess, but I suppose they'll heal eventually. It's too bad about his legs, I will say that. I’m not happy about that. At all. But that lying piece of shit don’t deserve my pity. Not after what he told the cops. That I was the only one there. That I beat the shit out of him for no reason. Well, for one reason, the way he told it.
Saved his goddammed life was what I did.
They say I’ll have three to five to think on it. Maybe more. But I don’t need to think on it. I know what I done. Ma always said to be kind to strangers, that it was incumbent upon a host to accord hospitality to the stranger, but she was wrong. Some strangers don’t deserve your hospitality. Some strangers are just plain bad luck. Like I said, I made a bad choice. The wrong one, maybe. I don’t know.
I’ll do my time. No way out of that, sure. But my story is true, and I’ll prove it. Someday, when I get out, I’ll prove it, and you’ll all be sorry. And him more than anyone. I’ll find him. He wants to settle up, I’ll settle up. I’ll find that weirdo and make him pay for what he done, if I have to travel to the ends of the earth.
If I have to travel to the depths of hell.