Camouflage Page 2

  “Not much.”

  “Well, you’re with me, now, and it’s okay. If you want to try one—go ahead.” He nodded at the pack on the dashboard.

  “That’s okay. I already tried it a couple of times,” Kyle admitted.

  His father laughed, lit his cigarette, inhaled once, then put it out in the ashtray. “It’s gonna be great having you around, Kyle. Always hoped we could spend more time together. Got a lot to show you—to teach you.” He pulled out into traffic. “Next stop—home.”

  They had driven for nearly an hour, with his father talking much of the time. “Mostly farms in this part of the state,” he said. “Sugar beets, corn, cabbage, potatoes here. Smell that? Onions. And that there’s an apple orchard. Taylor owns it. Ever pick an apple off a tree?” He glanced at Kyle.

  “No? Well, never mind. You will. Nothing like that first tart bite. Makes your tongue sing. Not like what you buy in the supermarkets.

  “Now that’s the Johnson farm we’re passing. Earl Johnson’s a good buddy. Got a sixteen-year-old boy you’ll want to meet. Hiram. Trouble there, though.”

  “Trouble?” Kyle asked, glancing back at the rundown two-story wooden house in the middle of the flat land.

  “Yep.” His father reached for another cigarette and lit it before speaking. “Government trouble. They want to take his farm. Four generations that land’s been Johnson land, and some little weasel bureaucrat thinks he can take it away.”

  “Can he?”

  “We’ll see.”

  There was something so steely in his father’s voice that Kyle stared at him. But the next moment his father went on describing the countryside in the same pleasant tone as before. “Now here we are coming into town. Stay alert. Blink and you’ll miss it.” He smiled.

  Kyle glanced from side to side down the one-block-long main street. It seemed typical of the other small farm towns they’d driven through. A post office, market, barber shop, beauty salon, hardware and general stores. He glimpsed side streets, no more than two blocks deep from the main street, with small houses and green lawns. Few people were out. It was midday and the air felt heavy and hot.

  “Three miles to go,” his father said. “You can come into town anytime you want. Even got a small library. Angie asked about that.” He gave Kyle a knowing look. “Got a ten-speed for you so you can get around. Sorry it’s not a motorcycle, but maybe later . . .”

  “A motorcycle!” Kyle sat straighter and his heart pumped wildly.

  “Yeah.” He grinned at Kyle. “We’ll see.”

  “Gee, Dad! I always wanted one but . . .” He stopped, not wanting to add that his mother would never allow it.

  Here he’d spent only one hour with his father and already he’d been offered a smoke, a chance to drive the truck, gun lessons, and maybe even a motorcycle. What a summer this was going to be!

  3

  “OH, WOW!” KYLE SAID. “Cool!” He dropped his pack and duffel on the wood floor of the large living room and studied the place. This was a man’s house. None of the pink-and-green couches and chairs of his mom’s home, with its pictures of flowers and Paris streets on the walls. No fancy rug that “tied all the colors of the room together.” Nothing like that at all.

  This house looked lived-in and smelled of leather and tobacco and the fresh outdoors. Two dark brown couches flanked a big stone fireplace. A bear rug lay on the floor between them. Moose and deer heads stared beady-eyed from the walls. A trestle table and benches stood near a window that looked out on trees and the road. And books—shelves overflowing with books and magazines. Even a rolltop desk covered with papers.

  “Oh, wow! Cool!” Kyle repeated.

  His dad’s eyes twinkled. “‘Wow’? Is that all you can say? ‘Cool’? Your vocabulary’s pretty limited. No wonder Angie wants you to read more.”

  “It’s like . . . like . . . something out of an old Western . . .”

  “Don’t know about that—but it suits me fine. Now, why don’t you get yourself settled, then come into the kitchen. We’ll have a cold drink and I’ve got something to show you. Your room’s back there.”

  Kyle dragged his duffel and backpack to the small bedroom. Spartan. Simple and austere, just like the way people lived in ancient Greece, he thought with satisfaction. A single bed on a bare floor, a small lamp on the nightstand, an old battered dresser, and a closet. His room at home was crowded with stuff, the walls covered with posters. He dropped his things on the bed and went to look at the pictures here. They were all of his father: stooping to pet a dog (did Dad have a dog?); photos with other men (his friends? his gun club?); a picture of him holding a rifle, being given a trophy.

  Kyle moved to the window when he heard a dog bark and a horse whinny. Not far from the house were a paddock and a red barn. The barn seemed to be in better shape than the house. In the distance, beyond a windbreak of trees, the land lay flat and empty to the horizon. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d forgotten how good air could smell. The warm, heavy scent coming on the breeze smelled like sweet corn.

  “Like it?” his father asked when Kyle came into the kitchen. He was holding a can of beer and offered Kyle a cola.

  “Like it? My face hurts from grinning so much!”

  His father’s weathered skin wrinkled into a pleased smile. “Come outside,” he said. He picked up a plain-wrapped package and led Kyle out through the kitchen door to a rickety redwood table and benches under a tree. He sat opposite Kyle and pushed the package toward him. “Gift.”

  “Aw, Dad. You shouldn’t have,” Kyle said, feeling a rush of excitement as he reached for the package. He hurriedly slid the cord off the corners and tore at the paper.

  His father lit a cigarette and looked over the smoke at Kyle. “Hope you like it. I have one just like it.”

  “A . . . a . . . camouflage suit?” Kyle cried, both puzzled and surprised. “A camouflage suit! Oh, wow!”

  “Hold it up and let’s see if it’ll fit.”

  Kyle jumped off the bench and held the suit against him. He wanted to run inside and put it on, right then. And to think—his dad had one just like it! What a cool present. Back home, if he wore this, he’d be the envy of all his friends!

  “Wow, Dad! It’s terrific! Thanks!” He ran around the table and hugged his dad from behind.

  His father reached back and pressed Kyle’s arms. He seemed embarrassed, but pleased, too. “Now, now,” he muttered, “it’s nothing, really. Next thing I’ll do is teach you how to handle firearms. Then, son, you’ll really be a man.”

  Kyle stood at the door with Prince, his father’s big German shepherd, at his side as his dad drove away in a cloud of dust. It was after ten at night, only seven o’clock California time so he wasn’t tired. His father worked the night shift as a guard in an auto factory. He’d be home in the morning.

  “You’ve got Prince here for company,” his father had said, when he’d introduced them. “He looks fierce, and he is. He’d sooner chew on a stranger than a dog bone. But not to worry. He can smell you’re mine.”

  Almost as soon as the dust settled over the road, the phone rang. Kyle closed the door and ran to answer it.

  “Kyle?” It was his mother, anxious and eager.

  “Hi, Mom!”

  “You get there all right?”

  What did she think? She was talking to him, wasn’t she? “Sure, Mom.”

  “How are things?”

  “Super. Dad met me and brought me home and we had a nice dinner and he just left for his job.”

  “He left you alone? The very first night?”

  “Ah, Mom! What’s he supposed to do, lose his job so he can baby-sit me? I’m fourteen, remember?”

  “Pardon me.”

  “Besides, he arranged to have the day shift starting Monday for as long as I’m here.”

  “Good.”

  Kyle let the silence grow, but then he felt sorry for his mother and tried to make amends. “How’s Brian? He move in yet?”

&
nbsp; He heard his mother’s intake of breath. “He’s fine and no. How’s your father?”

  “Okay.” She wanted him to say more, maybe something negative, certainly nothing really positive, so he tried to keep the enthusiasm from his voice. “Listen, Ma. Brian gave me sixty bucks, left it in my backpack. I’m sure he meant well, but I’m returning it.”

  “Don’t, honey, please! He did mean well and he’d be terribly hurt.”

  “I didn’t ask for it and I don’t need it. Especially from him.”

  “Kyle . . .”

  “If you like him, fine, but don’t ask me to. I’ve tried.”

  “Kyle . . .”

  He noticed the calendar on the kitchen bulletin board; a big red circle had been drawn around today with his name inside. A red-letter day for his dad.

  “You’ll write often, won’t you?”

  “Ah, Mom!”

  “Okay.” His mother sounded defeated. “Then phone, but keep in touch.”

  “Sure, Mom.” She probably had in mind every other day. He figured on once a week. Maybe.

  “Well, bye for now, then. Love you, honey.”

  “Love you, too, Mom.” He hung up and leaned forward to decipher the calendar markings. If small-town life was supposed to be dull, it sure didn’t look like that for his father. There were at least ten days of the month marked with some activity or another.

  It was bedtime but the air was too heavy and hot, the crickets were too loud, and Kyle was too exhilarated to sleep. He wandered into the living room and looked through his father’s library. Books on American history, on warfare, on philosophy; National Rifle Association pamphlets; one shelf of fiction.

  He chose a Tom Clancy paperback, The Hunt for Red October, and settled down on one of the couches to read, with Prince at his feet. He was well into the third chapter when Prince suddenly tensed, leaped off the couch, and with a low growl moved to the door.

  “What is it, Prince?” Kyle asked, uneasy. He followed the dog and stood at his side. The threatening growl became a warning bark. Kyle hurried to a window and peered out. He saw the headlights of a car far down the dirt road, moving toward the house.

  He pressed his fist against the pounding pulse in his throat. Who’d be driving up this late at night? His father’s friends knew Dad was at work. Prince sensed something wrong. Who could it be? A thief? In L.A., maybe, not here! Who’d want to rob this place, anyway? Everything was worn and old. The only thing of value, probably, was Dad’s gun collection. Cold sweat ran down Kyle’s back. If only he had a gun and knew how to use it. He could scare them off!

  The car stopped midway between the main road and the house, and the headlights went out. Kyle shivered. Why would the driver turn off the lights?

  “Prince! Come!” Kyle whispered, as if the dog by his side would make him feel safer. Prince moved to his side, ears pointed like antennae toward the outdoors. “Sssh!” Kyle said as the dog snarled and barked and scratched at the window.

  Kyle ran to the kitchen door and put the chain on, checked the windows, then scurried back to the living room. Whoever was out there was either still sitting in the car or circling the house by now. Oh, god, if only his father were home!

  He heard footsteps on gravel. Someone was near! He waited at the window, perspiration dripping down his neck and back, barely breathing because he needed to listen.

  Prince barked like a mad dog and rushed from window to door and back again. Kyle didn’t try to stop him. Maybe whoever was out there would be frightened off.

  His shoulder muscles ached from the stiff stance he took at the window. His mouth felt dry as paper. The phone! Why hadn’t he thought of it? Brian would have said that was the first thing to do—call for help! He eased over to the kitchen and picked up the receiver. He was only three miles from town; a police car could be here in minutes!

  No dial tone!

  They cut the wires? He’d seen movies where robbers did that before breaking in. He whimpered and bit his knuckles. Oh, Mom! What should I do?

  When he returned to the window he could barely make out the shape of the car and a man beside it. Were there others? Were they leaving? He held his breath. And then the headlights went back on and the car slowly backed up the driveway to the main road.

  Kyle slumped to the floor, held his head, and shivered. Who were they? What did they want? Would they come back? What if they’d left someone behind, someone who’d break into the house if he fell asleep?

  4

  KYLE SLEPT FITFULLY. He woke at every sound, even that of an owl hooting from a nearby tree. Then early in the morning he fell into a deep sleep and didn’t wake until he smelled coffee.

  Barefoot, he padded into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. His father glanced up from the newspaper, eyes brightening at the sight of him. “Morning, son. Sleep well?” Immediately his expression changed. “What is it? Something wrong?”

  Kyle sat at the table opposite his dad and described the events of the night before. His dad listened without interrupting, holding the coffee cup in front of his lips with both hands, eyes never leaving Kyle’s face.

  “Did you get a look at the car?” he asked.

  “Too far away and it was dark. Who were they, Dad? What were they after? Your guns?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Then what?” His father looked away and Kyle had a sudden thought that Dad knew more than he’d say. “And, and . . . I couldn’t use the phone,” he went on. “They must have cut the wires!”

  His father shook his head, lit a cigarette, and blew the smoke toward the window. “You’ve been reading too many spy stories, son. Truth is, phones aren’t too reliable here. Phone’s working fine now. I used it this morning.”

  “Oh. Shouldn’t you call the police?”

  “Nope.”

  “But, but . . . they walked right up to the house! I was so scared!” He didn’t go on when he saw his dad’s scowl. “If it hadn’t been for Prince I think they’d of—”

  “Simmer down! You’re making too much of this. It was probably something very ordinary. Some guys took the wrong turn, that’s all. When they realized it, they backed out. End of story. Now, why don’t you pour yourself some juice and join me.” His father held out sections of the newspaper. “Want the comics or the sports section?”

  Kyle took the comics, not satisfied with his father’s answers. Whoever had driven up last night seemed to know the place, seemed to have a purpose in coming, and he suspected his father knew it. Still, maybe he had overreacted. In the light of day, the events of last night seemed unreal. Maybe he’d been too quick to assume the worst, as if he were back in the city. Forget it, he told himself. Let it go.

  “Where’s Prince?” Kyle asked, sipping his juice.

  “Outside. He only stays inside at night.” His dad’s face stayed behind the newspaper. “Just listen to this,” he said irritably. “Fella I know—Ron Taylor—got a field full of lupine that he wants to plant in winter wheat. Government says he can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Some dumb little endangered blue butterfly that no one gives a damn about lays eggs there. It’s Ron’s land, for god’s sake! I ask you, what right’s the government got to tell him what to do with his own land?” His father glared over the paper at him; a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Next thing you know they’ll be telling us when to go to the can!”

  Kyle nibbled his crust of bread and suppressed a laugh because his dad looked so serious. Was this the time to ask about learning to shoot? After all, if someone tried to break in last night, shouldn’t he have a way to defend himself? “So what are we going to do today, Dad?” he asked.

  “Soon as I finish here, I’m going to get me some shut-eye. Why don’t you look around, take your bike—it’s in the barn—and go into town. Need money?” His father reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet.

  “No, no! I’m fine.”

  “Well, okay, but make yourself a lunch. There’s bologna, peanut butter, stuff
like that in the fridge. Bread’s in the bread box. Be home by four, though. I’ll be up by then.” He took a drag on his cigarette, then stubbed it out and smiled mischievously. “Maybe, if you’re not all tuckered out from so much fresh air . . . I’ll give you your first gun lesson.”

  “Wow!” Kyle cried.

  “Yeah, wow!” his father said.

  Kyle put on the camouflage jumpsuit and went into the bathroom to the small mirror over the sink. What little he could see looked good. The jumpsuit had pockets all over, even in the pant legs. He went into the kitchen. “What do you think, Dad?”

  His father turned from the sink and grinned. “Not bad. Like a soldier of fortune.”

  “Yeah?”

  “But take it off. No need to make a show of yourself around town in that.”

  “Why?” Kyle could hardly keep the disappointment from his voice. Why had his dad bought it if he couldn’t wear it?

  “Some people might get the wrong idea.”

  “About what?” he asked belligerently.

  “Don’t argue, just do what I said. There’ll be plenty of other times you can wear it.”

  “Like when?”

  “Like—when I say. Now, go change.”

  Kyle changed into tan shorts and an oversize white T-shirt, grumbling inwardly. He made himself two sandwiches, found cold juice in cartons, some potato chips, bananas, and cookies, and loaded them into a day pack. Then he went outside. Instantly Prince loped toward him from the direction of the barn. Kyle bent to scratch the dog between his ears. “Wanna show me around? Huh, Prince? Sure you do!”

  First he headed for the corral. He could hardly wait to see Blackie, his dad’s horse. He’d brought a carrot for him, and Kyle stood on the wooden rail holding it out until the big animal ambled over. “Good Blackie,” he said softly. The horse snorted, turned away, then came back and looked him over. Finally he took the carrot. Kyle laughed. Maybe his dad would teach him how to groom Blackie and maybe he’d get to ride him. Man, this was the life. Out in the country with horses and dogs! He might not want to go home after the summer, no matter what Mom said.