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“Okay, boys, soup’s on,” he said, shaking out far more flakes than necessary. In addition to overfeeding himself, Harold had a tendency to over feed his pets. He had already fed the goldfish twice that day and now some instinct of self-preservation kept them from eating any more. “S’matter, aren’t you hungry?” he said, coaxing them. “It’s good. Here, look, I’m eating it.”
He shook a few flakes out into the palm of his hand and licked them off. He smacked his lips, raised his eyebrows in appreciation, and shook some more flakes out into his palm. Not all that bad, he though, giving the fish another taste. Wonder what’s in ’em? He turned the can around to read the ingredients as he munched the flakes.
“Mayfly eggs?” he said, aghast.
He immediately began spitting out the flakes.
He heard a loud crunching sound and glanced up, wondering where it was coming from. Something was moving over in the produce section, by one of the vegetable bins.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” he shouted, dropping the fish food and running over to the produce section. He reached into the bin and pulled out a large white rabbit. “If Edna catches you in here, she’s gonna make a fur coat out of ’ya!” he said, cradling the rabbit in his arms protectively. It looked up at him, snuffling its nose.
He sighed. What the hell, he thought, you can’t blame the poor guy for being hungry, he grimaced wryly. Everyone was starving around here. If Edna had her way, he’d have the same diet as the rabbit—carrots and lettuce. What the hell kind of food was that for a man?
The thought of food made him hungry, and on his way toward the back door, Harold stopped and grabbed a jar of peanuts off one of the shelves. He looked around furtively, then twisted the lid open, breaking the vacuum seal. He shook out a handful of peanuts and popped them into his mouth, then carefully screwed the lid back onto the jar and replaced it on the shelf. Then he went over to the refrigerated section, took out a bottle of orange juice. After unscrewing the lid and washing down the peanuts with several swallows, he carefully replaced the lid and put the bottle back again. What the hell, he thought, nobody would notice. A man’s gotta eat.
A box of chocolate-covered doughnuts caught his attention. He stared at it for a moment, his mouth watering. If he opened it, it wasn’t like unscrewing a lid and only taking out a small amount that nobody would notice. Some customer would be sure to notice that the box had been opened and that there was a doughnut missing. On the other hand, they’d probably just figure that some kids had done it and they’d merely put the opened box back on the shelf and take a full one. It wasn’t very likely that anyone would make a point of mentioning it to Edna. And if no one mentioned one missing doughnut, then they probably wouldn’t mention two. No, thought Harold, they’d just put down the opened box and grab a full one and that would be the end of it. No one would complain and Edna would never know.
What the hell, he thought. He tucked the rabbit up in the crook of his arm and popped open the seal on the box. He licked his lips as he took out one of the moist, dark doughnuts and bit into it with gusto.
Behind him, the door opened up soundlessly and a shadow crossed the floor.
Harold shoved the remainder of the chocolate doughnut into his mouth and greedily reached for another one. Holding it in his mouth, he closed the box back up and replaced it underneath several unopened ones. He’d remember where he put it so he could sneak some more later in the night if he wanted a late night snack.
A shadow fell across him.
Harold turned, the doughnut still stuck between his teeth, and found himself face-to-face with Edna.
“Didn’t I feed you enough for supper?” she shrilled at him, shaking her finger in his face. “The doctor said you have to lose weight, didn’t he?” She sighed with exasperation. “You know, I try to help you, but you keep sneakin’ food behind my back! What am I gonna do with you? And would you put that filthy animal back where it belongs? Come on!”
Harold looked down at the floor miserably as she went out, then he quickly grabbed another doughnut, crammed it into his mouth, and took the rabbit back out to the shed, holding the rabbit in his arms and stroking it. But suddenly it started wriggling, panic-striken, in his arms.
“Hey, hey, hey, what’re you so nervous about?” said Harold, shifting his grip on the struggling rabbit.
He stopped for a moment as he approached the rabbit hutch and his mouth dropped open as he stared at the dead rabbits inside. He gasped and approached the hutch, shaking his head with disbelief.
“Who would do something like this?” he said, leaning close to the hutch and opening the door.
A huge copperhead rattlesnake reared up inside the hutch, its tail rattling a warning, its gaping mouth open, displaying the long, needle-sharp, curved fangs. Harold dropped the rabbit and recoiled just as it lunged at him, striking, its fangs missing his face by scant inches.
He ran panic-striken out of the shed, holding on to his stomach with both hands. The sheer terror of his close call had loosened his bowels and he plunged through the back door, almost bowling Edna over as he made a beeline for the bathroom.
“What’s the matter?” Edna shouted after him. “What happened?”
Harold mumbled something as he ran past her and bolted through the bathroom door, which he slamme
d behind him.
“It’s all that crap you’ve been stuffing yourself with!” Edna shouted through the door. She shook her head in disgust and went back to the couch. She turned up the volume of the TV, then sat back down to her knitting. She scowled since one of the two long, steel knitting needles seemed to be missing. She looked all around on the couch and felt behind the cushions.
“Now where’s that other needle?” she said, looking for it without success.
Harold sat on the toilet in the dilapidated bathroom, relieved that he had made it just in time. He never would have heard the end of it from Edna if he had gone in his pants. He had heard the expression “being scared shitless” before, but that was the first time he had ever experienced the literal truth of that saying. The only time he’d ever felt anything close to that kind of fear was when he was drafted and he didn’t know if he would wind up going to Vietnam or not.
Thank God we’d already started pulling out by that time, Harold thought, reaching for the bottle of whiskey he kept hidden behind the toilet. He had been so terrified of being sent over there that he had started losing sleep and eating compulsively just to take his mind off it. Everyone had always thought that he was such a gridiron hero; they used to call him “Hockett the Rocket” because he scrambled in the backfield just like a pro, when the truth was that he scrambled so hard and so fast because he was absolutely terrified of being hit. The thought of being hurt completely unnerved him. And after all the horror stories he had heard about what went on in Vietnam, just the thought of being sent over there made his knees go weak. But he’d been lucky. Just like with that snake. Man, he thought, what a close call! He closed his eyes and sighed, then took another gulp of whiskey.
He had several of the bottles stashed away in the apartment and the store, as well as in the shed. They were all carefully hidden where Edna wan’t liable to find them. Fortunately, she wasn’t much on cleaning lately, so most of the bottles went undiscovered. The place was a damn mess.
He uncapped the bottle and put it to his lips, taking several healthy slugs. It burned deliciously as it went down. God, how he’d needed that! The doctor had warned him about cutting back on the booze—well, what he’d actually said was, “If you don’t stop drinking, Harold, you’ll kill yourself”—but if having a rattlesnake almost bite your nose off wasn’t enough excuse for a man to have a drink, he didn’t know what was. Jesus, just being married to Edna was enough to drive a man to drink, he thought, knocking back anouther slug.
