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I ran my fingers up and down the shoe’s silky sides. “How much.”
She considered for a moment. “Five dollar.”
Five dollars. I only had fifteen. This was ridiculous. I couldn’t walk around the Dells in a pair of shoes like that. I couldn’t walk anywhere without everyone noticing.
“Made good,” she said again.
“I’m sorry, I need something newer. And cheaper.” I quickly took off the shoe and handed it back.
“Okay.” She stared at the wall of boxes and reached up with her cane to tap one above her head. “You get,” she said.
The box contained a pair of orange canvas espadrilles with rubber bottoms. The shoes looked a little unstylish, but they weren’t antiques. I put on one, then the other, and took a few steps. They fit fine.
“How much?”
“Three dollar.”
“Okay.”
Wearing my purchase, I followed her to a counter along the wall and took three dollar bills out of my pocket. She rang them up in a mountainous cash register.
“Summer shoes,” she said, smiling and indicating the espadrilles. “Summer and fun.”
“I know,” I said. I thanked her and walked outside. The new rubber soles squeaked with every step. Part way down the sidewalk, I stopped. I could see Elro up ahead, sitting in the cab of the truck, staring blankly down the street. I watched him for a moment, then I went back into DeMarzo’s Department Store and bought the old shoes, too, carrying them away in their box, under my arm.
THIRTY-THREE
Outside of Minniefield, Elro took the first main road that headed north, and we drove for several hours. The sun pounded down on the pickup, and the inside of the cab grew hot. I started getting drowsy. I lay my head back on the seat, but I was caught in that never-never land, just short of dozing off, where real thoughts and dreams fade in and out of each other. I was thinking about Bunny: She’d be up by now, probably a
t the kitchen table drinking coffee, having gone around the house first thing, checking all the doors and windows. Her “tour of the property,” she used to say—who knows what she expected to find. Nothing, I suppose. She just needed to make sure that everything was exactly as she’d left it the night before. Anyway, there she’d be, sipping coffee at the kitchen table, maybe reading my note—she’d find it on the tour—but probably just sitting and staring into space, wrapped in her green terrycloth bathrobe. No, she hasn’t had that in years. The robe she wears now is beige. How could I forget? She’d be in her beige robe, and someone would call. Mrs. Vernon? No, Mrs. O’Brien. Mrs. O’Brien on the phone. Mrs. Calhoun, your daughter has run away. With a boy! A dumb, dangerous boy. We told you she was bad. You didn’t believe us, but we told you. Now, you’ve raised two bad ones, a son and a daughter. What do you say to that, Mrs. Calhoun? Where’s your talk about a child being a gift now? And you said this one was special. Specially bad, maybe. Specially like her brother. You can’t keep the badness out, can you, Mrs. Calhoun? You try to hide it, you try to dress it up, you try to talk around it, but, in the end, the badness comes through, doesn’t it, Mrs. Calhoun? Mrs. Calhoun? Mrs. Calhoun?
“Ride the ducks!”
“Huh?” I blinked my eyes open. The sun through the windshield weighed a ton on my chest.
Elro pointed to a billboard that showed what looked like a barge with wheels crawling into the water, carrying a load of joyous passengers. The passengers were waving ecstatically, with their hands above their heads, as if they were doing some kind of African dance. The sign said we were twenty miles from the Dells, “nature’s wonderland.” “Ride the ducks!” the sign commanded.
“The only thing they can’t do is fly,” said Elro.
Soon the roadside was littered with billboards—signs advertising a water show, a frontier village, motels, miniature golf, restaurants, a river tour. But nothing was advertised as much as the ducks. Duck billboards were everywhere, and soon I started seeing bumper stickers on cars. The message was always the same. “Ride the ducks!”
“Those words,” I said. “Maybe I’m just getting giddy, but they’re starting to sound really crazy.”
“Yeah?” said Elro.
“Yeah. It’s like they’re telling us to do something wild and amazing. They make my heart speed up.”
“Yeah?”
“Like a war whoop, except not for war.”
“A nut whoop,” said Elro.
“What?”
“A nut whoop. You know, you yell it before going nuts.” He paused. “Ride the ducks!” he yelled suddenly, and he bugged his eyes and started shaking like an idiot.
“Don’t.” I grabbed his arm. “We’ll crash.” He settled down, and I let go. “Where’d you hear that?” I asked.
