Small Talk

“Oh, and whose fault do you think that is Paul?”

“You know what Sharon-?”

“What, Paul?” Sharon fired back, rising from her chair to meet him.

“Will you two cut it out and calm down!” Kenneth shouted into the fray.

“Yeah, cause you are the paragon of calm and rational thought aren’t you just Kenneth,” Cameron

Blankers, not to be confused with Cameron Chester who just couldn't make Monday meetings because his favorite tv drama was on, said with hitherto unsee ire. His face growing red.

“This would never have happened when Tyler was in charge,” Rhonda’s dry voice spoke quietly. Not

quite enough for Old Man Lukas to miss it though.

“I think that is enough.” He said, though the arguments continued on. He eyed his fellow townsfolk for a

moment before wrapping his boney knuckle with the skin stretched so tight it looked like an ill-fitting

glove, loudly onto the table.

“I will not speak to what Tyler would have done in my position because his tenure was brief due to his

own shortcomings. But I will say that if we wish to continue on in our way than we need to come up with

a solution, not just angry words. The thing is for us to be decisive, rational, and swift.” He spoke so

assuredly that I began to think there was no grave problem before us.

“Well, what do you suggest we do with the boy?” Sharon asked him.

“He is not a boy, Sharon, he is a threat. Paul said with vehemence in his voice.

“Oh, come off it Paul. His is just a teenager. Meridoc, how old is he, do you know?” Kenneth spoke

again, with a false sense of purity. I knew, just as they all did that if that teenager became a danger to

his way of life that he would not hesitate to act. I wished whole heartedly that he had not drawn

attention to the fact that I was there, leaning against the wall in the corner trying to blend into the

dated wallpaper.

I cleared my throat, not because it was dry, but because I was buying myself time to think. “Well, I think,

uhm, I fell as though he said 18, maybe 19. I really can’t be sure, I don’t remember exactly.” I rambled

on for a moment with all eyes in the room on me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a journalist? How do you ever manage to write anything if you can’t

remember anything?” Cameron asked me disapprovingly. In my own defense I was very nervous as it

was only my third time at one of these meetings and my first time to have cause to speak.

“Oh, just let him be.” Rhonda said in a weak defense of me.

“Let him be? He spoke to this boy about this town’s deepest secrets, and we are supposed to remain

calm?” Kenneth said.

“I don’t care about that? How did he find out and is someone else likely to find out the same way?”

Sharon asked rubbing her hands together nervously.

“Or did he already tell others?” Cameron asked. “Does anyone else know about it?... About what’s down

there?” He asked and we all fell silent, our dread working its way through us, leaving us cold.

“Ugh,” Sharon said growling when she spoke. “I just wish he would go away.” The room fell silent again.

“Well, isn’t that an idea.”

“Does he belong to anyone in town? Like do people really know him?”

“He seems to be a drifter, just in town looking for work.”

“Are you asking if he would be missed?” Kenneth asked with his eyebrow raised.

“It is a valid question?”

“Couldn’t we just pay him to keep quiet? Isn’t that easiest?”

“Have you not talked to Henson? How much money that boy has already schemed off him.”

“You can’t be serious.” And then they began to all speak over each other again. Voices rising in volume

even when they agreed with one another.

“Well, shall we take a break for a moment and allow cooler heads to prevail?” Old Man Lukas asked with

one eyebrow raised.

“I’m outside for a smoke then.” Rhonda said already getting up from her seat and waving me to follow

her out the door.

We stood outside, my hands shook from nerves and the cold. While Rhonda puffed away for

sometime before she spoke.

“He really is a threat to us Merry, they are right about that.”

“I mean is he really?” I asked, naively.

“And where do you think your mother and you will get the money to sustain your lifestyle if he tells

anyone, anyone besides you down there at the local paper about what we have going on up here?” She

punctuated her sentence with her cigarette, ash falling to the ground. I don’t think she noticed she was

doing it.

“Yes, but can’t we, couldn’t we just, I don’t know, talk to him? Or maybe even cut him in or pay him to

keep quiet or something?”

“I suppose we could try, but you heard what they said about Farmer Henson, about the money. I don’t

know if he is to be trusted. Maybe the only fixing there is to it though. If we can make him a part of it,

make him complicit where could he go?”

It was then that Paul came out the door, his shoulders back, his pace quick. He didn’t say

anything to us, but politeness wasn’t exactly his way. The others filtered out slowly grumbling in pairs.

“You want a ride back into town, Merry or will you walk?” Kenneth asked me.

“I can give him a lift home Kenny.” Rhonda said waving him off. Old Man Lukas stopped and watched as

the others drifted off to their cars.

“We going to get together again to talk about it?”

“Yes,” he replied not taking his gaze away from my face, “Come round on Thursday, around 7. We will

talk then. And let me take Merry home, I want to speak with him for a moment.” He put his hand on

Rhonda’s shoulder, gentle but firmly telling her to go.

I meandered slowly around the cow pasture with Old Man Lukas, not finding any pattern to our

wanderings. We didn’t speak much except for him to point out a colorful or interesting piece of the

landscape to me. We walked on for some time, the sky turning orange and pink with the setting sun.

“Do you hear that?” I turned to the older man and asked.

“I don’t, but I expect it’s Paul.” He replied, not turning he kept walking slowly on. Paul would pull up

alongside us by way of an old access roads between properties in but a few moments.

“Have you brought it?”

“Well of course I have,” Paul answered, his voice muffled as he rounded the back of his car and threw

open the trunk. He pulled out and threw the boy down by the collar of his shirt. “Stay put.” He said,

glowering down.

“I’m not going to say anything I promise, please.” His head and his eyes could not seem to sync up as he

turned and looked back and forth among us so fast, so pleadingly. None of us spoke to him.

“I won’t be a problem; I won’t say anything.”

“Like how you weren’t a problem about Farmer Henson’s apple yield?” The boy paused, mouth slightly

ajar. He was clearly surprised about anyone besides himself and Farmer Henson knowing about that, a

spot of blackmail.

“But-but. I mean this is nothing like that. I mean its different. I won’t- I won’t saying about this. Please,”

the boy begged pulling himself upright in the muck, the ground still wet from last night’s rain, “Forgive

me.” Old Man Lukas slowly crouched down to his eye level. His knees popping in an undignified way as

he did so. He sighed heavily.

“Of course I forgive you.” And with that he straightened himself up with the alacrity of a much younger

man and shot the boy through the skull. He motioned for his cane which Paul handed him. He raised his

head to the clouds above and gently took a deep breath.

“Smells like its bound to rain, we best be getting home. Paul, get your boys to take care of this.”

He motioned out the body casually and then motioned for me to come over to him. I tepidly walked to

him, the mud squelching under my boot with every step. With his cane in one hand he put the other on

my shoulder for stability. I was to help carry the weight of him through even though he didn’t need it. I

had been brought out there not to help, but to never be able to give them up. To deny my own

involvement. And he was right I never would. And it did begin to rain.