The tree swayed, toppled. Vera sprang off her haunches, caught it with a jerk, shaking loose a shower of dry needles into her hair and down onto the floor. The evidence of earlier crashes lay thickly all about her, crackling under the soles of her shoes, and making her feet skid with every step she took. She had been wrestling the tree unassisted for the past half-hour but had no intention of planting the suggestion that she needed help.
Just then her father eased into the living room and, blind to her difficulties, inquired whether she had noticed his spectacles lying around.
“No,” said Vera, teeth clenched as she shoved the tree upright in the stand again.
“I can’t think where they could’ve got to,” he said helplessly, looking about vaguely. When it became clear she had no intention of joining the search he wandered off, with a forlorn, neglected air.
Five minutes later he was back. The tree was now standing, or rather leaning, in the corner of the room, and Vera was asking herself why she hadn’t thought to attach the star to its tip before she got it completely vertical. Now she was going to have to risk her neck standing on a chair, fending off branches as she leaned out precariously to fix the star.
The missing glasses had made Monkman as peevish and frustrated as his daughter. “I’ve lost my reading glasses,” he announced in a loud, slightly belligerent voice. “I can’t find them anywhere.”
Vera kept her eyes fastened on the top of the tree, like a bird judging a perch. “So what’ve you got to read that can’t wait?” she said. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m busy here.”
“It’s not reading. It’s for Huff. He wants his sugar diabetes shot and I can’t do it without my glasses. It’s close work.”
“It’s just about time you stopped babying Huff Driesen. He’s a big boy. Let him do it himself.”
“Vera, you know he can’t. He’s squeamish about needles.”
“So let one of his other bosom buddies in the kitchen do it. If he hurries he can get one while they’re still sober.”
“He don’t trust them,” said her father, dropping his voice.
“Neither do J,” Vera whispered back theatrically.
Her sarcasm appeared to be lost on her father, who hesitated before revealing his proposal. Still speaking in an undertone, he said: “As a matter of fact, Huff was wondering if I didn’t find my glasses… could you maybe do it, Vera?”
Vera laughed in his face. “Driesen’s got to be out of his mind. Not a chance.”
“It isn’t hard,” said her father. “Really it isn’t. Huff’ll load the needle for you. All you got to do is stick it in and push down the plunger.”
“Dream on. Push down the plunger. You make it sound like the French Resistance blowing up bridges in the movies. If I could blow that old sonofabitch sky high, then I’d press down the plunger.”
“Now don’t make jokes, Vera. This is serious business. He’s got to have his shot. And if you won’t do it, I’ll have to get Daniel to.”
Vera was aghast. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t ask Daniel to give him a needle.”
“I did already. He says, ‘If Mom can’t do it – I will.’ ”
“Use your head. Where’s your sense? Nobody lets twelve-year-old kids give old men needles. It’s just not proper.”
“Well, maybe it isn’t,” said Alec, feeling she was ready to give ground, “but if there’s nobody else to do it, what can I do?”
“Oh, Christ!” cried Vera. “All right, all right, I’ll give him his bloody needle. Get him in here and let’s get it over with. Jesus.”
Moments later her father returned, escorting a shuffling, grinning Huff. For the sake of privacy, Vera led him off to her bedroom. The notion of administering a needle made her feel slightly queasy and she was afraid that an audience might cause her to botch the job completely.
Once inside the bedroom Huff sniffed the air appreciatively. “Smells all perfumy,” he remarked. “Smells like a garden.”
Vera had no time for pleasantries. She wanted this done with, before she lost any more of her nerve. “Okay, okay,” she said brusquely, “let’s get this show on the road. That thing loaded?” she asked, pointing to the syringe in Driesen’s left hand. In his right he clutched a bottle of alcohol and some cotton balls.
“Loaded and ready to fire,” said Huff agreeably. “Loaded and ready to fire.”
“Fine,” said Vera, betraying gathering apprehension as she gnawed her bottom lip. “Get your sleeve rolled up.”
“Oh, not in my arm,” said Huff smoothly. “I don’t take my needle in my arm, Vera.”
“Where do you take it then?”
“Here,” said Driesen, striking his flank with his palm. “Here, where I got some meat.”
Vera looked doubtful. On the other hand, she didn’t want to prolong the ordeal with argument and questions. “All right,” she said, “what do I do?”
“You wipe me down with alcohol, pinch up some skin and fat, shove in the needle, and push down the plunger. You do it right, Vera, you got yourself a full-time job as my nurse.”
“Don’t tempt me to injury, Driesen.”
“Oh, don’t give me none of that, Vera. You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“I don’t hurt flies,” said Vera. “I kill them.”
Driesen chuckled. “ ‘I kill them,’ ” he repeated to himself. “ ‘I kill them.’ ”
“Come on,” said Vera, “I haven’t got all day. Get your pants down.”
Huff was eager to comply. He turned his back on her, unbuckled his belt, and dragged down trousers and underpants all at once, exposing saggy, creased buttocks to view.
Vera swore to herself she wouldn’t get rattled. Concentrating, she gingerly swabbed down a patch of skin, then pinched up a roll of flesh and skin. It felt queer and rubbery to the touch and left her with a distasteful sensation.
“My,” said Huff, “aren’t your fingers cool? But you know what they say. Cool hands, warm heart. That’s what they say. Is that true, Vera?”
“Shut up and hold still,” ordered Vera, taking aim with the syringe. It wasn’t easy because Driesen seemed to be fumbling and fidgeting with something in front, shirt buttons perhaps.
“You know,” he said, his voice suddenly grown harsh, “it’s what you want at a time like this – a woman’s gentle touch. I could get used to this. How about it? Would Vera like to be Huff’s private nurse?”
Vera’s answer was to stick him. The sight of the needle buried in the old man’s tensed buttock came as such a shock to her that she lost all recollection of what the next step was. Several seconds ticked by before she recovered, eased down the plunger with shaking fingers, and snatched out the syringe. There, it was done.
Huff turned and faced her. He smiled as he lifted up his shirt. “Look what Vera done. Pretty good for an old fellow, eh?” He smirked proudly, displaying a mangy nest of pubic hair from which a limply swollen member dangled, making fitful attempts to lift a head drooling a drop of liquid the colour and consistency of egg white.
“Oh yes,” he said, looking down at himself approvingly as he began to roughly pull and stretch his penis, “just give the old fellows half a chance and they’re sure to satisfy.”
It was with the broom near to hand in the corner that Vera knocked him down. The jars of face cream and hand lotion which he dragged down from the dresser as he fell were still rattling like hail on the floor when she burst out of the bedroom, across the living room, and blew wild-eyed and raving into the kitchen.
“Out!”
Driesen’s cronies had time only to pop open their mouths before the broom slashed the tabletop and sent cards and money flying, glasses skittering, and beer spraying into the air.
“Out!”
Chairs were overturned in the scramble to escape her, cries of consternation and alarm arose as Vera’s broom descended on heads and upraised hands, left, right, and centre. A panicked Huff, hands clutching his waistband, bolted past her and flung himself out the door. They all followed, one of them trailing the tablecloth knotted in his fist. Vera landed her final blow cleanly between a pair of shoulder blades and heard the handle snap with a pistol-shot crack. It made her feel wonderful.