“It looks like something happened,” Lester said, recovering enough to show a smirk. “You smell like tomatoes. Looks like you got it on you, too. Your clothes, even your face and hair.”
“Is that what happened?” Bert asked wide-eyed. “Did some kids sneak down there and throw tomatoes at you?”
Durkin’s eyes narrowed as he studied both his boys; Lester making no effort to hide his smirk, Bert looking honestly concerned. “You two ask around,” he said. “You hear anything, you tell me.”
“Wow,” Bert murmured. “That really happened?”
“Don’t you two say nothin’ to no one about it. Just ask around. See if any of your friends know about it.” Durkin held up the three-hundred-year-old document he had brought up from the basement. “I never showed you boys this before, but this is the Caretaker contract. Most important document in this world.”
“Big deal,” Lester said under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothin’.”
“He said ‘big deal,’” Bert said.
“You bet it’s a big deal,” Durkin said. “You’re going to be Caretaker in less than four years.”
“No, I’m not,” Lester argued stubbornly. “I asked mom and she says I don’t have to.”
“Oh yes, you do, son. It’s stated so in the contract. When you turn twenty-one, you become Caretaker. That’s the way it’s going to be, Lester.”
“Mom says I don’t have to listen to you.”
“That’s ’cause your mom’s a damn fool. This contract’s the most important document in this world. You’re going to honor it. You got to. There’s no choice in the matter.”
Lester’s oval mouth contracted into a small dot as he stared blankly at the floor. Bert interjected that he could take the Caretaker job if Lester didn’t want it.
Durkin smiled sadly at him. “Don’t work that way, Bert. The contract clearly states the eldest son must be the Caretaker. So unless something were to happen to your brother, it just can’t be done.”
“Why don’t you just pretend something happened to me,” Lester said, his lips forming into a bitter smile.
Durkin brought his hand up to his face and squeezed his eyes. When he pulled his hand away, his eyes had reddened some. “Lester, what do you think I do all day?”
Lester looked up from the floor and stared at his dad, a hurt look playing on his mouth. He pushed out his bottom lip and said that he walked around some stupid field all day and pulled out weeds. That it was the lamest job in the world.
“That’s what you think I do, huh? How about you Bert, is that what you think I do?”
Bert shrugged, smiling noncommittally.
“Those ain’t weeds I pull out,” Durkin said. “They’re Aukowies. I’ll go over the book with the two of you later, but the only reason the world’s safe is ’cause I go out there every day and pull them from that field.”
Lester smirked, but he didn’t say anything. Durkin couldn’t help feeling hot under the collar watching his son. He held his breath, counted to ten trying to cool off. “Lester,” he said, struggling hard to control his voice, “you don’t think I’d rather be doing something else with my life? You think I like carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders? But it’s our burden to bear, son. When you think about it, it’s a great honor-”
“Yeah, such a great honor. That’s why it pays you eight thousand dollars. I’d make twice that working at McDonald’s.”
Durkin fidgeted, turned away from his son to look out the window. “It’s more than just eight thousand dollars, Lester. This home is deeded to the Caretaker and his family.” He stopped for a moment to stare at the crescent moon in the sky. In the dusk a bat flew in a herky-jerky motion across it and then zigzagged out of sight. He turned slowly back to his son. “Used to be no honorarium was provided in the contract ’cause it was expected of the townsfolk in the county to provide for the Caretaker’s needs. They amended the contract back in 1869 to add the honorarium. Then eight thousand dollars was a lot of money.”
“It’s squat now.”
Durkin shrugged his stooped rounded shoulders. “Maybe so,” he said, “but back in 1869 it was a lot of money. Enough for a man and his family to be well taken care of.” He fidgeted more in his chair, picking at some dirt under his nails. Without much conviction, he added, “That was what was intended with the honorarium. But you’re right, eight thousand dollars ain’t what it used to be. When I started as Caretaker it was a good enough salary but, well, now things have to be fixed. I’m going to bring it up to the town council. They’re going to have to fix it. It’s only right that they do.”
“Dad, what are Aukowies?” Bert asked.
“They’re bogeymen,” Lester said with a knowing smirk.
“No, they ain’t bogeymen. Bogeymen are imaginary. Aukowies are real. I kill thousands of them every day.”
“Sure you do,” Lester said with another eye roll.
“You bet I do. I pull thousands of Aukowies out of that field every day. Weeds don’t have a mind of their own like these things do. They don’t try to cut off your fingers with razor-sharp pincers. And they sure as hell don’t scream when you kill them.”
“They scream?” Bert asked.
“If you listen carefully enough you can hear them. Sounds kind of like a mouse in a trap.”
“Do they look like weeds?”
“When they’re small maybe. But if you know what to look at you can tell they ain’t no weeds. You got to remember, though, I pull them up before they get a chance to mature. A one-day-old Aukowie looks a lot different than an eight-day-old one.”
“What do they look like after eight days?”
“They don’t look anything like weeds then or anything else for that matter. After eight days they’re ready to rip themselves free from the ground. Nine feet in length by then, big razor-sharp fangs everywhere. Bloodthirsty suckers who move like the wind. Not much anyone could do about them at that point.”
“If they’re not weeds, why don’t you bring one home?” Lester asked, some nervousness and uncertainty edging into his voice.
“Can’t do it,” Durkin said. “Contract specifies all Aukowie remains must be burnt in a stone pit on the eastern side of Lorne Field, with the ashes first mixed with lime and then buried. But I can bring you there. Let you see for yourself.”
“How about me?” Bert asked.
“Sorry, son. Contract allows me to bring the eldest son to train on the killing of the Aukowies. I can’t bring you, though. Not allowed by the contract.”
“When are you taking me?” Lester asked.
“A few days.” Durkin appraised his older son carefully. “Need to make sure you’re prepared first. I got to get you a pair of good quality work boots and gloves. This ain’t no fooling around. These are dangerous critters.”
“I want to go too,” Bert said, pouting.
Durkin sighed. “You’re just going to have to be satisfied with your brother telling you about it. I got to call the town sheriff now, tell him about those delinquents violating the contract. It’s serious business, and their punishment’s spelled out clearly in the contract-”
“What’s their punishment?” Lester asked, his voice a nervous squeak as he interrupted his dad.
“Nevermind that. But you boys ask around. You hear anything, you let me know.” Durkin hesitated, his leathery features softening. “I thought it important to talk to you boys about what I do. It’s important business, ain’t no joke. You hear your mom talking foolishness or other kids in the town making jokes about it, just remember, they don’t know any better. You boys want to go back to your TV now, go ahead. Bert, get me the phone.”
Lester moved slowly off the sofa and took his time making his way up the stairs. He stopped when he got to the top. Half crouching in the shadows of the upstairs hallway, he strained to listen to his dad’s phone conversation with the sheriff.
