Acre Under a Green Sky

As a child, I preferred the company of adults. I was drawn to them as one is to a mystery. I knew there must be something wonderful about being grown-up, but I couldn't imagine what it could be. It was as if being grown-up was a magic trick, and I wanted to figure out how it was done. I listened for clues in their conversation; I eavesdropped, and snooped into every pocket and drawer.

Garry, on the other hand, was totally disinterested in adults. Having to listen to adults talk among themselves bored him stiff. Their lives were of no concern to him at all; unless of course, they were having sex. Danny looked down on grown-ups, responding to them as if they were somehow more childish than children. Adults exasperated him; made him weary beyond words. If the two of us entered a room full of adults, I would insinuate myself into their midst while Danny would raise his eyes to heaven, shake his head wearily, and leave the room.

I wanted desperately to hear the conversation going on outside on our porch. I sat in my mother's chair and watched them through the picture window. My father was leaning on the porch rail with his legs out and his head bowed as if he were studying his shoes. Will Mosko stood close by and slightly bent toward my father. I had tried to leave through the back door so I could creep around and listen from the side of the house, but my mother sent me back into the living room. She said dinner was almost ready and she wasn't going to go chasing after both my father and me. Baby Ruth was sitting on the floor at my feet pounding colored wooden pegs into a board with a wooden mallet. I swear I could have read their lips if it weren't for that pounding.

Will's hand rested on the butt of his holstered revolver, and it occurred to me he might actually draw and shoot my father. But their posture was not one of confrontation, but of conspiracy. You could almost see the whispers in the air. If Chief Mosko bent down just a little further, he would be whispering in my father's ear. I felt I was watching a fuse slowly burn down toward a bundle of dynamite. If only they would look at each other; one instant of eye contact, of recognition, of resolution, of surprise –– anything.

I couldn't possibly know what they were saying, but my imagination reeled off scores of my offenses. Clearly, something was wrong out there. And whenever something went wrong; I was, in my own mind, the prime suspect.

My father began nodding his head. Then he stood erect and said a few words before shaking Chief Mosko's hand. I sat there in my mother's chair as the two men moved out of sight toward the stoop. I sat there breathlessly waiting for the door to open, watching my imaginary fuse burning, and listening to the death knell pounding of my sister's mallet. Almost simultaneously, I grabbed that mallet out of Baby Ruth's hand, she started screaming, and my father entered the room. Then, just as suddenly, my mother was in the room, too. My father glared at me, while my mother took Baby Ruth up in her arms.

"You knew about the knife, didn't you?" my father said, his eyes boring into me.

"No. What knife?"

"Please don't lie to me," he said with a wince as if I were the most distasteful being on Earth.

His tone of voice was subdued and condescending. I don't know why I was so frightened. I should have been angry.

"What's going on?" my mother said.

My father's eyes never left me.

"The police found the knife in the bathtub across the street," he said, "Bradley tried to cover it up."

"Why on Earth . . . ?"

"And somehow you knew about it, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't."

"How could he know?" my mother said, "What are you saying?" "I'm telling you they found the murder weapon in the bathtub and they buried it. He was so sure we were going to cop an insanity plea and win! So sure Luka was crazy! He tried to make it look like Luka hid the weapon. The stupid son-of-a-bitch gambled on an insanity plea and lost."

"Are you sure?"

"Mosko was in on it! For a while, anyway. Until his conscience got the better of him. They stashed the damned murder weapon, for Christ's sake! Bradley wanted Luka in that electric chair so bad, he slit his own throat. God forbid Luka might end up in a hospital for the rest of his life. But Chief Mosko isn't corrupt. Unlike our son."

"What's he got to do with it?"

Those riveting black eyes were back on me.

"You knew, didn't you? Please don't deny it. I have no patience for dishonesty right now. Just tell the truth."

"Give him a chance, Josh," my mother said, "If he has anything to say, he'll tell us."

All I remember about that moment was seeing Baby Ruth in my mother's arms absentmindedly toying with the dangling torpedo of my mother's silver earring and looking down at me for some response.

I told them everything. I told them about breaking into Luka's house, and hiding in the closet, and hearing Will Mosko with that other man, and about Marilyn's baton, and hitting my head on the window; everything except that Garry was with me. My father was so angry he couldn't speak. He tried a few times to say something, but he couldn't. He just stood there holding his stomach as if it ached.

Somehow, I was made to feel responsible for everything that had gone wrong. I assumed responsibility for the corruption in the District Attorney's office and the Police Department. It was I who put the noose around Luka's neck. I was all things anathema to my father. Reflected in his eyes, I was damned beyond redemption. My only punishment would be his self-righteous intolerance; his unforgiving stoicism, and that, of course, was what I had feared all along.

After a time, my mother said, "What's going to happen, Josh?"

"I don't know how to make him understand."

"No, I mean, the murders. What's going to happen?"

"The case will be dismissed. They tampered with evidence."

"You mean, it's over?"

"For Luka it is."

"And for us?"

"I guess so."

"Thank God!"

I stood up from the chair.

"Can I go to my room, now?"

"Have you told me everything?"

"Yes."

"All right. Go on."

I stopped at the hall entry and turned back to my father.

"What is it?" he said.

"There was something hidden in Marilyn's baton. I don't know what."

"Fine. I'll tell the Chief. Now get going."

The last words I heard as I walked down the hall were my mother's:

"Thank God, it's over. Maybe now we can get back to normal."