I
THE BOUNDING OF THE BEAST
My father’s body was a mass of pure muscle, topped by a rock-like, curly-haired head that hung forward from his rounded shoulders. If ever he stood straight, he would have been well over six feet tall. His eyes, nose, and mouth were clustered below a singular brow that blended at its ends into a thick patchwork of stubble.
Even on the coldest of days, he would roll his sleeves up over his elbows, making the muscles in his forearms appear under explosive pressure. His legs were bowed outward at the knee, a deformity causing him to sway from side to side as he walked. I named it the gorilla walk, because if my father was angry, and it suffices to say, he was usually angry about something, the sway would become more pronounced. Therefore, whenever I had the opportunity to observe him from a distance, I’d be able to make a prediction as to the severity of his foul mood, an advantage giving my mother and me precious time to prepare ourselves for the abusive madness about to be heaped upon us.
His name was Danny Greber, Daniel Johannes Greber. But I named him the beast.
***
After sitting at the dining room table for nearly an hour, I decided to venture outside for some fresh air.
Homework, I thought.
It’s Friday.
I took a slow deep breath and exhaled a pitiful sigh. My mother’s rule. “Do your homework on the day it’s assigned.” A standard she imposed without compromise.
I stepped out onto our screened-in porch and into the ramping noises of Friday’s Main Street traffic. I stretched my muscles and rubbed my burning eyes. It was a sticky September afternoon and, although I knew I should have been thankful for the short break, I was plagued by my usual feelings of anxiety and self pity.
From my meager lookout, I spotted Marny in the backyard by herself. She was wonderfully immersed in what she was doing, singing and talking as if no other world existed but hers.
Marny was six years old, partially toothless, had blond hair, and a sprinkle of freckles on both cheeks. She was forever finding ways to annoy me, like asking a million questions, or whining just loudly enough to get me in trouble. I tried my best to ignore her, but deep down I kept a close eye on Marny.
I felt enormously protective of my baby sister, especially when my father was around.
***
Our house had been squeezed between its identical neighbors and shoved to the front of a long narrow plot. The weed-ridden lawn always seemed to be overgrown.
“Could I mow the grass today, Mom?” I would ask. She would reply, “No thanks, John. I can handle it just fine,” before stabbing her proverbial knife into my fragile adolescent ego. “You’re only a boy, John — barely thirteen, and that’s too young to be using the mower.”
I couldn’t stand the entire notion of being too young for this, too young for that. I hated it.
***
The yard had a downward grade from front to back. Marny was playing on the steepest portion. I nicknamed it “The Mountain,” although it wasn’t anything more than a small area of sharper incline.
On the right side, running the length of the yard, was a boxwood hedge, squared up on its sides and across the top by Mr. Ralph, our elderly neighbor. On the other side, a shared driveway ended with a single bay garage. The decrepit structure leaned heavily to the side, and had long ago been sheathed in green asphalt shingles that were flaking away with the passing of the seasons, thus exposing the horizontal planking to a host of wood-eating ants and carpenter bees.
When I was alone, I could hear the poor garage whimpering. Push me up please, straight and tall, before it’s too late and I start to fall.
I suppose there was never a chance of it toppling over.
Nevertheless, housed within its dark and dingy reaches, was an ancient automobile. The car, having barely fit across its width, was too long for the bay, or maybe it hadn’t been backed in all the way. Whatever the reason, its towering grill protruded into the light as if it were the head of a dragon bursting from its lair. The grill’s corroded ribbing was badly dented, and in several places pieces had fallen away only to be replaced by an impenetrable mass of spider webs and dust-covered bug carcasses.
I tried my best to stay a safe distance from the leaning garage, but one day, during a period of reckless curiosity, I stood on my toes and strained to see beyond that massive grill and into the darkened depths.
Though masked by years of caked-on dust and grime, I could tell the auto had, at one time, been a brilliant yellow. But the most curious discovery I made was that of a plastic fixture attached to the middle of the rooftop. It read “TAXI.”
With its ominous nose poking into the sunlight, the pathetic old taxi looked to be waiting for its call to action. Just call me up and I’ll pick you up, quick and fast. Tips are to insure prompt service, and will be greatly appreciated.
I could imagine a day long ago when the sparkling cab carried its passengers from place to place, bright yellow, shiny, and proud.
***
At the rear of the property was a small creek, a natural boundary. I spent a good deal of time near the banks of the trickling brook. It gave me countless ways to entertain myself, but most of all it was a place where I felt safe from the fear and oppression that had become so much a part of my daily life.
Above the gurgling stream was a domed ceiling of low-hanging limbs. The rays of sunlight that made it through the tangled web appeared to me as translucent spears thrusting into the ground. On the opposite side of the brook was a dense stand of foliage broken only by a pathway leading away from the embankment. I thought I might find the courage to cross over and venture into that forbidden darkness, but I never did. The idea of exploring it terrified me.
Schoolwork, I scoffed.
I expected the fresh air to give me a renewed sense of motivation. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.
I remained on the porch, deliberating my impending return to drudgery, when I noticed my father stride into the yard. He entered from the right front corner and followed the path alongside Mr. Ralph’s manicured hedgerow. He seemed unaware of me, because he went right past the porch and headed directly for Marny. There was a yellow satchel hanging from his shoulder.
Why is he home so early? I wondered.
And why is he going toward Marny?
The apprehension brought on by my father’s presence wreaked its usual havoc upon me. I watched him move closer to Marny. I was stricken. Not a word of warning would come out of my mouth. I stood as a mute, questioning my father’s sudden appearance.
Meanwhile, Marny was busy tumbling down the mountain. I watched her make several successive rolls. When she reached the bottom, she would weave her way back to her starting position and ready herself for another dizzying tumble. She was fully engrossed in her game.
While Marny was making another assent, my father approached her. By chance, or perhaps instinct, she looked upward. There, standing right in front of her, as high as heaven and as deep as hell, was our brute of a father.
Marny’s jaw dropped open and for several seconds she gazed straight up at the unexpected giant, her body frozen.