Insomnia

Ralph glanced around and saw a blue tarpaulin stretched across the bed of the pickup. It had been tied down with bright yellow hanks of rope. Round shapes bulked beneath it, “Ralph?” a timid voice asked.

He glanced to his left and saw Dorrance Marstellar-at ninety something easily the oldest of the Harris Avenue Old Crocks standing just beyond Heavyset’s pickup truck, There was a paperback book in his waxy, liverspotted hands, and Dorrance was bending it anxiously back and forth, giving the spine a real workout.

Ralph supposed it was a book of poetry, which was all he had ever seen old Dorrance read. Or maybe he didn’t really read at all; maybe he just liked to hold the books and look at the artfully stacked words.

“Ralph, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”

More lightning flashed overhead, a purple-white snarl of electricity.

Dorrance looked up at it as if unsure of where he was, who he was or what he was seeing. Ralph groaned inside.

“Dorrance-” he began, and then Ed lunged beneath him, like some wild animal which has lain quiet only to regain its strength.

Ralph staggered, then pushed Ed back against the crumpled hood of his Datsun. He felt panicky-unsure of what to do next or how to do it.

There were too many things going on at once. He could feel the muscles in Ed’s arms humming fiercely just below his grip; it was almost as if the man had somehow swallowed a bolt of the lightning now loose in the sky.

“Ralph?” Dorrance asked in that same calm but worried voice.

“How are you. I can’t see your hands.”

Oh, good. Another lunatic to deal with. just what he needed.

Ralph glanced down at his hands, then looked at the old man.

“What are you talking about, Dorrance?”

“Your hands,” Dorrance said patiently. “I can’t see your-”

“This is no place for you, Dor-why don’t you get lost?”

The old man brightened a little at that. “Yes!” he said in the tone of one who has just stumbled over a great truth. “That’s just what I oughtta do!” He began to back up, and when the thunder cracked again, he cringed and put his book on top of his head. Ralph was able to read the bright red letters of the title: Buckdancer’s Choice.

“It’s what you ought to do, too, Ralph. You don’t want to mess in with long-time business. It’s a good way to get hurt.”

“What are you-” But before Ralph could finish, Dorrance turned his back and went lumbering off in the direction of the picnic area with his fringe of white hair-as gossamer as the hair on a new baby’s head-rippling ing in the breeze of the oncoming storm.

One problem solved, but Ralph’s relief was short-lived. Ed had been temporarily distracted by Dorrance, but now he was looking daggers at Heavyset again. “Cuntlicker!” he spat. “Fucked your mother and licked her cunt!”

Heavyset’s enormous brow drew down. “What”

Ed’s eyes shifted back to Ralph, whom he now seemed to recognize.

“Ask him what’s under that tarp!” he cried. “Better yet, get the murdering cocksucker to show you!”

Ralph looked at the heavyset man. “What have you got under there?”

“What’s it to you?” Heavyset asked, perhaps trying to sound truculent. He sampled the look in Ed Deepneau’s eyes and took two more sidling steps away.

“Nothing to me, something to him,” Ralph said, lifting his chin in Ed’s direction. “Just help me cool him out, okay?”

“You know him?”

“Murderer!” Ed repeated, and this time he lunged hard enough under Ralph’s hands to drive him back a step. Yet something was happening, wasn’t it? Ralph thought the scary, vacant look was seeping out of Ed’s eyes. There seemed to be a little more Ed in there than there had been before… or perhaps that was only wishful thinking.

“Murderer, baby murderer!”

“Jesus, what a looney tune,” Heavyset said, but he went to the rear of the truckbed, yanked one of the ropes free, and peeled back a corner of the tarpaulin. Beneath it were four pressboard barrels, each marked WEED-GO. “Organic fertilizer,” Heavyset said, his eyes flicking from Ed to Ralph and then back to Ed again. He touched the bill of his West

Side Gardeners cap. “I spent the day working on a set of new flower-beds outside the Derry Psych Wing… where you could stand a short vacation, friend.”

“Fertilizer?” Ed asked. It was himself he seemed to be speaking to.

His left hand rose slowly to his temple and began to rub there.

“Fertilizer?” He sounded like a man questioning some simple yet staggering scientific development.

“Fertilizer,” Heavyset agreed. He glanced back at Ralph and said, “This guy is sick in the head. You know it?”

“He’s confused, that’s all,” Ralph answered uneasily. He leaned over the side of the truck and rapped a barrel-top. Then he turned back to Ed. “Barrels of fertilizer,” he said. “Okay?”

No response. Ed’s right hand rose and began to rub at his other temple. He looked like a man sinking into a terrible migraine.

“Okay?” Ralph repeated gently.

Ed closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened again, Ralph observed a sheen in them he thought was probably tears. Ed’s tongue slipped out and dabbed delicately first at one corner of his mouth and then the other. He took the end of his silk scarf and wiped his forehead, and as he did, Ralph saw there were Chinese figures embroidered on it in red, just above the fringe.

“I guess maybe-” he began, and then broke off. His eyes widened again in that look Ralph didn’t like. “Babies!” he rasped. “You hear me? Babies.” Ralph shoved him back against his car for the third or fourth time-he’d lost count. “What are you talking about, Ed?” An idea suddenly occurred to him. “Is it Natalie? Are you worried about Natalie?”

A small, crafty smile touched Ed’s lips. He looked past Ralph at the heavyset man. “Fertilizer, huh? Well, if that’s all it is, you won’t mind opening one of them, will you?”

Heavyset looked at Ralph uneasily. “Man needs a doctor,” he said.

“Maybe he does. But he was calming down, I thought… Could you open one of those barrels? It might make him feel better.”

“Yeah, sure, what the heck. In for a pe

He glanced to his left and saw Dorrance Marstellar standing at the entrance to the picnic area, book in hand, watching the three of them anxiously.

“It’s go

He felt around between one of the barrels and the sidewall of his truck for a moment, then came up with a crowbar. must be as nutty as he is, doing this,” he said to Ralph. “I mean, I was just going along home, mindin my business. He hit me.”

“Go on,” Ralph said. “It’ll only take a second.”

“Yeah,” Heavyset replied sourly, turning and setting the flat end of the crowbar under the lid of the nearest barrel, “but the memories will last a lifetime.”

Another thunderclap rocked the day just then, and Heavyset did not hear what Ed Deepneau said next. Ralph did, however, and it chilled the pit of his stomach.

“Those barrels are full of dead babies,” Ed said. “You’ll see.”

Heavyset popped the I’d on the end barre, and such was the conviction in Ed’s voice that Ralph almost expected to see tangles of arms and legs and bundles of small hairless heads. Instead, he saw a mixture of fine blue crystals and brown stuff. The smell which rose from the barrel was rich and peaty, with a thin chemical undertone.

“See? Satisfied?” Heavyset asked, speaking directly to Ed again.

“I ain’t Ray joubert or that guy Dahmer after all. How ’bout that!” The look of confusion was back on Ed’s face, and when the thunder cracked overhead again, he cringed a little. He leaned over, reached a hand toward the barrel, then looked a question at Heavyset.