whether to hang up flypaper on the screen porch, “what do you think? Shall we kill her outright by throwing her down a sinkhole? Or tie her up in the woods somewhere and let her starve to death? Then again, maybe we should try to hold her for ransom.”
“Vhat about me?” Ida bleated like a little lost lamb.
“You keep your mouth shut,” Melvin said. “That’s if you want any mercy.”
“This could be a movie,” Carl said. The bizarre change of subject, coupled with his burst of energy, belied his etched features and heretofore- mature demeanor. “I see Drew Barrymore playing the part of Miss Yoder.”
“Much too young,” Melvin said. “It’s got to be Meryl Streep.”
“Und vhat about
“Oy vey,” I said.
“I say we kill them now,” Carl said. “Just pull over on the first little side road, park off in the trees, and blow her brains out. Ka-boom. What a rush that would be. And then, like she said, we collect money from her the rest of our lives.”
“That’s not how it would work,
“I don’t like her,” Carl whined. “Has she always been such a smart mouth?”
“Always,” Melvin and Ida answered in unison.
“Let me see that gun,” Carl said, and just like that, he grabbed it from the waistband of the mantis’s trousers.
“What the heck?” said Melvin, and nearly ran off the road again.
“Pull over and stop,” Carl said. When the mantis refused, Carl brought the gun up level to Melvin’s oversize head. “Do it, or it will be your brains scattered from here to uh-uh-”
“Eternity,” Melvin said.
“The correct answer is ‘Kingdom come,’ ” I said. “Honestly, guys-”
“Shut up, Miss Yoder,” Carl said.
Then much to my disappointment, my little, little-loved brother pulled over, first onto a dirt fire lane, and then into a small clearing in the pine trees. Waving the gun around like it was a conductor ’s baton, Carl Zambezi made us line up with our backs to him. Ida was in the middle.
“Well, well,” Carl said, walking back and forth, “now I have my choice of who to kill, don’t I?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Carl,” Melvin said. “I’m the brains of this outfit. I’m the one who brought you out of retirement.”
“Retirement?” I said. “Whereabouts? Florida?”
I’d read somewhere-as I don’t watch TV on principle; I do a lot of reading-that one should always attempt to make small talk with one’s kidnappers. To do so humanizes the victims, and thus the criminal has a more difficult time dispatching them to their final destinations, wherever that may be.
“He retired in New Jersey,” Melvin said. “But it wasn’t where that I meant; he retired
“Down by da sea?” Ida rasped. “I vas picked der vonce!”
“I thought you looked familiar,” Carl said. He continued to pace behind us. “Okay, Melvin,” he said at last, “we can go back to bank jobs, but we have to get rid of these two first.”
“Maybe the short one,” Melvin said, “but I’m not so sure about my sister.”
“The short one is the hen who will lay the golden eggs,” I said quickly.
“Oy, the insults,” Ida said.
“Explain,” Carl barked.
“Well, speaking of retirement, not only does my husband have access to my money, but he is a rich, retired doctor. You keep the short one alive-put her on the phone now and then-you’ll be able to milk him for a huge fortune.”
“It might work,” Melvin said with far too much enthusiasm.
“All right then, it’s settled,” Carl said. Suddenly the barrel of the gun pressed against the back of my skull. It was getting to be quite a familiar feeling.
“On your mark,” Carl said. “Get set…”
Get set for what? To meet my Maker? I
The events that happened next transpired so quickly that in retrospect they seemed to happen simultaneously. First, I heard a loud grunt come from Carl, followed by a bellow of pain.
“Dat is vhat you git for trying to keel my Magdalena,” Ida roared.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch! Oh please, Mommy, Mommy, help me! Ouch, ouch, dang it!”
By then I’d turned to witness Carl hopping about like a crazed wallaby, his hands cupped over his privates, his face screwed into an expression of intense pain.
Ida stood several feet from where we’d lined up, with her hands on her hips. Her large, broad face wore a small, satisfied smile.
Melvin too was watching. He was still decked out in a size fourteen dress and size twelve shoes-not that there is anything wrong with those measurements-but without Olivia’s wig, I appreciated for the very first time what a truly unconvincing woman he made. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? For one thing, he had absolutely no waist (although many insects do!). It was his stance, however, that should have tipped me off.
Most women carry themselves forward with their hips, for that would appear to be their center of gravity. For men, I have noticed, it is the chest that leads the way. That is why they stride; they are essentially trying to catch up with runaway rib cages.
Melvin saw me watching the curious scene unfold. “Yoder, that woman is crazy; you need to do something.”
I saw that the gun was lying in the leaves, practically at my feet. “Indeed, I do need to do something,” I said, as I stooped and picked up the pistol. “Ida, thank you for saving my life.”
“You’re velcome,” my dear, sweet mother-in-law said.
“That’s it, Yoder?”
“Of course not,
The man who as yet went by the name Carl Zambezi, whilst still clutching his family jewels-if I may be so crude-moved obediently toward the SUV. But just as he was about to climb in, a sleek black car came flying around the curve, screeching to a stop inches behind the SUV’s back bumper.
As I said, it all happened so fast that the details remain fuzzy in my mind. The more I try to sort them out, the more convoluted the situation becomes, and more absurd in its telling. But the truth is the truth, and it deserves to be told. And anyway, even someone who has been known to embellish the truth a tad-such as myself, for example-will find that there are enough bizarre happenings in life to supply good stories even when all is stripped to the bone.
I do remember that Carl Zambezi had tremendously quick reflexes. He took advantage of the sudden distraction by darting into the woods, and even if I had been inclined to shoot him, he was soon too far away to make that a possibility.
As for Mrs. Zambezi-aka Melvin Stoltzfus-he too tried to bolt, but running in pumps down a hill covered with thick leaf litter was not his forte. He twisted his left ankle not three yards from where he started, although he continued to hobble for another ten. But it was the fetching blue frock in the tiny flowered print that hung him up. Literally. When I caught up with Melvin, he was swinging by his jeweled neckline over a small gulley. The man was perfectly fine, something that could not be said for the young sycamore from whose broken branches he swung.
Having satisfied myself that there was nothing else that needed to be done vis-a-vis the bank robbers at that moment, I turned my entire attention to the cause of their great distress: the occupant of the sleek black car.
35
Sour Cream Pound Cake
1 cup butter, softened
Cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add vanilla and eggs, one at a time, beating thoroughly after each addition. Sift flour, salt and soda together 3 times. Add dry ingredients to creamed mixture alternately with sour cream, beating well after each addition. Stir in pecans. Pour into buttered 9-inch tube pan or two 9x5-inch loaf pans. Bake at 350°F for 60 to 80 minutes. Cool 5 minutes in pan. Remove and cool thoroughly.
Courtesy http://www.eatwisconsincheese.com/
Epilogue
