glanced at Mr. Bainbridge. “Kurt?”
Mr. Bainbridge shrugged. “Doesn’t ring a bel . What is it?”
“Wel … I heard the word and just wanted to know—”
“Hey, wait,” Mr. Bainbridge added. “I knew a Hans Klazen back in Mizzoo.
Dutchman. But that’s the only time I’ve heard the word.” He glanced at his watch. “Oops. Ev’l have dinner ready. Gotta go.”
He polished off his beer and handed Jack the empty. “Thanks for the brew,
sport.” Turning to Dad, he said, “You coming down to the VFW tonight for the
smoker?”
Jack knew that was a code word for the one night each month the VFW showed dirty movies.
Dad shook his head. “Not my thing.”
Mr. Bainbridge laughed. “Deadeye, you amaze me. After al we went through, how can you stil be a prude?”
Dad didn’t smile. “Just the way it is, I guess.”
Jack barely heard him. Deadeye? Mr. Bainbridge cal ed him
After their guest was gone, Dad headed upstairs to change out of his suit into something cooler. Jack fol owed.
“Why’d he cal you ‘Deadeye’?” he asked as his father unbuttoned his shirt.
“Did he?”
“Yeah. Does that mean you were a good shot in the army?”
He slipped out of his suit pants and hung them on a hanger. He was wearing light blue boxer shorts beneath.
“We don’t discuss the army or the war, remember?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts.”
“Walt told me he was in a mental hospital once.”
Dad gave him a sharp look. “When?”
“After the war.”
“No, I mean, when did he tel you?”
“Yesterday afternoon. Why was he in?”
“From what Kurt tel s me, he came home from ‘Nam saying he could heal people with a touch. The VA hospital in Northport diagnosed him as a
paranoid schizophrenic, but harmless. He joined a faith-healing tent show in the South, and Kurt was told some wild story about him real y curing people
until his drinking got him kicked off the tour. They say he’s harmless, but stil … keep your distance.”
Heal with a touch … was that why he wore gloves al the time?
As Jack watched his father hang up his pants, he spotted the metal box on the top shelf of the closet. He’d seen it a mil ion times but now it took on
special significance.
“What’s in the box?” He’d asked before but it never hurt to try again. “Nothing important.”
“You always say that.”
He pul ed off his undershirt and Jack spotted the scar where he’d had his appendix removed.
“That’s because the contents don’t change.”
Jack was sure now that Dad kept his marksman medals and other cool army stuff hidden there.
First chance he got, he was going to sneak a peek.
After dinner, Jack turned on the living room television and started switching through the channels. Cable TV had arrived in Johnson during the winter, and
Jack’s family had signed up the instant their street was wired. For as long as he could remember, Dad had been complaining about the poor reception
from their aerial. At last he had a cure.
The real y neat thing about cable TV was the remote that came with the box. Their living room set was an older model where you had to get up and
cross the room if you wanted to change the channel. Al he had to do now was stand back and press a button. He loved it.
