around the middle of June. 'Becka had a way of falling behind in
such things.
She was standing on a short stepladder and rummaging through
the accumulated junk on the high shelf in the downstairs hall closet
while the Paulson cat, a big brindle tom named Ozzie Nelson, sat in
the living-room doorway, watching her. From behind Ozzie came the
anxious voices of Another World, blaring out of the Paulsons' big old
Zenith TV which would later become something much more than a
TV.
'Becka pulled stuff down and examined it, hoping for
something that was still good, but not really expecting to find such a
thing. There were four or five knitted winter caps, all moth-eaten and
unraveling. She tossed them behind her onto the hall floor. Here was
a Reader's Digest Condensed Book from the summer of 1954,
featuring Run Silent, Run Deep and Here's Goggle. Water damage
had swelled it to the size of a Manhattan telephone book. She tossed
it behind her. Ah! Here was an umbrella that looked salvageable ...
and a box with something in it.
It was a shoebox. Whatever was inside was heavy. When she
tilted the box, it shifted. She took the lid off, also tossing this behind
her (it almost hit Ozzie Nelson, who decided to split the scene). Inside
the box was a gun with a long barrel and imitation wood-grip
handles.
'Oh,' she said. 'That.' She took it out of the box, not noticing
that it was cocked, and turned it around to look into the small beady
eye of the muzzle, believing that if there was a bullet in there she
would see it.
She remembered the gun. Until five years ago, Joe had been a
member of Derry Elks. Some ten years ago (or maybe it had been
fifteen), Joe had bought fifteen Elks raffle tickets while drunk. 'Becka
had been so mad she had refused to let him put his manthing in her
for two weeks. The first prize had been a Bombardier Skidoo, second
prize an Evinrude motor. This .22 target pistol had been the third
prize.
He had shot it for a while in the backyard, she remembered
plinking away at cans and bottles until 'Becka complained about the
noise. Then he had taken it up to the gravel pit at the dead end of
their road, although she had sensed he was losing interest, even then
he'd just gone on shooting for a while to make sure she didn't think
she had gotten the better of him. Then it had disappeared. She had
thought he had swapped it for something a set of snow tires, maybe,
or a battery but here it was.
She held the muzzle of the gun up to her eye, peering into the
darkness, looking for the bullet. She could see nothing but darkness.
Must be unloaded, then.
I'll make him get rid of it just the same, she thought, backing
down the stepladder. Tonight. When he gets back from the post
office. I'll stand right up to him. 'Joe' I'll say, 'it's no good having a
gun sitting around the house even if there's no kids around and it's
unloaded. You don't even use it to shoot bottles anymore.' That's
