In The Garden Of The North American Martyrs Read Free Page B

post,” he said. He raised his rifle and fired. It sounded like a dry branch cracking. The post splintered along its right side, up towards the top. “There,” Kenny said. “It’s dead.”
    â€œKnock it off,” Frank said, walking ahead.
    Kenny looked at Tub. He smiled. “I hate that tree,” he said,and fired again. Tub hurried to catch up with Frank. He started to speak but just then the dog ran out of the barn and barked at them. “Easy, boy,” Frank said.
    â€œI hate that dog.” Kenny was behind them.
    â€œThat’s enough,” Frank said. “You put that gun down.”
    Kenny fired. The bullet went in between the dog’s eyes. He sank right down into the snow, his legs splayed out on each side, his yellow eyes open and staring. Except for the blood he looked like a small bearskin rug. The blood ran down the dog’s muzzle into the snow.
    They all looked at the dog lying there.
    â€œWhat did he ever do to you?” Tub asked. “He was just barking.”
    Kenny turned to Tub. “I hate you.”
    Tub shot from the waist. Kenny jerked backward against the fence and buckled to his knees. He folded his hands across his stomach. “Look,” he said. His hands were covered with blood. In the dusk his blood was more blue than red. It seemed to belong to the shadows. It didn’t seem out of place. Kenny eased himself onto his back. He sighed several times, deeply. “You shot me,” he said.
    â€œI had to,” Tub said. He knelt beside Kenny. “Oh God,” he said. “Frank. Frank.”
    Frank hadn’t moved since Kenny killed the dog.
    â€œFrank!” Tub shouted.
    â€œI was just kidding around,” Kenny said. “It was a joke. Oh!” he said, and arched his back suddenly. “Oh!” he said again, and dug his heels into the snow and pushed himself along on his head for several feet. Then he stopped and lay there, rocking back and forth on his heels and head like a wrestler doing warm-up exercises.
    Frank roused himself. “Kenny,” he said. He bent down and put his gloved hand on Kenny’s brow. “You shot him,” he said to Tub.
    â€œHe made me,” Tub said.
    â€œNo no no,” Kenny said.
    Tub was weeping from the eyes and nostrils. His whole face was wet. Frank closed his eyes, then looked down at Kenny again. “Where does it hurt?”
    â€œEverywhere,” Kenny said, “just everywhere.”
    â€œOh God,” Tub said.
    â€œI mean where did it go in?” Frank said.
    â€œHere.” Kenny pointed at the wound in his stomach. It was welling slowly with blood.
    â€œYou’re lucky,” Frank said. “It’s on the left side. It missed your appendix. If it had hit your appendix you’d really be in the soup.” He turned and threw up onto the snow, holding his sides as if to keep warm.
    â€œAre you all right?” Tub said.
    â€œThere’s some aspirin in the truck,” Kenny said.
    â€œI’m all right,” Frank said.
    â€œWe’d better call an ambulance,” Tub said.
    â€œJesus,” Frank said. “What are we going to say?”
    â€œExactly what happened,” Tub said. “He was going to shoot me but I shot him first.”
    â€œNo sir!” Kenny said. “I wasn’t either!”
    Frank patted Kenny on the arm. “Easy does it, partner.” He stood. “Let’s go.”
    Tub picked up Kenny’s rifle as they walked down toward the farmhouse. “No sense leaving this around,” he said. “Kenny might get ideas.”
    â€œI can tell you one thing,” Frank said. “You’ve really done it this time. This definitely takes the cake.”
    They had to knock on the door twice before it was opened by a thin man with lank hair. The room behind him was filled with smoke. He squinted at them. “You get anything?” he asked.
    â€œNo,” Frank