The Feud

The Feud Read Free Page A

Book: The Feud Read Free
Author: Thomas Berger
Tags: Fiction, Literary, The Feud
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I’m sorry about that Bullard girl, but I didn’t know—”
    “Tony, there wasn’t nothing wrong with that at the time.” Dolf patted his son’s broad shoulder. “I never heard of these Bullards until today, though as it turned out, they’re related to a guy name of Walt Huff, who works over at the plant in the stockroom.”
    “Huff?” asked Tony. “Would he have a boy about my age?”
    “This guy wouldn’t be old enough, I don’t think. But maybe he’s got older brothers or sisters.”
    “I had a fight with a kid named Al Huff last winter,” Tony said. “After the basketball game with Millville, in that empty lot back of school? He bumped into me when we was all leaving, and he called me a four-eyed slob.”
    Dolf asked fiercely, “Did you whip the son of a bitch?”
    “I think I hurt him. I don’t see too good with my specs off. I hit him a coupla good ones, I know that. It was his friends stopped the fight.” He looked worried. “I wonder if he’s related to the Bullards?”
    “I hope so,” said Dolf. “The goddam dirty trash! … Tony, you’re a good boy. I wanna give you something, a little piece of change. Maybe you can get yourself a date with some nice girl tonight. Not a pig like that Bullard, but some real nice girl like Mary Catherine Lutz.” He pointed diagonally across the back alley to the Lutz residence, in the back yard of which was an empty dog house: their Airedale, a valuable, supposedly pedigreed animal, had broken his chain last year and run away in pursuit of a mongrel bitch in heat and never returned. Dolf found a dollar bill in his pants pocket and surrendered it to his son.
    Tony backed away.
    Dolf pressed the bill on him. “Come on, you got it coming. You’re a good boy, and I’m proud to call you son.” He had a very fine feeling with regard to this interchange: there weren’t many lads in this day and age with the kind of principles to refuse offered money.
    Tony finally took the dollar and mumbled his thanks.
    Dolf socked his son affectionately in the meatiest part of the biceps: it felt like hitting a country ham. Too bad about Tony’s bad eyes: he would have made a real prizefighter.
    Dolf had climbed the back-door steps and was about to go in the kitchen door when his wife opened it to come out.
    She backed up. “I was just going to holler that lunch is ready.”
    The idea of food was suddenly repulsive to him, he who usually packed it away. He said, “Say, Bobby, when I finally get around to stripping your old dresser, what do you know? I get in a fight.”
    She put her hands on her broad hips. “You didn’t get hurt?”
    “Not me! You oughta see the other guy.” Having made the weary joke, he went to the oilcloth-covered table that was in the ell of the big kitchen and took the chair at its head. He lowered his face into his hands and then took it out to look at his wife, who was still watching him carefully. He proceeded to tell her the truth about the incident at Bullard’s hardware.
    “Well,” said she in her comfortable and comforting voice, “you can’t call that a fight. There wasn’t nothing much you could do with a gun in your belly.”
    “That might be right,” said Dolf. “It might not of been my fault, any of it, but God damn it , I feel real bad. I feel like somebody threw filth on me for no reason. I’ve got to pay them back, Bobby.”
    “What I was wondering,” said she, standing in the middle of the kitchen, “was is it legal for somebody who isn’t a real policeman to pull a gun that way on a person who isn’t doing anything wrong?”
    Dolf shook his head. “You mean, I should hire a lawyer? I don’t have that kinda money. Why, he’d charge me five bucks just to answer the question. Anyhow, that’s the yellow way out.”
    Roberta said, “What I mean is you could go to the police in Millville, the real ones, and prefer charges.”
    “I tell you what that would lead to,” said Dolf, with a gesture of hopelessness.

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