Wildlife Read Free

don’t like football,’–and he suddenly looked at me as if he’d forgotten I was there–‘then just forget about it. Take up the javelin throw instead. There’s a feeling of achievement in that. I did it once.’
    ‘All right,’ I said. And I thought about the javelin throw–about how much a javelin would weigh and what it was made of and how hard it would be to throw the right way.
    My father was staring toward where the sky was beautiful and dark and full of colors. ‘It’s on fire out there, isn’t it? I can smell it.’
    ‘I can too,’ I said, watching.
    ‘You have a clear mind, Joe.’ He looked at me. ‘Nothing bad will happen to you.’
    ‘I hope not,’ I said.
    ‘That’s good,’ he said, ‘I hope so, too.’ And we went onthen picking up golf balls and walking back toward the clubhouse.
    When we had walked back to the pro shop, lights were on inside, and through the glass windows I could see a man sitting alone in a folding chair, smoking a cigar. He had on a business suit, though he had the jacket over his arm and was wearing brown and white golf shoes.
    When my father and I stepped inside carrying our baskets of range balls, the man stood up. I could smell the cigar and the clean smell of new golf equipment.
    ‘Hello there, Jerry,’ the man said, and smiled and stuck out his hand to my father. ‘How’d my form look to you out there?’
    ‘I didn’t realize that was you,’ my father said, and smiled. He shook the man’s hand. ‘You have a blueprint swing. You can brag about that.’
    ‘I spray ’em around a bit,’ the man said, and put his cigar in his mouth.
    ‘That’s everybody’s misery,’ my father said, and brought me to his side. ‘This is my son, Joe, Clarence. This is Clarence Snow, Joe. He’s the president of this club. He’s the best golfer out here.’ I shook hands with Clarence Snow, who was in his fifties and had long fingers, bony and strong, like my father’s. He did not shake my hand very hard.
    ‘Did you leave any balls out there, Jerry?’ Clarence Snow said, running his hand back through his thin, dark hair and casting a look at the dark course.
    ‘Quite a few,’ my father said. ‘We lost our light.’
    ‘Do you play this game, too, son?’ Clarence Snow smiled at me.
    ‘He’s good,’ my father said before I could answer anything. He sat down on the other folding chair that had his street shoes under it, and began unlacing his white golfshoes. My father was wearing yellow socks that showed his pale, hairless ankles, and he was staring at Clarence Snow while he loosened his laces.
    ‘I need to have a talk with you, Jerry,’ Clarence Snow said. He glanced at me and sniffed his nose.
    ‘That’s fine,’ my father said. ‘Can it wait till tomorrow?’
    ‘No it can’t,’ Clarence Snow said. ‘Would you come up to the office?’
    ‘I certainly will,’ my father said. He had his golf shoes off and he raised one foot and rubbed it, then squeezed his toes down. ‘The tools of ignorance,’ he said, and smiled at me.
    ‘This won’t take much time,’ Clarence Snow said. Then he walked out the front door, leaving my father and me alone in the lighted shop.
    My father sat back in his folding chair, stretched his legs in front of him, and wiggled his toes in his yellow socks. ‘He’ll fire me,’ he said. ‘That’s what this’ll be.’
    ‘Why do you think that?’ I said. And it shocked me.
    ‘You don’t know about these things, son,’ my father said. ‘I’ve been fired before. These things have a feel to them.’
    ‘Why would he do that?’ I said.
    ‘Maybe he thinks I fucked his wife,’ my father said. I hadn’t heard him say that kind of thing before, and it shocked me, too. He was staring out the window into the dark. ‘Of course, I don’t know if he has a wife.’ My father began putting on his street shoes, which were black loafers, shiny and new and thick-soled. ‘Maybe I won some money from one of his friends. He