This is ridiculous, he thought. Bill Quinn has got to go. And I have to get to Johnny Dranger’s place and give him the news. Three babies and Max, if he gets here, that’s four in; Leander dead and Johnny Dranger put outside town limits, that’s two out. Two more out and we’re even-steven. If Mrs. Cherniski dies, just one. And Bill Quinn doesn’t count, thought Hosea. He tugged at his chest and gazed up at the sky. He’d stay on course. Things would fall into place. He’d see to it. “Prime Minister Baert,” he rehearsed, “I’m your son, Hosea Funk, Euphemia’s boy. Welcome to Algren, Canada’s smallest town.”
Bill Quinn, roused by Hosea’s voice, lifted his head and stared at Hosea. One watery brown eye closed for a split second and then opened again. But Hosea missed it. He was a million miles away and it didn’t matter how many dirty dogs winked at him from wet ditches. He wasn’t kidding about his plan. It was on.
“Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket,” Hosea sang as he drove up Johnny’s driveway. He’d put his hat back on. “Save it for a rainy day.” He looked up and noticed that the sky had changed. From the colour of toilet bowl cleanser to the colour of dust. Johnny will know what’s up before I even open my mouth, thought Hosea. And it was true. Before Hosea could properly park the Impala in the tiny driveway, Johnny was out of the house and trotting towards him. “So!” he shouted at Hosea from about twenty yards away. “Don’t tell me, I’m out. Or am I in? Was I out or am I out now? In or out? Out or in? What’s it gonna be this time, Your Excellency?”
Hosea smiled and got out of his car. He was about to shake his head and say, “I’m sorry, John, there’s been another mix-up at the top” when Johnny began to shake his head and clear his throat. “I’m sorry, John,” said Johnny, “there’s been another mix-up at the top.” Hosea tried to speak again but Johnny spoke first. “I don’t get it, Hosea, who’s the Mickey Mouse at the top? And at the top of what? The idiot list? I feel like a Fisher-Price farmer with a Fisher-Price barn and animals. Some moron kid plops me onto the little tractor, stuffs me inside the barn, clicks it shut, and moves me to another municipality. Do I look like a little toy, Hosea? Look, look, I bend at the joints. I’ve got arms, for crying out loud, and a hat that comes off.”
Speaking of hats that come off, thought Hosea, and removed his quickly and put it inside his car. He still hadn’t figured out a way of explaining to people why he was wearing dead Leander Hamm’s hat.
“No, I know you’re not, John,” said Hosea. “You’re not a toy.” Hosea didn’t know what else to say. Johnny stood there glaring at him.
“But I’m out, right?” he said. “Out again, isn’t that so, Hosea? Isn’t that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“It’s just that this particular piece of land is, well, has always been, a real trouble spot. It goes back a long way, and the province is still trying to figure out just where it belongs.” Hosea’s hand went to his chest.
“That’s bullshit, Hosea, and you know it. You just haven’t got enough to do, that’s the real problem.”
“Enough to do?” said Hosea. “Enough to do?”
Just then it started to pour.
“Look, Hosea,” said John, “why don’t you come in for a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you what’s wrong with this country. Guess there’s no way you could put me right out of the country, eh, Hosea? Why quit at the municipal level? I’ve always wanted to live in a hot place, Myanmar, say. Or Burma, or is that the same thing? Anyway, why don’t you get your pooh-bah at the top to make a really big mistake and move me and my toy barn and silo and tractor and little horses and cows all the way over to Myanmar?” Hosea looked at Johnny. He noticed Johnny had a strange way of speaking. What should have been the last word of a sentence seemed to become the first word of the sentence after it. Like, I’ll tell you what’s wrong with this. Country guess there’s no way you could—
“I’m just kidding, Hose. C’mon in. You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”
“No. No, I’m not,” said Hosea. I’m just kidding, Hose. C’mon. In you’re not allergic to cats, are you? Hosea repeated in his mind. Maybe he was asthmatic. Maybe it was a breathing problem. Hosea was intrigued with the way that Johnny spoke. Why hadn’t he noticed it before?
“Good. I’ve been having problems with those damn. Cockroaches ever since Yusef. Died Tiny’s not a roach eater so. I’m trying cats.”
By this time they were inside and Johnny had pointed to a kitchen chair. Hosea sat on it. Johnny went over to the counter to make some coffee.
“You mean the Algren cockroach?” Hosea asked.
“The one and only,” said Johnny. “Are there. Others, I mean around here?”
“I don’t know,” said Hosea. His shoulders slumped and he felt depressed. “I guess there could be,” he said.
“Yeah,” said Johnny, “there could be.”
“Johnny,” said Hosea. “I know you want to be the fire chief. I’m sorry, I …”
John turned around. “Hosea,” he said. “I’m a farmer and a widower since the age of. Nineteen I’ve learned not to rely on. Anything, not my cows, not my horses, not my dogs, not my crops, not the weather, not my health, not my friends, not you, not women, not love, not the fire chief. Job I’ve been in and out of this damn town so many times it’s a. Joke I don’t know what the problem is at the top, as you say, Hose, but, you know, I’ve stopped. Caring I think you must have some kind of a plan but what that plan is I cannot begin to imagine. Hosea, in, out, what difference does it make. Anymore, I’m here in the same. Place so I can’t be the fire. Chief I’ll keep putting out fires just the. Same it’s what I have to do doesn’t. Matter what anyone calls me, chief or. Johnny I’m gonna put out fires and if some government pantywaist tells me I can’t, that won’t matter to me. Either a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta. Do do you understand what I’m talking about, Hosea?”
“Yes,” said Hosea. “Yes, I do.”
“Okay,” said Johnny.
“I didn’t know you were ever married, John,” said Hosea.
“Well, I was.”
“To who?”
“Whom, you mean. To Caroline Russo.”
Hosea thought for a second. “Caroline Russo?” he said. “But she was the girl who died in that house fire years ago, wasn’t she? She was our age?” And then Hosea stopped. “Oh, I’m sorry, Johnny. Caroline Russo? I had no idea. Nobody knew you two were married. I’m sorry, Johnny.”
“Thanks, it’s. Okay it was a long time ago.”
Hosea and Johnny were quiet. Both men had sips of their coffee. Hosea remembered Caroline Russo. She was wild. She was very funny.
“We took the train to the city and got married at City Hall I,” said Johnny. He smiled at some memory. “Guess we eloped.”
“Oh,” said Hosea. He smiled too. “She was a beautiful girl.”
“Oh yeah,” said Johnny. He smiled again. So did Hosea. “So I put out fires.”
“Yeah,” said Hosea. “Yup.” They smiled at each other again. There was no reason to say anything more about it. It was a neighbour’s stubble fire that started it. The fire just got out of control and spread. The kids in the house were drunk and didn’t have a chance. Hosea knew that Caroline Russo was five months pregnant when she died in the fire. Everybody did. Well, everybody did after the coroner’s report. Nobody knew before that. Except Johnny, I guess, thought Hosea. And Hosea knew that Johnny had been one of the lucky ones. He had gone outside to piss or puke, that detail wasn’t ever really clear, and then had passed out in the yard behind the house. But nobody knew Caroline was pregnant with Johnny’s baby. Nobody knew they had married.