Howard sat on his back steps with his knees stickin up around his ears like a couple of boulders – God, what a mighty man he was – and thought about it. Cogitated on it. Judged his way around it. At last he said, ‘I have heard rumors.’
‘Rumors about what?’
‘About a special something called Close Encounters of the Fourth Kind,’ he said. ‘From a fellow I correspond with on the subject of gunpowder amusements. His native name is Shining Path, but mostly he goes by Johnny Parker. He’s a Cayuga Indian, and he lives near Albany, New York. I could give you his email address, but he won’t reply unless I email him first, and tell him you’re safe.’
‘Will you do that?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘but first you must pay heap big wampum, paleface. Fifty bucks should do it.’
Money passed from my small hand to his big one, he emailed Johnny Shining Path Parker, and when I got back to the lake and sent him an email of my own, he answered right back. But he wouldn’t talk about what he called CE4 except in person, claimed the government read all Native American emails as a matter of course. I didn’t have no argument with that; I bet those suckers read everyone’s email. So we agreed to meet, and along about the first of October last year, I went up.
Accourse Ma wanted to know what sort of errand would take me all the way to upstate New York, and I didn’t bother tellin her no made-up story, because she always sees through em and has since I was knee-high to a collie. She just shook her head. ‘Go on, if it’ll make you happy,’ she said. ‘But you know they’ll come back with somethin even bigger, and we’ll be stuck listenin to that Eye-Tie cock-knocker blow his trumpet.’
‘Well, maybe,’ I said, ‘but Mr Shining Path says this is the firework to end all fireworks.’
As you now see, that turned out to be nothing but the truth.
I had a pretty drive, and Johnny Shining Path Parker turned out to be a nice fella. His wigwam was in Green Island, where the houses are almost as big as the Massimos’ Twelve Pines, and his wife made one hell of an enchilada. I ate three with that hot green sauce and got the shits on the way home, but since that ain’t part of the story and I can see Ardelle’s gettin impatient again, I’ll leave it out. All I can say is thank God for Handi-Wipes.
‘CE4 would be a special order,’ Johnny said. ‘The Chinese make only three or four a year, in Outer Mongolia or someplace like that, where there’s snow nine months of the year and the babies are purportedly raised with wolf cubs. Such explosive devices are usually shipped to Toronto. I guess I could order one and bring it in from Canada myself, although you’d have to pay for my gas and my time, and if I got caught, I’d probably end up in Leavenworth as a terrorist.’
‘Jesus, I don’t want to get you in no trouble like that,’ I said.
‘Well, I’m exaggerating a bit, maybe,’ he said, ‘but CE4’s one hell of a firework. Never been one like it. I couldn’t give you your money back if your pal across the lake happened to have something to beat it, but I’d give you back my profit on the deal. That’s how sure I am.’
‘Besides,’ Cindy Shining Path Parker said, ‘Johnny loves an adventure. Would you like another enchilada, Mr McCausland?’
I passed on that, which probably kep me from explodin somewhere in Vermont, and for awhile I almost forgot the whole thing. Then, just after New Year’s – we’re gettin close now, Ardelle, don’t that make you happy? – I got a call from Johnny.
‘If you want that item we were discussing last fall,’ he said, ‘I’ve got it, but it’ll cost you two thousand.’
I sucked in breath. ‘That’s pretty steep.’
‘I can’t argue with you there, but look at it this way – you white folks got Manhattan for twenty-four bucks, and we’ve been looking for payback ever since.’ He laughed, then said, ‘But speaking seriously now, and if you don’t want it, that’s fine. Maybe your buddy across the lake would be interested.’
‘Don’t you ever,’ I said.
He laughed harder at that. ‘I have to tell you, this thing is pretty awesome. I’ve sold a lot of fireworks over the years, and I’ve never seen anything remotely like this.’
‘Like what?’ I asked. ‘What is it?’
‘You have to see for yourself,’ he said. ‘I have no intention of sending you a pitcher over the Internet. Besides, it doesn’t look like much until it’s … uh … in use. If you want to roll on up here, I can show you a video.’
‘I’ll be there,’ I said, and two or three days later I was, sober and shaved and with my hair combed.
Now listen to me, you two. I ain’t gonna make excuses for what I done – and you c’n leave Ma out of it, I was the one that got the damn thing, and I was the one who set it off – but I am gonna tell you that the CE4 I saw in that video Johnny showed me and the one I set off last night wasn’t the same. The one in the video was a lot smaller. I even remarked on the size of the crate mine was in when Johnny and me put it in the back of the truck. ‘They sure must have put a lot of packing in there,’ I said.
‘I guess they wanted to make sure nothing would happen to it in shipping,’ Johnny said.
He didn’t know either, you see. Cindy Shining Path asked if I didn’t want to at least open the crate and have a look, make sure it was the right thing, but it was nailed up tight all over, and I wanted to get back before dark, on account of my eyes ain’t as good as they used to be. But because I come here today determined to make a clean breast of it, I have to tell you that wasn’t the truth. Evenin is my drinkin time, and I didn’t want to miss any of it. That’s the truth. I know that’s kind of a sad way to be, and I know I have to do somethin about it. I guess if they put me in jail, I’ll get a chance, won’t I?
Me n Ma unnailed the crate the next day and took a look at what we’d bought. This was at the house in town, you understand, because we’re talkin January, and colder than a witch’s tit. There was some packin material, all right, Chinese newspapers of some kind, but not nearly so much as I expected. The CE4 was probably seven feet on the square, and looked like a package done up in brown paper, only the paper was kind of oily, and so heavy it felt more like canvas. The fuse was stickin out the bottom.
‘Do you think it will really go up?’ Ma asked.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘if ours don’t, what’s the worst that can happen?’
‘We’ll be out two thousand bucks,’ Ma said, ‘but that ain’t the worst. The worst’d be it rises up two or three feet and then fizzles into the lake. Followed by that young Eye-talian who looks like Ben Afflict blowin his trumpet.’
We put it in the garage and there it stayed until Memorial Day, when we took it out to the lake. I didn’t buy nothing else of a firework nature this year, not from Pop Anderson and not from Howard Gamache, either. We was all in on the one thing. It was CE4 or bust.
All right; here we are at last night. Fourth of July of oh-fifteen, never been nothin like it on Abenaki Lake and I hope there never will be again. We knew it had been a goddam dry summer, accourse we knew, but that never crossed our minds. Why would it? We were shootin over the water, weren’t we? What could be safer?
All the Massimos was there and havin fun – playin their music and playin their games and cookin weenies on about five different grills and swimmin near the beach and divin off the float. Everyone else was there, too, on both sides of the lake. There was even some at the north and south ends, where it’s all swampy. They were there to see this year’s chapter of the Great Fourth of July Arms Race, Eye-Ties versus Yankees.
Dusk drew down and finally the wishin star come out, like she always does, and those electric torches at the end of the Massimo dock popped on like a couple of spotlights. Out onto it struts Paul Massimo, flanked by his two grown sons, and goddam if they weren’t dressed like for a fancy country club dance! Father in a tuxedo, sons in white dinner jackets with red flowers in the lapels, the Ben Afflict-lookin one wearin his trumpet down low on his hip, like a gunslinger.