Sheesh. What follows is the end of Chap. 8, and the end of what may be subtitled “Part One.” That may be, or not. From this point on the story takes a pretty sharp turn. All the hints about poor, poor Will’s past will start getting answered, and a bigger headache springs up. Life ain’t gonna get easier for him is about all I can say.
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“He’s an asshole,” Will offered.
Blom looked at him over the top of his glasses. “He’s not universally adored,” he countered. “He’s stubborn, tight-lipped and nobody that’s ever had dealings him has walked away with an invitation to dinner.”
“Alright, then,” Will said, and modified his appraisal of the neighbor to, “he’s a jerk.”
Blom sighed. “I guess most folks would be inclined to agree… and while I’m not partial to the term, you’re first assessment fits the picture in most folk’s eyes.”
Will pondered a moment before saying, “So I call him on it, sic the law on him for trespassing, and whatever else can slapped on him for sneaking a corn crop on somebody else’s land, and let the system sort it out. Hello, manure pile.”
Blom loosed another sigh, heavier than its predecessor. “Ah, well, if it were just that simple.”
“Come again?”
Blom shook his head. “It’s complicated.”
Will heard it as if Blom believed it explained everything. It did not. “Forgive me if I thought I was getting a clear picture of my predicament,” he said sourly. “Is it worth my asking for a little more clarification?”
Blom glanced toward the door. With the parking lot empty and no rescue in sight, he said, “Think about it, Willem. Arn’s a man who spent every minute of his life in the same county, the same town and under the same roof. You’re a fellow that showed up a few times as a schoolboy, but then disappeared for twenty years. Arn might never win any elections, and nobody’s going to suggest a parade in his honor any time soon, but he’s been around here since he slipped out of the womb. He’s been a neighbor and a citizen through some tough times, and suffered from them as much if not more as any man he’s been to church with—which is every week, by the way. You, on the other hand, just suddenly show up, and from the Cities, no less. You’re here to take over a piece of property that’s been abandoned, ignored and neglected. In the way folks around here view things, and this is more important, you can also add disrespected. No insult, and by no means any fault of your own, but I don’t think you’ll ever be able to understand that aspect of things.”
Will shrugged. “And . . .?”
He’s hometown, with the same dirt under his nails as everybody else. You’re a city slicker who, whether true or not, has a pile of money and doesn’t know a thing about hard work and the hazards of farming. You go straight to the courthouse with this, you’re just some rich kid with no callouses who showed up to shove us little people around.” Blom said. “Arn Mikkelson may be a jerk, but he’s our jerk.”
“Is that how you see it?”
Blom answered the nod with a shake of his head. “No. That’s not how I see it, but that’s how it’s going to be seen. What’s he’s doing is wrong. How he’s done it is wrong. You take a poll, and you’d be pleased to know everybody who’s ever scratched a living out of a patch of ground agrees with that. I’d go so far as to say dragging him away from his breakfast, throwing a rope over a tree and stringing him up in front of his kids wouldn’t be considered out of line. Except…”
“If I do it,” Will moaned. “I’m the outsider. I get it. So, what other course is there?”
“Path of least resistance sound appealing?” Blom offered.
“Would’ve been real appealing about five minutes ago,” Will answered.
“Ignore it.”
“What the fuck?”
Blom made it a point to frown before he spoke again. “Ignore it. Go on with what you’ve been doing. If he sees the house coming along, understands what’s going on over there, he’s got to catch on that he’s cheek by jowl to something that looks permanent. Just make it clear in every way you can that you’re not going anywhere soon.”
Will stared at him. . . . not going anywhere soon… That wasn’t a phrase he was ready to get comfortable with. He could put up with it, for now, if only to give Blom a chance toward helping him with a plan he could work with. “Have you got any suggestions as to how I can give him that impression?”
Blom shrugged. “Spend some time in town. Work around the house. Get out in the yard. Get yourself in a place where you can’t be missed, make sure he sees you, and as often as possible. Carry on like nothing’s wrong, settle in, and he might just realize he can’t get away with this any longer. It wouldn’t hurt to let other people understand you know what’s going on, but you’re a big enough man to let it play itself out, that you’re giving Arn some time to come to his senses. Get yourself acquainted, get yourself known.” Blom removed and folded his glasses, then pointed them at him. “Make some friends.”
Will looked out the front windows. A few vehicles had pulled into the lot. He watched the people getting out; a few “townies”, another couple guys in bibs and battered caps.
He watched them all the way to the door, where they formed up on the walk and came in as a group. They’d arrived separately, but it was obvious they all knew each other. He wondered if how he’d be received by them, if he was just the type of guy they could rely on to put a difficult peer in his place.
When they came in, Will didn’t slink out of sight into an aisle. He stayed where he was, but still tried to appear inconspicuous. They entered chatting, then each offered a greeting to Blom, a wave or a quick “hello.” Will was noticed, and even got a couple nods, Then they broke apart, scattering themselves throughout the store, and he was alone with the shopkeeper again. He took a few steps toward the counter, close enough for a conversation in a lower tone.
Will had decided on how he needed to handle this. It was a decision he’d made while cowering behind a tree, and one he now knew he should have settled on and kept the shopkeeper out of it. He knew all that Blom had told him was true. His roots may not have been in Limburg County, but he understood the way of life a lot more than Blom had given him credit for. Ingratiating himself to the locals was no guarantee this Arn Mikkelson would sense a seismic societal shift, compelling him to come clean about his deplorable behavior. If he was already well established as a shitbird, what could compel him to alter his behavior in any accord of public opinion? If stealing a fraudulent crop off a stranger’s property—abandoned or not—was so heinous in the community eye, he wouldn’t have done it in the first place if that mattered to him. Blom said the man wasn’t universally adored. Will had no need to be, either. Being unpopular with the locals didn’t matter when compared to standing up for his grandparents.
“Thanks for the advice. All sound and sensible,” he told Blom. “But I think my best course of action is to just march over there and call him on it. If he owns up and comes clean, we can sort it out ourselves. If he wants to be an ass, deny it or make some argument, he can take his ass and his arguments to court. Short, sweet and simple.”
Blom fixed another look at him, this one more reminiscent of his grandfather. This time, Will couldn’t completely reject its effect.
“I’ll make one more plea for patience, Will. As I told you, it’s complicated.”
Will shrugged. “If I go after a jerk that flaunts respect for somebody else’s property, and that makes me a bad guy, so be it. Frankly, there’s nobody here I need to impress. If sticking up for my grandparents makes me some sort of arrogant, big city prick, screw ‘em.”
“Your grandparents are a big part of what makes this complicated.” Blom was back to looking at him over the top of his glasses.
Will wasn’t ready for that. “How so?”
“Have you ever seen an Imperial Ag sign?”
Will thought it a silly question. Imperial Agriculture owned half the farmland in the county. It had been that way since he was a kid. All he knew about the company was they weren’t very popular. “They’re all over the place. What’s that got to do with anything?”
Blom was looking past Will. A couple of the customers that had come in moments before were approaching the counter. Will stepped out of the way while Blom rang them up. Will didn’t even wait before the bell tinkle before he was back at the counter. “What does Imperial Ag have to do with anything? And how do Gran and Nan make anything complicated?”
Blom answered while poking buttons on the cash register. “Imperial Ag, your grandfolks, Arn Mikkelson, add ‘em all together and you’ve got complicated.” He pushed the cash drawer shut. “Very complicated. Are you up for a history lesson?”
Will had to hold his answer as the rest of the customers that had come in were ready to check out. As they were leaving, another one came in. This could go on all day. He didn’t need a history lesson. Before the newcomer could pull Bom’s attention away, he stepped close to the counter.
“History is history. Past is past.,” Will said. “Imperial Agriculture’s got nothing to do with me, whichever way that could possibly be. Whatever this Arn Mikkelson and my grandparents had going on, that’s past and that’s history. They’re dead, and what he’s pulling right now is an insult to them and their memory.”
Will was ready to turn and stalk off, but Blom froze him by saying. “Would part of ‘their memory’ include your grandmother’s funeral?”
It was a shot through his skull. Will was literally frozen where he stood. All of his righteous outrage evaporated, replaced the flood of guilt he first felt half his life ago,
“Half the county has a memory of that. About half the county were there.” Will heard.
“Arn Mikkelson included.”
Will started walking toward the door. He heard Blom’s voice behind him, rising with his steps. It became fuel, moving through the door at a trot, not listening, not looking back. He broke into a run in the parking lot, into the truck, out to the road.
He drove, breath coming and leaving in raw wheezes, the feeling in his stomach exactly as it was two decades ago, coming home from a monthlong fog of mezcal, dope and self pity , to find out the only person left in the world that cared about him had died two days after he tried to disappear from the face of the earth.
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The above was a god-awful grind for some reason. I probably put down over three thousand words, and hated every one of them…. and I might still hate what I put up right here. Can’t say yet…. but that’s what rough drafts are all about.
Like it, waiting…