Berger - The feud

THE FEUD

Thomas Berger

Dzanc Books

Dzanc Books
1334 Woodbourne Street
Westland, MI 48186
www.dzancbooks.org

Copyright 1983 by Thomas Berger

All rights reserved, except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher.

Published 2013 by Dzanc Books
A Dzanc Books rEprint Series Selection

eBooks ISBN-13: 978-1-937854-76-8
eBook Cover Photo by Awarding Book Covers

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

TO MICK MOONEY

One Saturday morning in the middle of October, Dolf Beeler, a burly, beer-bellied foreman at the plant in Millville, but who lived in the neighboring town of Hornbeck, came over to Bud's Hardware in Millville to buy paint remover and steel wool for the purpose of stripping a supposedly solid-walnut dresser to the wood that underlay the many coats of varnish. Years before, in an expansive moment after a good meal, Dolf had promised his wife he would begin this job the following evening. It was typical of him not to have acted quickly on his promise, though it was also characteristic that he did not forget or dismiss it and that he acted on it eventually, for he was a good husband and a nice man, and therefore his wifecalled Bobby, from Robertadid not pester him about this or anything else.

Paint remover, said the skinny high-school-aged boy back of the hardware-store counter. Did you want a quart or a pint of that?

Dolf chewed awhile on his unlit stogie. He had never stripped a piece of furniture before and therefore had no sense of how much fluid would be required. A certain pride kept him from asking the pimply-faced kid before him. He would have preferred to be waited on by the grown man farther along the counter, who was presumably Bud, the owner, but the latter was engaged in conversation with a thin, white-faced man whom Dolf heard him address as Reverend.

Though he had worked in this town for years, and lived in Hornbeck only a mile from the Millville line, Dolf's acquaintance with many of its essential personages was slight. He knew none of its clergymen, police officers, doctors, lawyers, and no teachers except a substitute practitioner in the grade school, who was married to a man who worked under him at the plant. Dolf had come to Millville's hardware store today because the one in Hornbeck was closed, owing to the recent suicide of its owner, George Wiedemeyer, for reasons as yet unexplained.

Lemme look at the cans, Dolf told the boy. I know what a pint and quart is, but I can get an idea if

Sure thing, answered the lad, who had a quick, bright manner that Dolf never really liked to see in a young person: it seemed too fresh. But Ill have to ask you to get rid of that cigar.

Dolf had removed the stogie from his teeth while pondering on the needed quantity of the paint remover. He put the butt back now and said, through it, It aint lighted.

Well, said the boy, I grant it dont look like smoke is coming from it, but you know

You just let me worry about that, growled Dolf, who had not lived half a century to be criticized by some kid with pimples. You just do your job and show me that paint remover.

Now the boy was stung. We got danger of fire back there. It aint my own idea

What's trouble here? asked the man who had been talking with the preacher but had now said good-bye to him and come up the counter opposite Dolf's position.

I need some paint remover, Dolf said disagreeably. If you people dont want to sell it to me, Ill take my business elsewhere.

The hardware man, who was bald in the middle of his head and wore a suit coat, a sweater vest, and a black bow tie, spoke reproachfully to the lad. Well, why dont you take care of this genmun, Junior? We got all the paint remover in the world out back.

Sure, Junior answered. But I dont think he should be smoking a cigar back there.

Oh. The bald-headed man nibbled his upper lip. I guess Id have to say the boy is right, he told Dolf, though looking at the counter top. There's strict no smoking due to the insurance.

Dolf breathed strenuously in and out, past the stogie, which anyone could see was dead. He was not given to excess speech.

The boy suddenly looked worried. He says it's out, though, Dad. So he aint really smoking.

Dolf turned his weighty head and smirked in chagrin at no one, though the preacher had halted near the door to observe the argument from afar.

The hardware man, who Dolf believed was probably Bud, the owner, said to his son, in some exasperation, Well, then, Junior, I dont know why youre making a fuss.

Dolf spoke then. Because he's too fresh.

Bud (if it was he) flinched a little but made no rejoinderwhich showed business sense.

The boy however decided to take it as an insult. Oh, yeah? he said. Well, you just

His father slapped his face at this point. Dont you ever answer back, said Bud, in a voice that was earnest but strangely calm.

Even Dolf thought that a little too strong. By now he was beginning to regret having chosen this day, after two years, for the stripping of Bobby's old dresser, which might not even be solid walnut, and when Bud went on to demand that his son apologize, Dolf stepped away from the counter.

No, said he. That's all right. Forget it.

No sirree! cried Bud, his bow tie bobbing at his Adams apple. We aint going to lose customers through bad manners, Ill guarantee you that. He stared sternly at his son, whose face was flushed where it had been hit, whose eyes had got smaller with sullenness.

The minister had come back from the door. He wore a dark suit and a felt hat. He peered at Dolf for a while and then said, You oughta get rid of your butts before you enter an establishment. Then there wont be any trouble about them, lighted or not.

This was too much. Dolf believed all preachers were loafers, and he didnt go to church even in Hornbeck, though his wife did. He said now, You stick your nose into things that dont concern you, and you get it broke off.

Oho, the minister said ominously. You better be careful who youre talking to.

Oh the hell with you! Dolf said, and started to leave the place, but the preacher, though considerably smaller, took a spread-legged stance, blocking the route to the door.

You bum you, he said levelly. We got a vagrancy law in this town.

Bud now tried to call things back to reason. He dont mean no harm, Im sure, Reverton. Mister, Ill just go get that paint remover for you. However, he made no actual physical move.

So the man wasnt even a preacher. Well, Reverton, if thats your goddam name, said Dolf. You just get yourself out of my goddam way or youre gonna have my goddam foot in your ass.

Bud cried in outrage, You cant use foul language in my store!

Reverton swept back the tail of his suit coat and pulled a revolver from a holster that hung there. You sumbitch, he said to Dolf. You just back up against that there counter, you shit-heel bum. I know how to handle your kind.

Dolf could not believe in the reality of this sequence of events. You went to buy paint remover and you had a gun pulled on you? He now tried to be reasonable.

See, he said to Reverton, I never came over here to fight or anything. This was what he tried to say, but having a gun pointed at him seemed to freeze the words in his throat. What he heard emerge was at least to himself an incomprehensible mumble.

Reverton appeared to be enraged. You dirty sumbitch, he said through clenched teeth, and he thumbed back the hammer of his pistol, with a sickening sound.

Dolf fell to his knees on the wooden floor, his hands crossed over his protuberant belly. But then he lifted them in supplication. He pleaded, Oh, God, dont kill me, and sobbed, and blubbered, and degraded himself so thoroughly that later on he could not remember it without wanting to vomit.