Monthly Archives: February 2020

Words by Mike Baron

WORDS

Story is a dynamic narrative with a beginning, a middle, and an end. Many elements contribute to successful story including characterization (William Faulkner,) lively dialogue (George V. Higgins,) an exciting concept (Michael Crichton,) mood (Shirley Jackson,) or a wild plot (Randy Wayne White.) You construct them all with words. How many words? However many you need to achieve the effect. Can you use too many words? You sure can, but words are the building blocks of story. Whenever I see that asinine challenge, what’s the scariest story you can tell in six words, I want to shake the challenger by the collar. You can’t build a house with six bricks.

Some authors are drunk on words. Anthony Burgess, Michael Chabon, and Marlon James come to mind. Some authors parcel their words like Ebeneezer Scrooge. Cormac McCarthy and Ernest Hemingway. However you do it, the goal is the same: to grab the reader by the throat and drag him into the narrative to the exclusion of all else. You want to write a book that makes the reader resent anything that interrupts his reading.

Badger Novel, Mike Baron

The Badger novel is about ninety per cent finished, but other projects have taken my attention. What could possibly be more important that the Badger novel? Bringing home the bacon! And yes, I’ve seen the video with the coyote and the badger! Everybody and my sister sent it to me.

BADGER THREE “Adiosky”

“Quit what?” Ham replied.

“Take this job and shove it!”

Mavis leveled a finger. “He born for better things than shoveling shit!”

“See here, old chap! If you don’t want to shovel shit, why didn’t you just say so? I have plenty of other work for you. We need to repair that old storage shed. And when we’re done with that, I’d like you to plant mint in the garden. I hear it deters rabbits.”

Mavis wagged that finger.

“Badger work for you long enough. Where his IRA? Where his pension plan?”

Ham spread his hands. “I pay him a hundred thousand dollars a year, same as you. I provide room and board. Surely you have the wherewithal to fund your own IRA.”

“Not point! This man great martial artist! We open school.”

“See here, old chap! You’ve been with me since the beginning! Do you want more money? What if I were to give you a fancy title? Director of Security! I’ll give you an office.”

“Boss, I just feel my potential is wasted shoveling shit. I haven’t fought a demon in years. I wouldn’t know how to fight one now. The demons never come around anymore. I’ve always dreamed of opening my own studio.”

Badger raised his hands. “Go. Go with my blessing. But before you go, would you be so kind as to recommend a replacement? Someone who can do what you do.”

Badger thought long and hard. “Wombat.”

“What, that berserker from Australia? Is that a good idea?”

Mavis seized Badger by the arm. “Is best idea.”

“Do you have contact info?”

“Wire Wombat, Canberra,” Mavis said.

“He’s on Facebook,” Badger said.

“I’ll try that. Very well. Will you be in touch?”

“Of course,” Badger said. “I just want to try something new. If any demons show up, give me a holler.”

Ham collapsed in his chair, which squeaked and groaned. “Fine.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m a little disappointed. I should have been more attentive. I thought you liked shoveling shit!”

Mavis seized the Vietnamese vase from its plinth.

“Wait a minute,” Ham said.

“This is my vase. I only let you borrow because you wanted to study, remember? You no study.”

Ham turned to Badger exasperated. “She speaks perfect English when she wants, doesn’t she?”

“You want demon, I crack vase over skull! Then you see demon!”

“I was hoping to see the demon without violence.”

Mavis snorted in disgust. “We also taking dogs.”

“Fine! Take them.”

“Dog missing. Did you eat?”

Ham looked up, startled. “What? What dog? No! I don’t eat dogs!”

“Then why you name him Waffles?”

Ham stood and waved his arms. “Go! Go with my blessing, curse you!”

Mavis grabbed Badger’s hand and yanked him out of the office. “I already pack. I get car. You get dogs.”

Badger sat on the flagstone floor of the entryway and sucked his thumb. Mavis knelt before him and took his head in her hands. “Norbert. Norbert. I’m sorry I mentioned Waffles. You have to be a man now, for the sake of the dogs.”

Badger looked at her with fearful eyes, then looked away.

Mavis cupped her hands and howled like a wolf. Badger sprang into a fighting stance, like Travis Bickle.

“Where are the wolves?”

Mavis gestured broadly. “They’re out there. But right now, I need you to get all the dogs together. We’re leaving.”

As a result of severe childhood abuse at the hands of his stepfather, Norbert Sykes had issues. The American Psychiatric Association, which flitted from trend to trend like a butterfly, had recently decided that multiple personality disorder did not exist. They now characterized what used to be known as MPD into four types.

Dissociative identity disorder, depersonalization disorder, derealization disorder, and dissociative amnesia disorder. Badger’s therapist, Daisy Fields, who also served as Ham’s secretary, tried to keep up. But it was impossible to keep up. She had diagnosed Badger with five separate personalities: Gastineau Grover DePaul, a tough inner-city black, Emily, a six year old girl, Max Swell, a gay architect, Leroy, a dog, and Pierre, a mass murderer. Daisy had done her best, but until Badger met Mavis, he was all over the place.

Since Mavis had come into his life, he was calmer and more focused. She possessed an intuitive understanding of psychosis from dealing with animals all her life. She was born in Vietnam. They met at a martial arts tournament.

“Dogs!” she snapped.

“Right!” Badger said, stepping out the main entrance onto the broad front stoop. Inserting two fingers, he whistled. Barks and howls emanated from every corner. Five dogs lined up in a row, wagging their tails. Synchronized. Bob was a black border collie/golden retriever mix. Mack was a female pug/Boston terrier mix. Freddy was a collie/dingo mix. Ermagerd was a female snickerdoodle. Otis was some kind of hound.

“Dogs, you’re wondering why I called you here. We’re moving to a new home. No dog left behind. The food will be the same. Has anyone seen Leroy?”

They all started barking at once.

Mavis pulled up in a 1990 GMC Suburban pulling a trailer. They stuck their suitcases in the trailer. The dogs piled in. Badger got the shotgun seat.

“Is this everything?”

“No. We come back.”

“Where we going?”

“I rent farmhouse from Old MacDonald. I save foal last winter. He like me.”

Badger remembered a cold, windy night, staying up with Mavis in the drafty barn, Mavis’ arms up to her elbows inside the mare, gently easing the foal into its new life. Old MacDonald had called it a miracle. There were two houses on his property, the modest ranch style in which he and his wife of fifty years lived, and the old double decker that had belonged to his parents. The senior MacDonalds had lived there until they passed, several years ago. They were buried on the property, as were their parents.

Before they could leave, Daisy Fields ran out the front door. A shapely blond in her mid-thirties, she wore creased tan Banana Republic slacks, a vintage flapper blouse, and glasses.

“Stop! Stop! Where are you going?”

Mavis stood on the driver’s seat through the sun roof, pointing down the road. “We move to 221 Baker Street, five miles that way. You join us for dinner tonight, Hoity Toity. Pick you up at s.x”

“What? Why?”

Badger stood on the shotgun seat. “I want to open my own kung fu school.”

Mavis put her arm around his shoulders. “He tired of shoveling shit!”

“Oh no! Oh no! You can’t go! You’re the reason I’m here.”

“Nonsense,” Mavis said. “Ham relies on you. You do real work! Accounting. Administrative. He needs you more than Badger.”

Daisy looked like she was about to cry. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Badger said. “We’ll pick you up at six!”

“Can you at least leave me a dog?”

Badger lowered himself and turned to face the dogs. “Boys, who wants to stay here with Daisy? I need a volunteer.”

Otis leaped out the window, ran up the stairs, and licked Daisy as she crouched to hug him.

“Miss Fields, I need you!” Ham called through the open window.

Mavis started the engine. “Back later, pick you up at six.”

Daisy watched them drive down the perfect black asphalt and exit through the stone gate onto Brotherhood Lane.

Too late, she called out, “Wait! Wait! That can’t be your address! Sherlock Holmes lives there!”