Just A Small Sample

 A little more fiction for today. Definitely a work in progress, but it is something. Contact me at aminnick85@gmail.com with questions or comments. Enjoy

Whisper Down the Lane

By Andrew Minnick

  

One quarter mile from the clubhouse, down a sloping hill and peering into the valley, a quick walk from the restaurant, tucked in next to the pool, the head of Ludo, a six hundred pound Zebra watches the men and the wives of the Country Club of Pondering Pines chit chat, snack, sip coffee and tea, and prepare for the afternoon trap shoot. Ludo’s company is kept by an Antelope, glass eyed and stoic and mounted on a board of oak, a twelve point elk, and a bear, gutted and tanned and laid down as a rug to be trampled over by boots speckled by autumn mud and caked with winter snow. The others have not been named. Ludo is the prize of Soski, the Butcher.

            A boy of ten, drinking Coca-Cola from a clear plastic cup, has asked about the Zebra.

            “Well I hit him once,” The Butcher tells the boy, “clean through the back leg.”

            The boy cocks his head. “That killed the Zebra?”

            “Well no,” The Butcher rubs his nose between a thumb and forefinger, “not that. “

            Soski is a butcher only as much as any son is a daughter. It had not been his job to clean the blood off the Zebra, nor to draw it. In Africa his guide, a weathered Kenyan with dark eyes, a man who slept with a dagger in his right hand, placed a palm on the head of the baying animal and slit its throat. They were lucky. Soski’s shot broke through one of the Zebra’s hind legs. It shattered bone in the other. The Zebra fell back on itself and never got up. Later the guide offered him the meat, but he declined.

            “You know, I’ll bet you’re just now learning to shoot.” Soski says to the boy, diverting his gaze

            “Maybe,” he glances down into his bubbling soda, “but I’ve never shot a gun much before.”

            “Is your father around?” The boy points to an awkward man across the room in highwater pants and a jacket, one with a padded sleeve. “Well what do you say to learning then?”

            Soski is never one to interfere with the fathers and their sons. He will teach the sons to keep their heads down, and to tuck the guns into their shoulders. Tips like these keep the sons safe from the shotgun’s kick. Matters of technique he leaves to the fathers.

 At a trap shoot, like this one, the goal is to hit fifty birds. The birds are clay, they are called pigeons. The clay pigeons are orange disks shot into the air by a machine. They break if they are hit, or break when they hit the ground.

Corporeal pigeons sometimes wander among their shards, pecking at the colorful pieces. Each shooter gets fifty shots, 25 at each trap house, 5 at each station. Between sets of twenty five they rest.

The boy, whose name, Soski learns, is Nathan, has taken a gun that belongs to the club. It is a lighter gun, one designed for women. Between shots the father leans over and instructs his son, but his advice is no good. The father leans back. The father shoots high. He doesn’t know these guns. Shot rises out of trap guns. Shoot low and move up.

Of course that is easy to say, and the distinction is not so clear. Aim low, and you will miss all the same. 

So, I hope you enjoyed that. If not, let me know why you didn't. Take a look at these videos too. I wrote the voice over, yes, and neither is too bad (If I may humbly say so.) Couples Resorts, Jamiaca, again. A little bit of a thaw during the chill that has rested again over the northeast.

Watching that one over, I realize the voice acting could be better. We are working on it. I'm curious though. Those precious few of you who read and watch Improper Uses Of Sunscreen, do you prefer beach, mountain, or some other kind of vacation? I think I'll write about my preferences later in the week, but I like to know what experiences others tend toward.