Mulch Read online

  Louise put on her work jacket, gloves, and gardening boots. She went outside and strolled casually over to where Roger was raking. “Beautiful day,” said Louise, and then felt foolish. It was one of those overcast, chilly Saturdays when many people simply threw up their hands and hit the local movie house. “On second thought, it’s kind of gray … kind of like the world is.” Roger’s favorite subject was international affairs. He was considered an expert.

  “Hi, Louise,” he said, smiling at her. “Not so bad out here after you work up a little sweat. As for the world situation, that’s also causing me a lot of grief. I should be at work right now; probably have to go in for a while tomorrow.”

  “Hello, Louise,” called Laurie, walking over, her red hair attractively windblown. Jeff and Michael came over, too, and Louise realized raking wasn’t their favorite occupation.

  “Do you always rake your woods?” inquired Louise politely.

  “Well, it is a yard,” said Roger, adjusting his glasses and studying her more closely. “Even though there’s no grass. But Laurie’s going to plant some ferns around in here.” He pointed to the now bare ground.

  “I’m pretty excited about it,” said Laurie. “I’ve talked to a landscaper, and he’s recommended that I order six dozen ferns to be put in in the spring. They’re supposed to spread. Then he also suggested a grouping over here—” she pointed to a spot where nature had already planted a gracious clump of small trees—“a few azaleas and a few variegated cotoneaster.”

  “That will be great,” said Louise. She turned to the children. “And how are you, Jeff … and Michael?”

  “Part of the slave labor around here,” said Michael, batting his rake like a tennis racquet. “I’d rather be doing my physics than this.” He was slim, with dark red hair like his mother, and vivid brown eyes. Jeff, several years younger, seemed drab in comparison. He watched his brother and smiled faintly.

  “Physics. I didn’t know students took up physics in tenth grade.”

  “A special program they used to have at Sylvan Valley but don’t have any more,” Laurie explained. “Kids who tested at one-fifty IQ level or above”—her eyes skidded toward her son, who continued to pat the air with his rake as he stared into the distance—“were admitted in sixth grade, so by ninth grade they’re at least a year ahead in science. Michael is one of the twenty or so who went through this program.”

  “Well,” said Louise. The look on Jeff’s face made Louise want to change the subject. “Maybe I can save you a little work out here. Rather than have you bag your leaves, can I please have them? We have a low spot on the edge of the property near the stand of bamboo, and as you might have seen, I’ve been gathering bags of leaves to put in there and raise the level a bit.” She looked at the large piles of leaves the Kendrickses had labored to achieve. “Bill and I have a large drop cloth. We can just come over and gather them up with that.”

  “Oh, no, Louise,” said Roger. “We have lots of recycling stuff. We’ll just bag them up and leave them on the edge of your property.” He looked at Michael, a strange look from a parent to a child, thought Louise. As if Roger were in awe of this handsome boy at his side, in awe perhaps of the fact that he, the father, was still in charge. “No. What we’ll do,” said Roger with finality, “is have Michael carry the bags to your backyard and put them with those others you’ve collected.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” said Louise, “you’ll be doing all the work.”

  Roger waved imperially. “It’s done. No trouble.”

  Louise looked closely at Michael. “You don’t mind?” she said, smiling.

  “I’m not permitted to mind,” he said, with a flourish of his rake and a winner’s smile.

  Louise went inside the house. Janie stood in the living room, well away from the windows so as not to be seen from the outside. “What’s Michael doing?” she asked shrilly. “He’s carrying those leaves for you. What did you say to him?”

  Louise went into the kitchen, pulling from the refrigerator the makings of pepper steak. “His family has commanded it, and it is being done.” Then, under her breath, “Would that this family helped me without squawking.”

  With dinner finished, the leftovers were put away and the dishes nearly done. Janie was helping dry the pans. “Okay, Ma, any time now I’m ready.”

  Louise was feeling that special satisfaction that comes when dishes again are done. She added a final victorious wipe to the stainless steel sink. “You’re ready. Now let me see. What are you ready for?”

  Not to be outdone by her mother, Janie took the last of the pans, the deep skillet in which Louise had cooked the pepper steak, and with a flourish she dried it and slipped it into its appointed place in the cupboard. “I am ready to willingly … under the cover of darkness … help you go get some more leaves.” She looked at Louise hopefully. “Unless maybe with the Kendrickses’ you don’t need any more?”

  Louise grabbed Janie’s arm. “What a good sport you’re getting to be! Let’s go. I could use some more. Oak leaves are mainly what’s left, and they’re acidic, you know—really good as mulch under the rhododendrons and the azaleas.”

  Janie said, “Ma, why are you giving mc another gardening lecture? Let’s just go. Take the wagon, it holds more. Besides, it’s already dirty.”

  Mother and daughter drove around the neighborhood in the dark. Louise was disappointed to see no bags of leaves. Maybe they were waiting until closer to trash day. They drove past houses with people partying or watching TV and other houses that were totally dark. In front of such a house, in the cul-de-sac on Martha’s Lane, they found the bonanza Louise was seeking: a dozen well-stuffed bags of leaves. She stopped and Janie helped her crowd six of them into the rear of their elderly station wagon.

  “Is that enough?” said Janie.

  “It will have to be. This is the end of the leaf season.” She looked over at her daughter. “It was pretty nice of you to offer to do this tonight.”

  “That’s okay, Ma. I’m just like Michael—nothing better to do. Might as well help the family.”

  Louise looked in the rear view mirror. A car facing the same way as theirs had turned on its parking lights and was slowly keeping pace with them. She had not noticed it in the cul-de-sac on Martha’s Lane, where all of the houses had been dark. She slowed down for the turn onto Ransom Road. The car behind her slowed down, too. “Hmmm,” mumbled Louise.

  “What?” asked Janie.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Louise, her mind already on how tomorrow she would get the family to help her spread the leaves she had collected and close up gardening for the season. She needed to get back to work on her writing.

  It must have been 12:30 Sunday morning when the phone rang.

  “Bill, sorry to wake you—you were asleep, weren’t you?” It was Sam Rosen, their neighbor. “I wanted you to know I heard someone in the yard a few minutes ago. Your yard or my yard, I couldn’t tell, but I’m pretty sure yours.”

  “Should we call the police?” Bill asked sleepily.

  “If you want to, but I’d say, let’s don’t do it. This is Sylvan Valley. It’s probably kids returning from a party, just cutting through. I know they didn’t hang around long. I just wanted to tell you to lock the doors in case you hadn’t.” Sam chuckled, and Bill could tell that, unlike him, his neighbor was wide awake and full of chat. “Lots of people around here have never locked their doors, since the day they moved in—can you believe that? I’m a little more paranoid, maybe, mostly to discourage kids from being tempted to do something they shouldn’t. That’s why I put in those floodlights. I’ve turned them on now and you and Louise ought to be able to sleep peacefully. Better still, I put Missy out on her line. She’ll yap her head off if any strangers approach.”

  Bill thought of Missy, a black and white mongrel, maybe eighteen inches long, maybe fourteen inches high, tops. “Thanks, Sam. Sounds like you’ve taken care of it. G’night.”

  “G’night.”

  10
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  Distributing Leaves

  LOUISE CLOSED THE BOOK REVIEW SECTION AND looked above her half-glasses at her husband. He was a pleasant sight, thin face and lined brow relaxed, handsome in his white dress shirt and Sunday dress sweater. The family had been to church, had breakfast, and since then had burrowed into the Sunday papers with a delicious disregard for time. He looked up from the sports section as if she had sent him a telepathic signal. He grinned and looked at his watch. “I can always tell when my time is up. You want us to help now in the yard, don’t you?”

  Still in her blue church-going dress, she gave her husband a conciliatory smile. Despite his protestation, he liked yard work. She said, “You’re right. But it won’t take us long, dear. And then, if Janie has her homework under control, we can go to the movies.”

  Janie, sprawled on the floor, reading the funnies, said morosely, “I wonder what other kids are doing this afternoon. Going to the Smithsonian maybe, or a concert, or just being left alone to do their homework in peace….”

  Bill got up and, passing Janie, reached down and unceremoniously tousled her blond hair. “Grumble, grumble. Other kids are probably just like you: at home and buggin’ their parents. C’mon, Janie, time to suit up for our big leaf-spreading project. Get on your most disreputable clothes.”

  Janie changed to her new jeans jacket and tan pants, Bill to his tattered chinos and lumberjack shirt, and Louise to her usual yard uniform, Japanese garden pants, boots, and heavy wool sweater. They went out into the crisp, sunny November day and surveyed the backyard.

  “Oh boy,” said Janie, “this place has turned into a graveyard for old leaves. I’m glad we’re getting rid of them. The neighbors will begin to talk. What other mother on earth would swipe other people’s leaves?” The big tan bags stood against each other at angles, like a platoon of slightly drunken soldiers.

  Louise was all business now. “Here’s what we need to do: There are about twenty six bags here. Bill, can you take six bags—be sure they’re oak leaves—to the front yard? They’ll be just enough to mulch the rhododendrons and azaleas. Do that first, will you, darling?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Bill, bowing a little. “Whatever you say.”

  “Good. Then Janie and I will start dragging the rest to the back corner, where we will dump them. Except, Bill, will you also take two bags with oak leaves and put them near the addition, because we need to mulch the little hollies I planted along the west edge.”

  “Your wish is my command, ma’am,” he said. He walked off, dragging a bag of leaves in either hand as if he had the Katzenjammer Kids by the scruffs of their necks.

  Janie put her hands on her hips and looked at her retreating father. “Ma, why does he always tease you about gardening? What is it, anyway? Why doesn’t he just do it? He’s the father.”

  Louise gripped a bag firmly and said, “Don’t worry about it. Men tease when they can’t think of what else to say. He really loves working in the yard, but I can’t see him standing here like Wordsworth or Shelley or somebody, going on about it.” She looked at her frowning daughter. “After all, darling, your father is a political scientist, not a poet.” She began dragging the bag of leaves. “Come on, let’s get on with it.”

  Janie followed her like an unhappy puppy, her mouth turned down, her brow furrowed with the same kind of wrinkles her father had in his forehead. “That’s another thing,” she said, trailing behind her mother. “I think he’s more than just a State Department foreign service officer. I think he’s doing something secret. Don’t you ever think that?” She looked at her mother with her chin held defiantly high.

  Louise stopped and looked at Janie. “Let’s you and Dad and I talk that over carefully one of these days”—she grimaced—“but not today. I’d like to get this job finished first.”

  Janie dropped into a thoughtful silence as one by one they took the bags to the rear corner of the yard.

  Louise herself was panting with the effort. “Gosh,” she said, “I think these are heavier … although I don’t know why. It hasn’t rained or snowed since we brought them here.”

  Bill, carrying a rake, joined them, and they quickly moved the rest of the bags.

  “Now comes the fun part,” said Bill. “Come on, Janie, let’s empty the bags. Louise, you do the raking. Try to keep the leaves in a neat, high pile.” He looked at his wife through the corner of his eye and said, “I’d estimate a five-foot-high pile, which we will undoubtedly achieve in this little corner of the world, will—given the proper incantations and phases of the moon—disintegrate into about four inches of mulch.”

  “Exactly. You’re such a good helper you can kid me all you want. But this probably will solve our water problem. We’ll never have another puddle out here. And try to avoid stepping on that dessicated plant out there—I want to save it.”

  Bill and Janie started upending the bags, Bill working quickly, lifting them effortlessly and throwing the contents in Louise’s direction.

  Then they all saw it and heard it at once. Two thuds, as two plastic-wrapped objects flipped through the air to the ground near their feet.

  “My God, what’s this?” said Bill.

  “No wonder these bags are heavy,” complained Janie. “They’ve mixed trash in here … what … what are these things?” She reached down quickly and picked up one of the packages, holding it like an unwelcome present. “Gol, this looks like an arm!” she cried. “But it can’t be an arm—but heavy. And this one …” She picked up the second package.

  “Janie.” Bill barked it. “Drop it!”

  She stopped and stared at her father. “Gee, Dad, just because someone puts some old meat or something in with their leaves …” She glared at her father.

  Louise ran over to Janie and took the package from her. She dropped it on the ground and turned her daughter’s shoulders toward the house. “Janie, please go in the house. Just go. Dad and I will take care of this.”

  Janie’s eyes had grown round and terrified. She jerked out of her mother’s grasp. “No, Ma. Don’t do that to me. Don’t act as if I’m a baby. I’ve already seen something; I’ve got to see the rest.” She looked at her father. “After all, Dad,” she added, “it’s my yard, too.”

  “All right,” said Bill, “but stand well back.” Janie and Louise backed up a few feet through the rustling leaves, as cautious as if he were investigating a bomb. “Now let’s all try to keep calm while we figure this out.” He knelt down and picked up the longer package with his gloved hands and gently felt it. “Let’s be sure what we’re looking at first. It’s probably just … a ham bone, maybe.” He made a face. “Lots of plastic wrap … you can see that.” He carefully unpeeled the outer layers of plastic until they could all see through the remaining layers a flesh-colored object with large, dark smears on it. Bill sniffed, then pulled back in revulsion.

  He put the object down quickly and looked up at Louise. His voice was very low. “Louise, let’s go in and call the police. And Janie, whether you want to or not, I want you to go with your mother into the house.”

  “What is it?” cried Janie. He stood up quickly and swayed a little, his mouth contorted as if he were going to spit. “Let’s go,” he muttered. “We’ve all seen enough.” He hustled Louise and Janie through the leafy woods and back into the house, the warm, friendly house with its strewn newspapers and empty coffee cups.

  Within what seemed only a minute of Bill’s phone call, they could hear the sirens crying, louder and louder. Police cars with blue flashing lights wheeled around in the cul-de-sac, like a covey of grounded UFOs, and stopped in front of their house.

  Four dark-clad policemen hurried down the woodland path to the front door. Bill opened it, looking much older and thinner than a few minutes before. The officers talked to him in low tones, as if not wanting Louise and Jane to hear. Bill accompanied them to the backyard while Louise and Janie watched out the back windows, prisoners in a glass house.

  The police went to the leaf pile, cr
ouched down, and examined the packages without moving them from where they lay.

  “I think they’re unwrapping one,” said Janie, pulling her breath in sharply. Suddenly, in unison the men moved back, recoiling from the opened package. All stood up except the policeman handling the package. Bill bowed his head solemnly.

  “Oh, God,” whispered Louise. Janie was silent.

  They watched the officers walk around and carefully upend each of the remaining hags of leaves, as if performing a solemn ceremony. In each case they placed the hag alongside its contents.

  Janie turned to her mother and smiled lamely. “They’re not getting those leaves in the corner where you want them, Ma.”

  “I noticed. Not a lot we can do about it, is there?” She squeezed her daughter around the waist, noticing how large her eyes were. The child would never sleep tonight, but then, would she or Bill?

  Suddenly all the policemen gathered together around the leafy contents of other emptied bags.

  “Oh, no, they’ve found something else!” cried Janie. She opened the patio door and they stood there, waiting as the men crouched down, first at one pile, then at the next.

  After a minute Louise said, “That’s it; I’m going out.” She shoved the patio door completely open, strode down the timber steps, and quickly crossed the sixty feet to where the men were.

  “Bill—what is it now?” she demanded.

  He turned to her, startled. The officers broke their huddle and looked at her distractedly. Now she could see the packages on the ground. Her eyes fixed on their rough, angular lines. The unmistakable shapes. The dried blood. She dropped her jaw in horror. “Oh, no!” she wailed. “It is. They’re body parts!”

  Bill came toward her and put his arms around her. “Louise,” he said quietly, “maybe you don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here either, and I’ll be in quickly. There are four more packages. They say they’re part of a woman’s torso, and leg, and another piece of … her arm.”