LIW&B Chapter 6

Mel allowed the boy's development to progress slowly. He endured a great deal of guilt over the sadness he forced into the eyes of his son. Mel knew with every bone in his body he did the right thing, but it ate at him in a way he had never known. Parental guilt ached more painfully than a hangover. This poison foreign and he longed for an antidote.

Happy was a very bright child. Thanks to his tireless television teacher, he knew how to count and spell his name before most children enter preschool. Mel insisted on nothing but public television from morning until dinner, normally late afternoon. Education was important, but not as important as staying hidden. Mel felt certain Happy would be taken if a school learned about his circumstances.

Mel wanted to keep Happy in the trailer safe and ignorant of the rats. It just wasn't realistic. Rats were a part of their lives, nothing from which they could run. Sheltering the boy would only make him more vulnerable later. This was a fact, but the fact added no relief in the eyes of Mel's distraught son.

So Mel let Happy keep his eyes shut tight when he had to kill a crippled survivor. He let him drop the body bag and cover his eyes when a dying rodent screamed for mercy. Mel let Happy block out the violent images as much as he could for months. And it only got worse.

Happy became sluggish and depressed on days of the hunt. Mel's lively, loving Happy dragged and fell into stress and sadness. What was a loose bliss in their home became a heavy depression and silence. Mel couldn't take it. Something had to be done.

He made Happy open his eyes. Then he made him empty the trap into the bag. Both tasks were met with subdued panic. Each time Mel explained his intentions. Improvement was slow but steady. After three months on the hunt, Mel forced Happy to kill his first survivor.

Mel held the scraper above Happy's hands. He made sure Happy had a tight grip.
"I'm not doing all this work. This is your job," Mel ordered.
Happy did better than his father thought. He didn't cry, only wore an angry frown that disturbed his father even more. Happy put his small hands on the wooden pole handle of the scraper and counted out loud, "1, 2, 3."
Both father and son plunged the steel blade downward with all their might and one less rat occupied the yard. Mel hugged the boy both before and after. Happy never cried, but he never forgot. His intelligence included a great memory, the fresh vast mind of a 4 year old boy. And he remembered something his father said on their very first hunt.

Mel suspected nothing. He was pleased to see Happy lighten up. The good times returned. Killing a rat did the trick for both of them. The little things like emptying traps meant nothing. Happy didn't flinch when a rat screamed or hissed at Mel, cursing their fate. He still stiffened when Mel had to deliver the final blow, but everything else was approached with ease. He was satisfied and felt redeemed as a parent.

There was no reason to raise an eyebrow with Happy's increased demand for pancakes. The boy started to ask for them at dinner. It was either baloney sandwiches or pancakes. Mel had no problem. Pancakes took a little more effort, but he was normally drunk in the evening anyway. Many drunken songs were sang while flipping hot cakes in butter. This is also why the old man didn't notice the increase in pancake consumption. He was too drunk to remember.

Mel found it peculiar when his son was asking for a bottle of syrup every couple days. It wasn't until the third request that he put up a fight.
"You've been going through a helluva lot of syrup lately," Mel announced.
"I had pancakes every time we ate this week," Happy proudly answered.
The old rubbed his throbbing head. It was early, just after breakfast. He couldn't gather if the boy was right, but figured Happy would know better than himself.
"Every time?" Mel worried. "Well, tonight you're eatin' some baloney. You need something for your muscles."
The old man grabbed his truck keys and they drove to buy more syrup.

Ten days of planning and storage felt like an eternity for the boy. Ten bottles of syrup lie in a box under his bed. Happy waited for his moment like any great maestro. His father had said he wished he could catch the rats without hurting a thing. Happy had been hypnotized by the challenge.

Mel drove to the tavern leaving Happy in the trailer. He wouldn't begin taking his son to the tavern until he closer to ten. The sun was almost down. It was time for the rats to reclaim the yard. It was a time Mel had warned his son was too dangerous to trespass. After Mel's truck drove away, Happy ran to the stove and began to melt butter.

Happy pulled the box from under his bed and carried it outside. He unscrewed each lid from each syrup bottle and turned them upside down to drain back into the box. It was a 4 foot by 4 foot cardboard box top that stood about 10 inches when set flat on the ground. It only required six bottles to fill the box to the height he wanted, but Happy dumped in two more just to be safe. Then he poured in the melted butter and mixed his friendly glue.

Happy grabbed the flashlight, put on Mel's boots, gloves, and a coat and started to make tracks towards row 15. The box was heavy once full. His progress was slow. Happy could feel eyes watch him from the piles of trash. Thousands of noses twitched to the scent of pancakes.

Happy couldn't hold the flashlight and pull the box at the same time. He moved in the darkness which thickened by the minute. He could pull the box about twenty feet before he would stop to rest. The abrasive grind of the box against asphalt filled the air and then would stop suddenly to be replaced by the sound of tiny footsteps. These footsteps would stop a second later after discovering their exposure. Happy would catch his breath fast to this sound.

Every time he stopped to rest, the approaching footsteps would move further before stopping. They were getting closer to the scent, growing more bold. Or was Happy just getting further from home and more helpless? He made it to row 6 before the army charged.

It started with a lone soldier, a long black rat with white spots. The rat was fat, an experienced hunter. He had long watched Mel from the shadows shoveling his kin. Happy had just stopped to rest when the rat burst from the dark and jumped on the box.

Happy screamed, grabbing the flashlight and turning it on the spy. The rat stopped in the light, unsure of what it meant. When the rodent felt no pain, he only twitched his nose and dove over the side into the sweet thick aroma of buttered syrup. Happy stepped forward and shined the light over the rat to check his progress. This time the rat didn't bother to break his focus. His neck was thrust downward into the sugary trap.

Happy smiled feeling the pride of a mathematician. He stood captivated, watching the rat lap up his bait. More footsteps could be heard. Happy straightened and shined his light over the box. An army of rats screeched to a halt and twitched their noses in its ray. Happy ran before they did. But he heard them start running. It was a sound he would always remember. The rats ran no further than the cardboard buffet. Happy knew enough of the yard to navigate home without passing it on the way back.

Happy barely contained his excitement when Mel returned home. The old drunk paid no mind to missing butter. He ate a baloney sandwich and fell asleep in front of the TV. His son was waiting patiently before him when he woke. Happy looked like a kid waiting to open Christmas presents.

"Good morning, Happy," the old man croaked. He snarled like a reptile first thing in the morning. "What's going on?"

Happy had already been out that morning. His timing has assured that along with Mel's trip to the tavern. The old man would sleep until mid morning, all the time Happy needed to check his trap. He wanted to show Mel what he had done. He wanted to show his father his success!

"Come out on the porch, Daddy," Happy pleaded, "It's a surprise!"

Mel had lived a long life full of surprises. He had no expectation of his son. When the old man opened the trailer door and saw a box of full of a hundred or more live, fattened rats squirming helplessly, his first instinct was to jump back in fear. He braced the boy and pushed him back into the trailer.
"The rats can't get us, Daddy,"Happy assured, "I trapped them!"

The rats were stuck in the dried, sticky syrup. Some rats had yellow splotches on their rotten hair from condensed butter. Some shrieked. Some chattered. Most just lie there, fat and defenseless. None were hurt and they were all alive.
The substance of the catch didn't absorb immediately. Mel was still a bit drunk from the tavern. His eyes welled with alcohol tears and beaming pride at the breakthrough in his son's fear of rats. He couldn't fathom how Happy had done it or when. He had built a giant glue trap and hunted a better catch than the old man ever had. Mel looked down at his son again to confirm he was only 4.

"Happy," Mel started, but his son cut him off.
"I trapped them all without hurting or killing them," Happy said, "Just like you wanted."
Mel blinked his eyes and sunk his neck in doubt. "Like I wanted?"
"Yeah," Happy agreed, "You said you wished you could drive all the rats to the country and set them free. Now we know how to do it!"

Mel stood silent as his bruised brain fit the pieces together. The puzzle was complex enough that the old man had to sit down on the steps. He picked up the box of rats and set them at the bottom of the stairs. The scent of pancakes tickled his nose. Mel noticed the syrup for the first time. He rubbed his throbbing head and spoke out loud.

"Is that syrup in the box?" Mel asked his son.
"Yeah Daddy," Happy answered, "That's what keeps the rats stuck. And I mixed butter with it, just like eating pancakes."
Mel took his hands away from his head. "So that's what all the bottles of syrup were for!"
"Yeah Daddy," Happy admitted shyly. "I hope you're not mad."
"Mad?" Mel felt shocked, "I'm amazed! I can't believe you did this! How did you know?"
Happy smiled showing his crooked dangling teeth. "I just knew I needed something sticky so I thought of pancakes and syrup. They're better when they're more warm and buttery."

The rats seemed to become more lively after the box was moved. Mel and Happy stood and looked into the box, both in awe of the event. The rodents made noise but they were still trapped. The boy engineered their prison well.

"I, I can't believe it," Mel released. "I don't know what to say."
"Do you like it?" Happy asked.
"Yeah, I like it," Mel laughed, "It's great! I didn't think you could pull something like this off."
Mel hugged his son and laughed some more. He coughed and hacked and caught his breath, not able to escape his age for the moment.

Happy pulled away and came back to his main concern.
"And we can go to the country and set them free!" Happy cheered. "That's the best part!"
Mel looked away from the box and to his son, beginning to understand. "Huh, what do you mean, Happy?"
"You said if we could trap them without hurting them you'd drive them to the country. Let's go!" Happy waited breathlessly for his reward.



Sorry folks I have to stop. I'm drained. This is almost over but I can't finish tonight. Maybe tomorrow.