Leviathan

I

"But woe to you, O earth and sea, for the devil has come down to you in great wrath, because he knows that his time is short!"-Revelations 12:12 (ESV)

The day the storms broke was the day it all went to hell. I got up and got dressed, same as always. Ma was fussing at Ellie to hurry up and get ready for school and Pa was reading the paper. I sat down at my usual spot at the breakfast table, today marked by a book containing the complete works of Immanuel Kant. It'd cost me a good chunk of my pocket money I'd saved up before the paper mill laid me off, but it'd been worth it. The bookmark was a letter from a professor I'd contacted at Harvard a few weeks ago when I had some ideas of my own about the proper use of reason. He'd replied with some corrections and a bundle that contained a few slim volumes of philosophy, telling me, "I look forward to reading your thoughts on these works, Mr. Whitcombe."

I didn't think I'd suggested anything particularly brilliant, but I know enough to realize when a Harvard man starts complimenting you, you shut up and take it. I thumbed to my current place and read, holding the book in one hand while eating with the other, trying to make sure to keep them as far apart as possible.

"Boy, quit readin' and eat your breakfast," Ma chided.

"I am," I tried to choke out through a mouthful of biscuit.

Ma shook her head and Pa shot a disapproving look over the top of the paper. I replaced my letter-turned-bookmark and slid the book to where the table touched the wall. Pa's head gave the faintest jerk of approval. "Don't piss your ma off this early in the day," it said.

When I was done with breakfast I went and tended our two goats and the pig we'd been fattening up for a few months now. I'd taken to calling him Hambone, after where he was heading. I got back to the house just in time to see the dust settle from the rest of the family headin' out for the day. I cursed and kicked a rock. Hopefully Pa'd remember to talk to his crew chief about getting me hired on as another laborer. Weren't a damn bit of work in town, and God knows we needed it.

Ma and Pa were taking Ellie to her first day of school, driving the battered 1929 Model A truck they'd bought cheap two years ago. From the school Pa'd drive to Jefferson Street Tailors to drop Ma off before making his way to the dam Roosevelt was having built upriver.

As a young man fresh out of secondary school and the only boy my age within an hour's biking distance, I was as close to alone as I could be. Much as I appreciated the time to read at first, I'd come to dread it, though it'd only been a week since I'd been fired.

I was in charge of doing most of the monthly finances, so I knew where we stood on money for groceries. A little illegal venison on the table would do a hell of a lot to keep us from having to beg, or worse, accept charity. Tired of Kant, Plato, and listening to the radio, I grabbed my Remington shotgun and went to bag some game.

"Nate, your pa's just gotten that job with the Tennessee Valley folks, we can't afford for you to get caught poaching now," Ma had told me the other day.

Well, Ma, I thought, we can't afford not to eat, either.

The fall leaves crunched beneath my feet despite the soaking they'd endured the past few weeks. It was a good day to hunt. The air lay quiet and still, the sound of wildlife muffled in the steady dripping of rain off the pines.

I loved days like that, where the world seems to have just worn itself out and lies quiet, recovering from the lash of rain and roar of thunder.

As I entered the valley where I kept my year-round stand, distant cries reached my ears.

"Help me," came the pitiful call, so faint I could barely hear it.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" I shouted.