THE TROUBLE WITH PEACE

 ONE

Dare Wistrom was a dark and handsome boy, who, when he smiled  (which was not often) could be quite engaging. He lived with his parents, John and Emily Wistrom, in a tiny community, near a deep wood, in Pennsylvania. They were, by one small road and one hour of driving, connected to the appurtenances of civilization. 

Dare's was a troubled past. His parents had brought him here, staking the future on a new beginning. Dare secretly felt that Jim and Ellen embodied the problems they thought they ran away from. He could not abide their smugness.

 Initially, he spent his free time exploring the wood, to shake away their influence. It was not a long time before familiarity and boredom overwhelmed him. He sought out and made acquaintanceship with a neighbor boy, named Robbie Johnson. Slow, awkward, Robbie Johnson. But, he became exasperated. He shortly rejected the boy and took to avoiding him. Then, an idea for a project formulated in his mind. He began to gather material at a wood clearing he had claimed for a sanctuary.

He was here, on a bright summer morning, working, by the time Mom had gotten started cleaning up from breakfast and Dad, in the den, began writing his weekly column.

He started, by sinking a post into the dirt. It was a soft earth, which he worked. Dad's posthole digger bit out heavy loads and dropped them, to form a huge pile on the side. When at last he had it standing and the ground stomped around it, the post was nearly immoveable.

The next step was an involved process, that required a measure of cleverness few boys that young could have mustered. In the end, he had a swivel and a crossbow, mounted on the top of his post. The swivel gave it a capability to aim at any point in the clearing, whether high or low. It was a masterwork, which lacked but the bolts to make of it a working instrument.

Right away, Dare set to work, smoothing and pointing a dozen straight tree branches. After ruining two, he learned how to notch the tail ends and put feathers in them, to stabilize the arrows.

Dinner time came early, to one busy in the deep wood. The boy held the final bolt, proudly, even as resolve faltered and his belly felt pangs of hunger. He placed the bolt on the contraption and pushed the notch against the already taught string. Dare aimed the bow slowly around, locking on imaginary foes, pretending to shoot, but moving on. Finally, he selected a stout young maple tree to become his first make believe casualty.

  Aiming carefully, Dare squeezed the trigger. He pulled it slowly, the way he had seen men shoot, in the movies. There was a loud twang and the bolt shot, true and deep, striking, inches below the first fork in the trunk, embedding itself too deeply for the boy to contemplate jerking it back out. He fairly danced in triumph. He selected a second bolt to load, thought better of it, and lay it back on the ground. He had finished, in all practicality, for the day. He felt reluctant to go home, but dinner outweighed other considerations. When finally he took up his tools, he directed his path to the fence running between the properties of Wistrom/Johnson.

                  Lush grass cushioned each purposeful stride, as he heard the neighbor’s dog barking, out of idleness, pining as it did for the return of his companion, Robbie. Robbie likely would be home, in late evening.

                   Dare found a rock and threw it in the dog’s general direction. The missile bounced harmlessly away. The dog moved off a few yards, but continued barking. Dare resumed his journey, anxious now to get home.

TWO

                   In transitioning from his domain to his parents’ domain, Dare’s demeanor shifted from cocky confident to moody quiet. He made for the kitchen. It was bright and warm in there, and he found Mom pulling a savory lamb roast from the oven. The meat smell made his belly growl.

                   “Wash up, sweetheart. It’s time to eat.”

                   Dare wordlessly went to clean his hands. He heard the sound of the

evening news, coming from the living room. It was an event Dad never missed. The boy was oblivious to the news, a fact that irked his parents. When they used little ploys to spark his interest, his eyes filled with a mix, of pity and contempt, for them. He was not entirely ignorant of events of the day. He knew as well as anybody that all the nations of the world had signed treaties, outlawing armed conflict. Not just did he consider that development a foolish pipe dream; he resented the endless gushing stories that the media repeated hundreds of times a day - as he had informed his parents on more than one occasion. The parents’ troubled frowns fed his defiance.

                   Dare positioned himself at the dining table. He sat quietly, reliving the events of the day. He became transfixed, only moving for Mom to set the table, although she had already asked him to do it. And then she broke in on his thoughts. “Where have you been all day?”

                   Dare shrugged. “Making a thing to play with.”

                   “Robbie hasn’t been home to play. How did you find enough to keep you out, all day long?”

                   “That's how long it took me to make it.”

                   “Ask your Dad to come in to dinner, please.”

                   “He won’t. The news is still on.”

                   “Ask him anyway.”

                   Dare went as far as the doorway. He leaned slightly in. “Dad, it’s time.”

                   Dad tilted his head, somewhat, without breaking away from the TV screen. “In a few minutes, son. If you wait a moment, they’re going to show the greatest pile of handguns and rifles you ever saw, getting bulldozed into a crater

sized hole and being buried.”

                   Dare balked. “I’ve got to comb my hair, now.”

                   Instead of combing it, he loitered in the bathroom a moment before returning to the dining room. Already the carved up roast lay on a platter in the table’s center and glasses of iced tea stood like sentries beside the plates. There were his favorite small peas and boiled potatoes. He plopped down in his seat. His stomach still was grumbling.

                   Mom took an exasperated look at her son. “You march into that bathroom and comb your hair before you sit at this table, mister.”

                   Dare sullenly returned to the bathroom. He listened to Dad in the living room, exclaiming over a story that had his blood up. “Those dirty - Man, I can’t believe this.”

                   Mom had finally to fetch Dad away from the television. “Hurry up. It’s on the table.”

                   “I’m, sorry. I’m coming.”

                   “It’s getting cold.”

                   “Coming, my dear.”

                    Dad tucked away his glasses as he approached the table. “This is wonderful, Emily; you’ve outdone yourself. Isn’t it wonderful, son?”

                    Dare nodded his head.

                    Dad took each of their plates, to pile on generous portions, passing them back. Mom and Dare sat quietly then, waiting for Dad to pray. He always began with the same supplication, but added an editorial at the end. “Lord, you know Emily describes herself as an unbeliever, and Dare is much too young to

make his own determination; nevertheless, we sit, humbled, by your love, and your forgiveness. Bless this food of which we are going to partake. Please watch over the world nations as we make this great transition, becoming instruments of peace for the first time since man’s very beginning. Today the Chinese were caught cheating on the weapons destruction program, hiding some missiles under remote villages somewhere in the north of China. Please see that these missiles are destroyed, dear God, and bring all the nations into total compliance. In your name we pray. Amen.”

                     Dad looked brightly around. “Let’s eat.”

                     Dad consumed his dinner with slowness and deliberation, while Mom ate in tiny nibbles. They both were astounded at the ravenous attack made by Dare on his plate. They had scarcely begun by the time he requested more.          

                     Dad held the plate over the table. “Just meat? Or do you want peas and potatoes?”

                     “Everything.”

                     “We don’t say ‘please’ anymore?”

                     “Please. Sorry, Dad.”

                       Dare stared vacantly into the dinner plate, while Dad told in detail the China news story. He went straight to his room afterward, perhaps hoping that Mom and Dad would let him alone for once. He emerged, to shower, then returned, ready for bed. Exhaustion was evident in his face.

THREE

                    He slept like the dead, that night, but, awakened with dawn’s earliest gleaming. The sun had yet to break through the trees, by the time he made his way back along the fence. Heavy dew smattered against his skin; his shoes were soaked by the time he approached the hollow where his invention rested.

                      He went to the eleven arrows, bundled them and leaned them against a small tree. He hesitated a second, then selected one and slid it into his pant leg. Off to the side lay a pile of sticks, potential bolts for when the need arose. He practiced swiveling and aiming at various targets, without loading.             

                      After a time, he backtracked along the fence and halted, across from the Johnson house. He lingered and watched the dark curtained windows. He scoured the ground for pebbles and shoved some in his pocket. He leaned upon the fence and focused again on Robbie’s house. When the first lights came on, he climbed over the top rail and sauntered toward Robbie's bedroom window.

                      The little dog ran to greet him: a rat terrier, with crooked legs and 

deformed teeth. Dare threw a rock to drive it away. With a stone, he tapped against the glass. There was a slow rustling, as of someone rising, perhaps slipping into some blue jeans, and then a form appeared against the thin curtain to slide open the window. Robbie thrust his head into the open air. He was still yawning and trying to get the sleep out of his eyes. He rubbed the eyes and they rolled a bit before coming to rest on the skinny youngster on the ground. “What do you want?”

                        “I have something I want you to see.”

                        “What?”

                        “I'll have to show you. Come outside and have a look.”

                        “Well -” Robbie’s huge mouth was yawning. He was an overgrown boy, eight months younger than Dare, but, much larger. “Give me some time to tell Mama, then, and I’ll be right out.”

                        Dare’s impatience was evident as he strode about in a circle. He paused, to take out a pebble and then sought Robbie’s dog. The wary animal, having read the boy’s intention, fled, just as the pebble came glancing through the grass. Dare threw a second time. His projectile went wild, striking the garage. He returned to the fence.

                         After an interminable wait, Robbie emerged, chewing a last bite of egg and biscuit. His tow hair needed combing and his tangled shoestrings hung wild. The dog pushed its nose against him, seeking attention. Robbie looked around, annoyed that he saw nothing. “What?”

                         “It’s not here, dummy. Come over on my side and I’ll show you.”

                         Robbie dutifully climbed the fence. He was constantly going out of his way to please this boy with whom he used to be close friends. He stepped down from the rail and watched Dare scale the fence also.

                        Robbie and the ugly rat terrier followed the quick stepping Dare to the hollow where the crossbow rested. Dare went right to it and loaded an arrow, as Robbie walked all around it, twice, obviously impressed. “Wow. You made it?”

                        “Nah; I found it growing in the woods.”

                        “Those things can’t grow in the woods. They can’t grow at all. I can see where it was carved and cut on.”

                        “I made it, okay? Let’s find a target. I’ll show you how this baby works.”

                       “That bow looks strong. How strong is it?”

                        “Look.”

                        Dare walked Robbie to the tree, where the bolt was firmly stuck.          

                        Robbie seemed then doubly impressed. “Look how far it stuck in. That bow’s strong, all right.”

                        “Watch this.”

                        Dare began demonstrating the bow’s range of movement. He kept selecting false targets, while the whole time eyeing Robbie’s dog, which was twenty yards off and hunching, in the act of defecation.

                         By the time Robbie perceived that Dare had decided to point the bolt at his dog, it was already being loosed. Dare exclaimed loudly. “Damn! Missed.”

                         The still dog moved off, stiff legged, straining to finish its business.                

                         Dare’s aim followed the pooch’s movement, so intent he was caught unaware by a sudden onslaught from Robbie. The greater boy seized him  from behind and flung Dare to the ground. He wisely chose to lie still, with the

debris of yesterday’s construction digging into his back. “Hey, what was that for? I didn’t go to shoot him. I just meant to scare him. No harm in that, is there? Anyway, I missed him a mile.”

                         “I don’t want you to shoot at him. He’s my dog and I won’t let you shoot at him.”

                         “I don’t want to hurt him. Back off, and I’ll show you.”

                         “All right, but, I get to have a turn to shoot a target.”

                        Dare loaded the crossbow for Robbie. “Here you go.” 

                         He stood away to allow Robbie to get his shot. The clumsy boy hastily swiveled the crossbow a few degrees, then sent the bolt aimlessly through the trees.

                         Dare crowded the bigger boy away from his contraption. “You dope. You wasted one of my arrows.”

                          Dare looked around as he reset the bow. He appeared undecided on a target, until a crow landed on a branch, less than thirty feet away. He took a long, studied, aim. The great black bird gawked at the boys, unafraid. Once, it hopped to a slightly higher branch, but that did not save it. Dare’s bolt caught the crow dead center, sweeping it off the branch. It plummeted, lifeless, to the ground, with the bolt soaring onward.

                           “I got it!” Robbie ambled gracelessly over and grabbed the carcass by a wing. “Good shootin’. That’s some good shootin’”

                             The tangle of crimson and black feathers were a magnet to the dog. It snatched away the remains and ran off, to stand by some brush and look back at Robbie. Robbie looked as though he would prefer it not to do that, but, he made no move to stop it.

                              Dare had already loaded the next arrow. He turned the bow on the dog yet again. Before Robbie could react, the bolt went flying. The dog yelped and vanished into the high growth. Turning livid, Robbie gobbled the ground in gigantic steps, collaring the smaller boy. “I told you don’t shoot at my dog. I told you an’ I’m gonna hurt you. I’m gonna make you sorry for shooting at my dog.”

                              The cloth ripped and Dare easily pulled away. Grinning, he ducked under Robbie’s thick arms and sprinted up the trail. He ran until he came to a fork that veered off toward the creek.

                              Robbie put on a surprising burst of speed that kept Dare in his sight. They trotted in close succession until they came to the trickling stream and then Dare plunged into a place along the bank where the growth was thick. He was small enough to duck under the hanging branches and slip through the heavy underbrush. Robbie had to push through by force of strength and weight. Though laboring to breath and with legs becoming leaden, Robbie showed no sign of slowing.

FOUR

                             John sipped his coffee, making a little slurping sound. He beamed at his wife. “You know, Emily, bringing Dare out here, and making this our retirement home, was the best thing we ever did. Dare hasn’t been in a bit of trouble. I believe he’s finally going to be all right.”

                              “It proves that the gangs back home were the real source of the trouble. I always knew our son could not be the monster our neighbors painted him to be.”

                               “By the time he starts back to high school this year, the past will be wholly forgotten. We have come a long way in eight months.” John emptied his cup and took a final nibble on his toast. Rising, he brushed the

crumbs into his hand and emptied them on the plate “I’m going to check the news. If you like, I’ll be glad to come and clean this up after I catch the headlines.”

                               “Don’t worry, dear. It’s just a few plates and cups and a little wiping. I’ll be in with some coffee.”

                             “Okay. See you in a bit.”

                               John could not resist lingering enough to mention the situation with China and a new twist that had come about. “China says the United States has more hidden weapons than it has. So now we’ll go a

round of accusations and both will have to prove themselves to the world community. The trouble with peace is, everybody may wish it, but, nobody is willing to give up enough to achieve it.”

                                Emily smiled her composed little smile. “I’m sure it will be all right in the end. We’ve come too far to turn around now.”

                                “I hope that is right.”

FIVE

                               Dare came upon a dead end, a place where a combination of rusty barbed wire and a stand of thick, shoulder high, growth formed an insurmountable barrier. He waited, watching his foe wade steadily in. Robbie’s entire body heaved with each breath. “Why did you try to hurt my dog? I didn’t want to fight with you except that you shot at my dog.”

                                Dare did not answer, but only snorted out his nose. His hand in his pocket gripped one of the pebbles that he had earlier gathered. When Robbie got into range, Dare slowly pulled the pebble out and held it like a baseball. He mouthed a single word. “Sucker.”

                                Robbie saw the stone coming and handily dodged it. His anger stoked anew, Robbie charged. A second pebble bounced off his temple. He stumbled, somewhat, feeling the wound, feeling warm blood on his fingers.            

                                Dare seized the moment to escape, slipping by and retracing his steps, not slowing until he once again reached the hollow, where rested the crossbow. He made it swivel in Robbie’s direction before pulling up his pant leg to retrieve the hidden bolt. By the time Robbie lurched into the picture, with the crimson patch across his face, both crying and raging, the bolt had been inserted and the bow set. Robbie lumbered, with one shoulder going up, the other going down. His eyes were gleaming little orbs with flesh folded around them. With complete disregard for the arrow, he raised his arms after the manner of an attacking grizzly bear. Dare carefully took his aim, and then released the bolt. Robbie’s mouth flew wide open. He looked at his murderer with disbelief, before he crumpled to the ground and sprawled on his back, the bolt straight and true through the heart.

SIX

                                 John shut down the television, smiling, with a smug, satisfied air. He gathered his and Emily’s cups. “You know, dear: utopia always seemed so far away; a fantasy, really. It’s hard to believe, it’s virtually here.”