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Authors: Harold Schechter
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and newsweeklies across the nation. And ex-GI—a good-looking young man from New York City—has traveled to Denmark and undergone an operation that has transformed him into a woman. Eddie is fascinated by this story. Since childhood, he has often daydreamed about becoming a girl and imagined what it would feel like to have female sex parts instead of a penis. For a very long time, of course, his concept of female sex parts was exceptionally imprecise, based entirely on a crude illustration of human reproductive organs in a medical textbook he bought in Wisconsin Rapids. Recently, however, he has been able to study the private parts of several women firsthand. The expression on his face is a perfect mixture of lewdness and contentment as he thinks of these wonderfully intimate and exciting experiences.
When Eddie can’t find an interesting magazine article about cannibalism, grave robbing, Nazi war crimes, or sexual mutilation, he relies for entertainment on the local newspapers—particularly the Wisconsin Rapids Daily Tribune and the Plainfield Sun —searching their pages for stories about killings, car accidents, suicides, or unexplained disappearances.
And there is one other kind of news item he examines with great care and gratification.
He always makes sure to read—and, in certain cases, to tear out and save—the obituaries.
Having scraped the last of the pork and beans from the inside of his bowl, Eddie drops his magazine onto the floor and gazes up at his Trophies dangling from the opposite wall. Their presence comforts him a bit. Still, he feels very lonely tonight. He misses his mother.
He closes his eyes and listens for her. On several occasions since her death, he has heard her voice, quite clearly, telling him to be good. But tonight, he hears only the rattle of the branches in the wind and the mice scuttling across his kitchen floor.
Life in Plainfield has been painfully empty for Eddie since his mother was taken from him. He feels angry and resentful toward his neighbors, who repay his kindness with cruelty and deceit—teasing him, cheating him of his wages, borrowing equipment from him and never giving it back. True, there are exceptions. Some of the womenfolk in particular—like Irene Hill—treat him nicely from time to time, offering him a meal, letting him sit for a while in the living room with the family and watch Red Skelton on TV. But for the most part, Eddie feels friendless and bitterly alone.
Indeed, for a while after his mother’s death, he gave serious thought to selling the farmstead and getting as far away as possible. He no longer had any desire to work the place. He thought he would let it reforest itself, get whatever money he could for it, and move to a different part of the country, maybe even a different part of the world. But, in the end, he did not have the energy or the will to do anything.
Nothing has seemed real to him since she went away. He often feels as if he is living in a dream.
He has, in fact, had a number of strange experiences over the past few years—seen, heard, and even smelled such peculiar things that he sometimes thinks he is imagining them. Like the time last spring when he was squirrel hunting on his property. He suddenly had the strongest sensation that someone—or something—was watching him, and when he looked up at the trees, all the leaves were gone, and hunched on every branch was a black, slack-necked buzzard that glared at him with blood-red eyes.
Another time, as he was walking through a field, he glanced down at a pile of yellow leaves and saw a bunch of human faces peeking through it. They grinned at him evilly, and as he turned and ran away, he could hear their mocking laughter.
And then there is the miasma that rises from the ground and fills Eddie’s nostrils with a dizzying stench.
Eddie lies absolutely still and tries to visualize his mother’s face. For some reason, he can’t remember how she looked when she was younger.
When Eddie can’t find an interesting magazine article about cannibalism, grave robbing, Nazi war crimes, or sexual mutilation, he relies for entertainment on the local newspapers—particularly the Wisconsin Rapids Daily Tribune and the Plainfield Sun —searching their pages for stories about killings, car accidents, suicides, or unexplained disappearances.
And there is one other kind of news item he examines with great care and gratification.
He always makes sure to read—and, in certain cases, to tear out and save—the obituaries.
Having scraped the last of the pork and beans from the inside of his bowl, Eddie drops his magazine onto the floor and gazes up at his Trophies dangling from the opposite wall. Their presence comforts him a bit. Still, he feels very lonely tonight. He misses his mother.
He closes his eyes and listens for her. On several occasions since her death, he has heard her voice, quite clearly, telling him to be good. But tonight, he hears only the rattle of the branches in the wind and the mice scuttling across his kitchen floor.
Life in Plainfield has been painfully empty for Eddie since his mother was taken from him. He feels angry and resentful toward his neighbors, who repay his kindness with cruelty and deceit—teasing him, cheating him of his wages, borrowing equipment from him and never giving it back. True, there are exceptions. Some of the womenfolk in particular—like Irene Hill—treat him nicely from time to time, offering him a meal, letting him sit for a while in the living room with the family and watch Red Skelton on TV. But for the most part, Eddie feels friendless and bitterly alone.
Indeed, for a while after his mother’s death, he gave serious thought to selling the farmstead and getting as far away as possible. He no longer had any desire to work the place. He thought he would let it reforest itself, get whatever money he could for it, and move to a different part of the country, maybe even a different part of the world. But, in the end, he did not have the energy or the will to do anything.
Nothing has seemed real to him since she went away. He often feels as if he is living in a dream.
He has, in fact, had a number of strange experiences over the past few years—seen, heard, and even smelled such peculiar things that he sometimes thinks he is imagining them. Like the time last spring when he was squirrel hunting on his property. He suddenly had the strongest sensation that someone—or something—was watching him, and when he looked up at the trees, all the leaves were gone, and hunched on every branch was a black, slack-necked buzzard that glared at him with blood-red eyes.
Another time, as he was walking through a field, he glanced down at a pile of yellow leaves and saw a bunch of human faces peeking through it. They grinned at him evilly, and as he turned and ran away, he could hear their mocking laughter.
And then there is the miasma that rises from the ground and fills Eddie’s nostrils with a dizzying stench.
Eddie lies absolutely still and tries to visualize his mother’s face. For some reason, he can’t remember how she looked when she was younger.
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