Do Unto Others

His face pinched with concern. “Mark, why isn’t Mama in bed?” I asked, pulling the videotape out of my jacket. Alzheimer’s patients can be notoriously active at night, much to the annoyance of caregivers. We’d tried to control Mama’s nocturnal activities as much as possible, but Mark was a lax Mamasitter. “She wanted to watch TV.” Mark shrugged.

“I’ll bet.” I looked at the television. The VCR had taken flight.

“Where the hell is the VCR?” “Oh, it’s hooked up in your room. Sorry, I forgot. I’ll go get it-” “Never mind. You and Mama watch TV down here.” I ran up the stairs. “Junebug called, he wants you to call him as soon as you get home,” Mark yelled after me. I made a noise of acknowledgment, shut my door, and slid the tape into the VCR. I’d half expected the tape to show an unsteady walk through the Blalock property, like a press escort of a drug raid with narration: “And here we have some actual cannabis, grown by the alleged perpetrators…”

This wasn’t it. The scene that unfolded was a nature hike of sorts, but more along the paths of biology than botany. It started slow, an empty bedroom, spartan and unadorned, like you might find in a cabin.

I pressed the fast forward button, with great haste Tamma Hufnagel and Hally Schneider walked into view. It looked like the camcorder was somewhere above them, possibly on a tall bureau or bookshelf. I let go of the fast-forward. Tamma and Hally hugged, kissed, and disrobed with still a fair amount of speed, even without help from the VCR. “Oh, shit!” I said, half laughing with shock. They were not much into foreplay; it wasn’t long before they were sweatily making love. It appeared that they were not strangers; they handled each other with graceful familiarity. Tamma cooed his name a lot; Hally didn’t say much. Her mousiness had faded; she barked out sexual orders to him with the ease of command. I heard the doorbell ring and thought:

Junebug is going to find this fascinating. I pushed the fast-forward button, to see if there was anything else on the tape. I hadn’t gotten too much further when there was a crash and a scream from downstairs.

I flung the door open and ran down the stairs, nearly tumbling down them in my haste. My eyes took the scene in one glance: Mark lying on the floor, not moving, with blood welling from the side of his head;

Mama cowering on the couch, crying; and Tamma Hufnagel, standing in the middle of the room, steadily holding a gun aimed at my mother.

That gun swung around and the black eye of its barrel stared into my face. “Hands on your head, Jordy,” Tamma said with that same wavery voice of innocence she’d used with me when I talked to her at the church announcement board. I obeyed. “What’s this all about, Tamma?” I said. I was halfway down the stairs, and wondered if she wanted me to come the rest of the way down. I decided to wait for an invitation. I kept looking at Mark and his bloodied head. I saw his back heave the shallow motion of breath. Thank God. “You have something I want, Jordy,” Tamma insisted. Mousy brown eyes glared into mine. She didn’t exactly look a threatening figure in a dark sweatshirt with painted bluebonnets on it, jeans, sneakers, and a long denim jacket. “I don’t know what you mean,” I answered. “But that gun isn’t going to solve any problems. Put it down and let’s talk.” “No, thank you. Just give me the videotape that you took from Beta’s house.” “I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Look, you don’t have a lot of time for this,” she said, which I thought didn’t bode well for me. “You beat me into Beta’s house tonight. I peeked in the windows and saw you searching. After you left, I went into her house and found that carved-up Bible. It’s not hard to figure out what she hid there. I’d like it, please.” I opened my mouth and she saw the protest coming.

“Don’t make me shoot your mother in front of you, Jordy.” The gun stayed on me, but Tamma’s eyes flicked to Mama. I didn’t see much Christian mercy in them. “Okay, okay,” I yelled. “I’ll give you the tape. It’s upstairs. I’ll get it.” I turned and took one step up before she shouted at me. “No! You do what I say. You step on a crack, Jordy, and I’ll break your mother’s back. That’s how this works. You understand me?” “Yes.” She went over and pulled Mama to her feet. Mama went unprotestingly. Tamma took Mama’s arm and pressed the gun to Mama’s head. The barrel made a neat circle in her temple. “You see where this is, Jordy?” Tamma demanded. “We understand each other?” “We understand each other perfectly,” I answered calmly, and I thought: