Like A Hole In The Head

     "For why I am a mess. You see, he wanted a boy. He was set on it. When he got me, he just refused to accept me as a girl and I couldn't have been more girl. He always made me wear trousers. He always expected me to do the things boys do. Finally, he realised it was hopeless, then he dropped me . . . ignored me. All the time I was struggling to get some love from him. To me love is important." A long pause, then she asked, "Don't you think so?"

     "I wouldn't know." Timoteo's voice was suddenly flat. "I've been brought up in a different way. Didn't your mother give you love?"

     "She died when I was born. How about your mother?"

     "Women don't count in the Brotherhood. I scarcely ever saw her."

     "Brotherhood? What's that?"

     "A way of life . . . something we don't talk about." Again there was a long pause, then he said, "You said you're in a mess. Why do you say that? I don't think so."

     "I'm in less of a mess than I was, but I'm still messy. I have no confidence in myself. I feel inadequate. I scare easily. I almost die if there's a thunderstorm. I was much worse before I met Jay. You mustn't think because he shouts and scowls he isn't kind and understanding. He is . . . anyway, you'll find out. I don't know why I'm talking like this." She laughed. "You looked so depressed and worried, the same way I know I look sometimes, I just couldn't help sounding off."

     "I appreciate it, Mrs. Benson."

     "Please call me Lucy. After all you're going to live with us. I know we're going to be friends." A pause, then she asked, "Is that your rifle?"

     "Yes."

     "Can I try it? Jay never thinks of letting me shoot. He's a marvellous shot. I've often wondered what it is like to be able to shoot so well. Will you show me how to shoot, Tim?"

     "I don't think Mr. Benson would like that."

     "He wouldn't mind. Besides, he's busy trying to fix the car. Please show me."

     She must have picked up the rifle because Timoteo said sharply, alarm in his voice, "Be careful. It's loaded."

     "Show me."

     "I'm no good at it. I don't think . . . I think we should wait for Mr. Benson."

     "You must be better with it than I am. I'm not going to wait. I'm going to try. What do I do?"

"You'd better not."

"I'm going to."

     Lucy had never fired a rifle. She might kill him. He might kill her. I started forward, then stopped. She was handling him better than I could. This was a risk that might pay off.

     I heard him say, "Wait! You're holding it too loosely. You must hold it hard against your shoulder. The recoil can hurt if you don't. Don't you think we'd better wait . . ."

     "Like this?"

     "Harder against your shoulder. Lucy, please . . . you shouldn't . . ."

     Then the rifle went off. I heard Lucy squeal.

     "It hurt!" She was all feminine now.

     "You've hit the target!" His high-pitched voice showed his excitement. "Look !"

     "I meant to." A pause. "It's not bad, is it for a first shot. Now, you try."

     "I'm no good at it."

     "Tim Savanto ! If you can't do better than me you should be ashamed." She was laughing at him and her voice offered a feminine challenge.

     "I don't like guns."

     "I'm going to try again."

     A long pause, then the rifle cracked.

     "Oh !"

"You let the sight drop as you fired. I saw it. Let me try."

     "I bet you don't do any better." There was a friendly jeer in her voice. "I bet you a nickel. Are you on?"

     "I'm on."

     Again there was a long pause, then the rifle barked.

     "Oh, you stinker !" Lucy's voice was indignant. "You said you couldn't shoot ! You've stolen my nickel!"

     "I'm sorry." He was actually laughing. "It was a fluke. Forget the bet ! I wouldn't have paid if I had lost . . . honest."

     I decided it was time to walk in on this scene. I backed off silently, then started to the gallery whistling softly to herald my approach.

     I entered the gallery. The moment I walked in, I felt the relaxed atmosphere change. Timoteo was holding the rifle. At the sight of me, he became transfixed. Fear jumped into his eyes and he looked like a dog expecting to be kicked. Lucy was sitting on one of the benches, her face a little flushed, her eyes sparkling. When she saw me, the sparkle died and she looked hopefully at me as if asking for my approval.

     "What goes on?" I asked, grinning at her and I was conscious my grin was a little fixed. "Don't tell me you've been shooting."

     She played up to me, but it didn't quite jell.

     "Of course . . . and I've hit the target. You're not the only shot around here, Mr. Big-shot. Look . .

     Ignoring Timoteo, I looked at the distant target. There was a hole on the outer ring and another hole by the outer bull.

     "Hey . . . hey ! That's shooting," I said. "The inner's a good one !"

     "You would say that ! You men stick together. That's his. Mine's the outer one." Even to me the dialogue sounded terrible. I turned to Timoteo and grinned at him.

     "You see? It's not so tough, is it? That's a good start. Go ahead. We have all the ammunition in the world." I turned to Lucy. "I've got a gun that'll fit you. Do you want to shoot with him?"

     She hesitated, then nodded.