The Caretaker of Lorne Field

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Well, maybe not, but I’ve missed you, dad.”

“I’ve missed you too, son.” Durkin took a step back so he could see his son. Bert was trying hard to smile but couldn’t stop looking worried.

“Where are they keeping you?” Durkin asked.

“In a foster home over in Eastham. If they knew I did this I’d be in big trouble,” he said, his grin turning sheepish.

“Eastham? That’s a long way from here. At least twenty miles.”

“It took me all morning to ride my bike here,” Bert said, now proud of his crime.

“You ain’t supposed to see me, huh?”

Bert shrugged noncommittally.

“What’s this foster home like?”

“It’s okay.” Bert looked down and kicked at the dirt. “Lester’s there with me. All he does all day is try to play video games with one hand and look at dirty pictures on the Internet.”

“Son, I didn’t hurt your brother. Whatever he’s saying, it ain’t the truth.”

“I know, dad. Lester’s a weasel. He only said that stuff because he doesn’t want to become Caretaker.”

“What makes you say that?” Durkin asked. “Lester tell you that?”

“No, he doesn’t tell me anything anymore. But I know what a lying weasel he is. And that’s why he said those things.”

Durkin looked away from his son and towards the Aukowies growing in Lorne Field. “When you see Lester you tell him to tell the truth. He don’t have to be Caretaker.”

“I will, but I don’t know if it will do any good.”

“Just tell him.” Durkin took a deep breath. “Why don’t I show you how to weed them. You can help me.”

“Sure, dad.”

Weeks ago when Durkin had gone through the boxes left on the front yard of the Caretaker’s cabin, he found an extra pair of work gloves and brought them with him. Now he asked Bert to go back to the shed for them. Bert did as he was asked. The gloves were several sizes too big for him, and given how thin and slight Bert was, they made him look like a cartoon character. Almost like Mickey Mouse. But they would do. As they walked back to where the Aukowies were growing, Durkin took short, shuffling steps, trying hard not to grimace. He could feel his son’s eyes on him. He turned towards Bert and smiled, the questions plain on his son’s trusting face. About the way he was walking and how he was sweating so profusely and the fever that was burning brightly on his face and how thin and emaciated he had become.

“I’m okay, son,” he said. “Just a couple more weeks of weeding and first frost will be here. I’ll be able to rest then.”

They walked quietly to the waiting Aukowies. “Stand back, son,” Durkin said. “If you look carefully you can see their little faces. When they’re bigger, there’s no mistaking those evil grins of theirs. But even now you can see them.”

“I-I think I can see it,” Bert said.

Durkin pointed a finger at the nearest one. “Right there, see the way it’s looking at us. It’s hoping we’ll think it’s just a weed, but it’s watching us. You can see its little slit-eyes and grinning mouth and horns. You see it, Bert?”

“I see it, dad.”

“Listen to the sound it makes when I kill it.”

Durkin pulled the Aukowie from the ground and then looked hopefully over at Bert. “You hear it?”

“I-I’m not sure. What’s it supposed to sound like?”

“They scream when they die. Sometimes it takes a while before you’re able to hear, but just keep listening for it.”

“Try another one, dad.”

Durkin pulled another Aukowie out of the ground.

“I heard it,” Bert said, his eyes focused off into the distance, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I heard it scream.”

Durkin felt proud as looked at his son and knew he was telling him the truth. It brought back memories of the first day his own dad had taken him to Lorne Field. “Kind of what you’d imagine a dog whistle would sound like if you could hear it,” he said.

“That’s exactly how it sounded!”

“You want to help me, son? You can push the wheelbarrow while I weed them.”

“Sure, dad.”

“Now, don’t be alarmed, but I’m going to get on my knees. It’s just easier for me that way right now. My back’s been hurtin’ a little, and so’s my ankle, but it’s nothin’ serious.”

Durkin got down on all fours and started pulling out Aukowies and handing them to Bert so he could put them in the canvas sack. “Be careful how you hold those. Even though they’re dead, the fangs on them are razor sharp.”

“I’ll be careful.”

As Durkin weeded, he explained to Bert how he felt for the right angle on the Aukowies so they’d come out easily and not break off in the ground. Looking at his son’s face, he knew Bert was picking it up.

“I’m going to be the next Caretaker, won’t I, dad?”

“I’m afraid so,” Durkin said, his voice growing even more hoarse. “There’s no way around it.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t, son,” Durkin said. He wished that there was some other fate possible for his boy. He could feel the weight of his son’s future pushing down hard inside his chest. Without looking at Bert, he asked if he’d seen his ma.

“She’s trying to get us back with her,” Bert said softly. “She visits every other day with a social worker.”

“Where she’s living?”

“Mom’s got her own apartment.”