The Caretaker of Lorne Field

It was more than two weeks after Bert had showed up at the field that Durkin started hearing noises. It was low at first, sort of a mechanical rumbling sound, but every couple of hours or so it appeared to get louder. The next day he started hearing men’s voices mixed with the mechanical rumblings, and the day after a bulldozer pushed through the path with a tractor following behind to roll over and flatten the ground. Both pieces of equipment stopped at the edge of the field. The driver of the bulldozer squinted hard at Durkin. “No one’s supposed to be here,” the man called out. He stepped out of the bulldozer and stood next to it with his hands on his hips, a baffled look on his face.

He was a square man with a pudgy face, who was either bald or had his hair cut close to the scalp-hard to tell which with the hardhat covering his head. Durkin didn’t recognize him and guessed he was from out of town. He pushed himself off his knees and onto his feet. It took him some time to straighten his back and for his head to stop swimming.

“No one’s supposed to be here,” the construction worker yelled out to him. “Get off the field!”

Durkin surveyed what he had done so far. While he had two-thirds of the field weeded, he had started from the other end and the field between him and the two construction workers was covered with four-inch Aukowies. As the scene fully registered on him and he saw the sneakers that one of the construction workers wore, he knew if the man stepped into the field he’d have his ankles sliced to ribbons. Durkin almost turned his back on him, knowing that if that were to happen it would convince the town once and for all what the Aukowies really were. He couldn’t do it, though. Sighing heavily, he tried waving the men away and yelled out in a voice that wasn’t much more than a hoarse croak for them to leave. He could see it wasn’t doing any good. The two workers just stared back at him with confused expressions screwing up their faces, one standing by the edge of the field, the other sitting on his tractor. Reluctantly, Durkin shuffled slowly over to meet them.

“You have any idea where you are?” Durkin asked. He peered at the man sitting on the tractor. He didn’t recognize him, either, but saw that the worker had taken out a cell phone and was talking hurriedly into it.

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The pudgy construction worker took a step away. Durkin saw the nervousness flash on his face and had a good idea what was behind it. He was afraid he was either dealing with a crazy person, or a contagious one.

“Ron,” the man on the tractor yelled out to his co-worker, “I made a call. Let’s just wait until some people show up, okay?”

Ron exchanged glances with his co-worker, then slowly backed up to his bulldozer and got into it. He sat with his arms crossed, his eyes small and piggish as he watched Durkin.

Looking at the way both men stared at him, Durkin could feel his temper slipping away. “You want to learn about where you’re at?” he heard himself asking them. “Just stick your hands in those weeds and you’ll learn all about Lorne Field.” He started to move closer to the bulldozer, but Ron made a shooing motion with his hands. “Just go back to what you were doing and stay away from me,” he said.

Durkin stumbled back on his heels, dizzy. He knew it was mostly his fever, a constant since hurting his ankle, but it was also partly not knowing what to do. He couldn’t fight either of those men, not in the condition he was in. And even if he could, what would be the point? The one in the tractor had already called the police. They were going to come and remove him from the field like they did his home. Then these two were going to be left to do God knows what. He broke out laughing then. A hoarse, aching sound that hurt deep in his chest. He noticed their reaction to it and it only made him laugh harder. So what, he thought. He was no longer Caretaker. This was no longer his problem. The hell with it. The hell with all of it. He took a couple of short, shuffling steps away from the field, then froze, slumping, his knees turning to jelly under him. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t just walk away. Not with only a week or so before first frost. He had no idea what else to do, so he made his way back to the Aukowies and continued his weeding.

It didn’t take long for Sheriff Wolcott to arrive down the dirt rode that the bulldozer and tractor had made. Wolcott stepped out of his jeep and started towards Durkin, who turned his head and saw with some disappointment that Wolcott was wearing boots. Durkin turned back to his weeding.

Wolcott walked up to Durkin and watched him silently. After a few minutes Durkin acknowledged him, muttering “Sheriff” half under his breath.

“Jack,” Wolcott said. “I had no idea where you had gone to. Don’t tell me you’ve been living out here all this time?”

“Ain’t against the law, is it?”