The Cat in the Hatbox

Chapter 3

Rose Wertheim didn't talk often and she didn't talk much, but on those rare occasions when she did, she more than made up for her periods of silence. The bombshell she dropped so unsettled Ed and Ernie that, after the two women agreed to join them that evening for a barbecue on Ernie's deck, and they went on to the golf course, the wheels came completely off their game. They played so badly, by the tenth hole they'd stopped keeping score, and by number fourteen, they quit in disgust and stormed off the course, much to the delight of a foursome behind them who either hadn't heard of the death in the community, or were so immersed in the game that they'd blocked it out.

Ed was still mulling it over in his mind at 6:00 that evening as he crossed the street to Ernie's house. He found his friend on his back patio, stacking charcoal briquettes on a large grill. Two plastic trays covered with aluminum foil sat on the picnic table at the edge of the patio. Ed put the case of Heineken beer he carried on the table next to the trays.

"Ice chest's under the table," Ernie said. "Whyn't you put a few cans in to get cool."

"They're already cool. I had them in the fridge. Want one?"

"I wouldn't say no."

Ed pulled the case open and extracted two cans. He opened one and handed it to Ernie and the other for himself. After putting his beer on the table, he took ten cans out of the case and, kneeling, put them into the red Styrofoam ice chest under the table, wiggling and jamming them down into the ice before putting the top back on the chest. Ed popped the tab on the can and took a long pull. After lowering the can, he wiped his lips and sighed. He looked at Ernie who was staring down at the orange flames licking at the lumps of charcoal. He had a sad look on his face.

"Why are you looking so down, bro?" he asked.

"Oh, I was just thinking about how tenuous life is. We're here one day and gone the next."

"You get all that from staring at burning charcoal?"

"No, man, I was thinking about Beatrice Terwilliger dying."

"Hey, people die, especially old people."

"Yeah, I know, but when it's someone you know it just kind of . . . hits home, you know."

"But, you hardly knew her, I don't think anyone here really knew her," Ed said. "She hardly ever came to the community center. I mean, I'm not sure I ever even spoke to her."

The flames died down, leaving the charcoal coated in white with smoke drifting up in lazy spirals. Ernie turned and began lifting the foil from one of the trays, revealing several small flank steaks. He began arranging them on the iron grill.

"You know what I mean, Ed," he said. "We might not have been close to her, but we knew her. Well, maybe we didn't exactly know her, but she was part of the community."

Ed did know what he meant, but he'd forced it from his mind almost as soon as he'd been told. It was something he'd long ago learned to do.

In January 1972, Ed was in his second year in the army. He'd missed out on being sent to Vietnam up to that time, had made corporal, and was looking forward to being sent to the Infantry School at Fort Benning, Georgia as a junior instructor, without ever having experienced combat. He was surprised, though, when his battalion sergeant major called him to headquarters and informed him that his transfer to Benning had been cancelled, and he, along with several other young noncommissioned officers, would report for duty with the 196th Infantry Brigade in Vietnam. President Nixon's Vietnamization program was set to be implemented the following year, but the peace talks in Paris were floundering, so it was decided that the 196th, one of few American units left in country, needed some fresh blood to provide security for the few bases left.