the tree gone?” or, “Why doesn’t it fit there?” Ronnie didn’t ask anything. He just nodded seriously, and stared at Paul. He stopped rocking too. He just sat back, sipped at his milk and watched as Paul worked.
Wooster watched Ronnie for a few minutes. He was a good boy. It hurt Wooster to see Ronnie missing so much. But Ronnie didn’t seem to notice very often that he missed things. At least he rarely indicated that he noticed. Now and again he would look . . . wistful (at least that is what Wooster thought) . . . as though he longed for something that he knew he couldn’t get. But mostly he just matter-of-factly said things like, “I can’t do that because I can’t run fast,” or, “I’m not strong enough to do that,” or, “I’m not smart like that.” He knew his limitations, and just worked inside them. It was pretty mature for a kid branded “retarded,” thought Wooster.
The two sat and rocked and watched Paul in silence. And actually, though Wooster doubted he could convince most people, it was a pretty good show! Clearly, Paul was not a gardener. He may know how to invest money (he was a stock broker), but it was obvious he did not know about how to take a tree down. His saw seemed completely dull as far as Wooster could ascertain. And often, Paul just didn’t position himself correctly to place the optimum force on the blade as he worked. Consequently, he would misfire when trying to stroke the blade along the bark. Or he would bend the saw. It was rather hilarious to watch, and Wooster found himself grinning at the misfortune of his friend. He looked over and saw that Ronnie was looking at him and grinning too. He doubted that Ronnie knew what he was grinning about, but if Wooster was happy, Ronnie was happy.
Wooster winked and said, “This should be good when he gets to digging that stump out eh?”
Ronnie grinned a huge grin and answered, “Yeah.”
It was probably ten o’clock by the time the branches were off the tree. Late enough in the morning that Wooster could break out the licorice. Ronnie loved the red licorice. His folks had said to Wooster that it was all right to give it to him too. Ronnie was interesting in that he was very controlled about food. A lot of kids just eat and eat until they are over stuffed. Even the very smart ones would do that sometimes. But Ronnie never did. Wooster could open one of those big ol’ tubs of licorice, set it down between them, and know for a fact that Ronnie would not eat more than five pieces. Oh now and then he’d have more. But just as often he’d have less. He just ate till he felt it was enough, and it was never gluttonous. Again, pretty mature for a kid with some mental problems, noted Wooster.
Wooster looked at Ronnie. Ronnie looked back and smiled. Wooster clicked his tongue and said, “You feel like some licorice?”
Ronnie’s eyes brightened and he said, “Yeah.”
Wooster said, “You know where it is right?” He asked this question every time. Most times Ronnie did know. But now and then he would stare back blankly as though he’d never gotten the tub himself. Wooster just chalked it up to a quirk in his brain that made him forget now and then. This morning Ronnie nodded and said, “I remember.” He slid off the rocker and stood there watching Wooster, waiting for the cue.
Wooster would not have minded if Ronnie had scampered off into his house and rummaged around in the kitchen on his own. But Ronnie never did. He would always wait until Wooster gave him the go ahead. He nodded to the boy and said, “Why don’t you fetch it for us? Go ahead.”
Ronnie smiled and walked to the screen door. He fumbled with it for a second, then disappeared into the house. A minute later he returned carrying the tub of licorice like it was a gold statue from an Egyptian tomb. He treated everything he touched with great care. Wooster thought the boy had probably broken things in the past and after a scolding or two took it upon himself to be diligent with everything he touched. Even plastic tubs.
Ronnie didn’t set the tub down. He brought it over to Wooster and stood there waiting for him to take it. Wooster did, and Ronnie turned and crawled back into his rocker. He showed no rush or extraordinary eagerness other than a smile and the fact that his eyes followed Wooster as he opened the tub. Wooster then set it down between them, and pulled a few pieces from it. He handed a couple to Ronnie, and kept one for himself.
Ronnie took them. He folded one over and jammed it into his pocket. The other he began to eat slowly as Wooster did.
The first time Ronnie had gotten licorice from Wooster, he had eaten it down pretty fast. Wooster didn’t say anything, knowing that most kids did that. But after Ronnie finished wolfing his pieces down, he watched Wooster eat. Wooster coddled his licorice. He’d suck it a bit to soften it. Then he’d chew a bit. He just savored it as his one vice. He’d had a sweet tooth for red licorice for years.
After that, Ronnie never wolfed his licorice again. Ever. He would eat it like Wooster. At first it was funny. The boy seemed to actually be trying to imitate just what Wooster did. But after a while he just ate it slowly, as though he liked it that way. And why not? It made your five pieces last longer!
The two sat and ate their licorice slowly as Paul began to saw at the trunk of the tree with his dull bow saw. It was comical! The trunk was about seven inches in diameter where Paul was sawing it; about three feet off the ground. A bow saw is just not the right tool for the task though. It kept twisting on him. And the trunk would squeeze down on the blade harder and harder the farther Paul got into the wood, until he had to tug it loose and try sawing in a different place, lining up the cuts so they would meet somewhere in the middle. That, of course, almost never worked just right. Wooster had been there, done that. Even with a chain saw it often didn’t work.
Paul was one of those talkers. Some men work silently. They just do their work. Wooster’s dad was that way, sort of. He would make noises from time to time. Grunts and sighs, whistles, and quick in-drawn breaths. But he never actually talked much. His thing was his tongue. He’d stick it out when the work got hard. You could tell it was not a good time to interrupt dad when the tongue was out. He’d probably yell at you! Some men need to talk though. They usually talk at whatever they’re working on. Asking questions of the project, stating philosophical truths. It could be funny to Wooster. It was like they expected inanimate objects to answer back!
Paul was talking now. Talking to the tree, “C’mon you. Why are you doing this? Why won’t you cut through? C’mon! C’mon!”
Wooster was smiling when he said to Ronnie, “Sounds like Mr. Compton is having a few troubles doesn’t it? That tree has a mind of its own.” Wooster never talked down to Ronnie. He just talked to him like he would anyone else. If the boy understood the subtleties of the conversation, well and good. If he didn’t, then maybe he would learn something. Wooster wasn’t going to act differently with Ronnie just because he was retarded. Wooster figured Ronnie was like everyone else: He’d understand what he could, and either ask about or ignore the rest. It worked fine for them both. Sometimes Ronnie asked a question, sometimes he just sat.
Ronnie nodded at Wooster and said, “It sure does.” Wooster didn’t know if Ronnie knew what the troubles were or not. Ronnie didn’t ask anything this time.
“You dang tree! C’mon!” Paul snarled it.
Wooster openly giggled. He was not mocking Paul. It was more in sympathy. He’d been in the same type of situation many times in his life. Maddening situations where you wanted something to go a certain way, and it seemed to fight you on every step. It was easy to laugh about when you weren’t the one fighting the tree. Still, that was life. Sometimes you were the laugher, sometimes you were the one fighting the tree. Wooster and Ronnie got the good side of the coin this day.
Ronnie said, “What’s funny?”
Wooster turned to him and said, “Nothing.
