THE DUCKS

By Susan K. Droney
 

Joe Butcher stumbled slowly; shoulders slightly slumped, until he reached the end of the path. He shielded his eyes and looked across the vast glimmering pond.  He squinted.  There they were.  A smile broke across his face.  He waved his arms like a wild man.  They were his friends, the only friends he had left in this cold miserable world.  But he didn't want to think about that now.  This moment here, right now in time, was his sanctuary.

Keeping his eyes glued on them, he pulled a few slices of bread from his pocket.  They would come, but not until their leader gave the order. He'd given them all names, but the leader was his favorite.  He named her Sally--after his late mother, a take-charge kind of woman who had never waited for anyone to do her bidding, but became the leader in almost everything in which she had been involved. He'd held his mother in the highest esteem.  There seemed to be no impossible undertaking for her.  She had been a strong woman, the strongest he'd ever known.

He watched Sally's webbed feet as she waddled towards him, squawking as her eyes beheld the customary feast in his hands.  He laughed as she drew closer.  "Look what I have for you, Sally." 

She grabbed the bread from his hand.  The other ducks stood behind her until she had had her fill, then waited as she stepped aside before hungrily devouring the remains.

For the past six months, Joe had sought answers for this strange behavior, but could come up with no logical explanation. It didn't make sense.  He poured over books in the library and traveled to several duck ponds, but the ducks there didn't react like Sally.  He watched as her followers finished eating, then looked to Sally.  She eyed him cautiously, then rounded up her group and led them back to the other side of the pond.

Joe sat on the grass pondering his life, a life that no longer held any meaning or value to him. He was frightened.  He was glad his mother wasn't here to see the failure he'd become.  She would've been disappointed.  He had nowhere to go or no one to turn to. He absentmindedly pulled at the grass, wondering how his life had become so screwed up. He'd had no warning, but a nagging emotion made him realize that what he was now going through was what he had done to many others throughout his career. He'd never given a second thought to any of the employees who'd passed through his office door, pleading with him for their jobs. "Downsizing," he told them, and then closed their files without giving them a second thought. He'd ignored their pained eyes as his own eyes bore like arrows through them. He loved the power he lorded over every one of them. Now he wondered what had become of them and where their lives had taken them.

What about Mary Wilkins, the middle-aged mother trying to raise her family as the sole breadwinner after her husband's young life was tragically snuffed out years before? Had he even cared how she would feed her children?  And then there was Cody Lawrence, a boy fresh out of college.  He'd given up a lucrative position with another firm after Joe promised him a secure position, but Joe abruptly changed his mind and sent Cody packing after six months. Then there were the countless others who, once nearing retirement, were suddenly snatched from their jobs and their financial security pulled from them too old to start over.
 
Yes, now Joe remembered the pained and frightened eyes as he listened briefly to their stories, and then curtly dismissed them from his office and from his thoughts. After all, he reasoned, they weren't his problem.  They could find positions elsewhere, but how many had been able to? How many had been pushed over the edge?  He'd read a few obituaries in the papers, but still, he took no responsibility reasoning that they were weak and his company was better off without employees like them. How many of them had ended up like he now was--alone and frightened? 

He didn't let his wife, Stella, know how bad things really were, but he suspected she knew they were in some kind of financial trouble. He could never tell her just how deeply. He'd refinanced the house and cashed in most of his life insurance policies just to keep her in the lavish life style to which she'd become accustomed in their thirty years of marriage.

His eyes narrowed recalling the conversation six months ago with the president of his company. He'd smugly assumed he was getting a much-deserved promotion, but instead he was handed the familiar pink slip and told it was no reflection on his work with the company, but downsizing. He'd felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach.  It had taken him all night, and it wasn't until he'd climbed in bed next to Stella, that he broke the news to her. She wasn't worried and cheerfully assured him that with his qualifications he'd get more offers for employment than he'd know what to do with. However, her prediction had failed to come true. Still, everyday, when he returned from pounding the pavement, she'd say the same thing.  "Tomorrow you'll find a job, Joe.  Don't worry." But worry he did until his once ruddy, broad face had shrunken and become drawn.

His two grown sons had offered financial support, but Joe wouldn't hear of it.  It wasn't right for parents to take from their children.  He'd always been the provider for his family and his pride would never change that. He'd exhausted his supply of job contacts. He witnessed the worried looks in his once-competitors' eyes. They knew that what happened to Joe could happen to them without warning.  There was no security to be found in this cold harsh world. He'd given his all to the company and this was how he was repaid.

He rubbed his eyes as the guilt of by gone years tormented him. He couldn't sleep much at night, instead lay in bed tossing and turning until the light of day forced him out of bed and back out on the streets. When he did manage to snatch a few moments of slumber, dreams tormented him. The haunted eyes of the men he'd fired passed before him like an endless parade. He conjectured that that was how his eyes must now look like to others when he pleaded in desperation for a job. He knew how his previous employees had felt when their security had been jolted from them. God, he knew how they felt.

Sometimes he thought he was losing his mind believing that even Sally lately seemed to eye him with those same haunted eyes. At the end of each day, he walked into the kitchen, shook his head no to Stella, then grabbed a few slices of bread from the breadbox and walked down to his pond. A few times Stella had offered to join him. He lovingly explained that this was the time of day he needed to be alone to gather his thoughts together for the next day. She softly kissed his cheek as he left through the back door always with the same bright, optimistic comment that things would be better tomorrow. He noticed the strange look in her eyes assuming it was worry, and patted her hand, assuring her that everything would work out. But with each passing day he knew time was running out. 

Tomorrow he would pick up his last unemployment check.  He was too young to retire and since he'd exhausted all of his financial resources, he had nothing left. It was all gone. He'd thought about selling the house and land, but he couldn't bear to give up his duck pound. He'd only managed to wander down to the pond a couple of times a month because his work had consumed so much of his waking hours, but after he was let go from his job, it became his daily routine. He knew that Stella spent most of her mornings with the ducks and now he knew why. They gave a peace and serenity he couldn't explain.

That night he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.  Sleep refused to come, so he climbed out of bed.  He made coffee and sat at the kitchen table, scribbling figures in a book.  If worse came to worse, he'd have to sell out.  Maybe Stella wouldn't mind moving. They had some day planned to retire to Florida. Stella hinted over the past couple of years, though, that they might be better off staying right where they were. After all, she reasoned, what more could they want?  They had their beautiful pond and their ducks.
 
He would have to persuade her to move. There was nothing else he could do. They had friends in Florida.  Well, Stella did so it wouldn't be so bad. If they were careful with the funds they received from the house, they could make it. Maybe he could find a part-time job. Stella's friends might have some connections. Friends were something Joe now wished he'd spent time cultivating instead of putting all of his devotion into his work. He knew he wasn't a very well liked man and had driven his loyal employees relentlessly before giving them the ax. He'd never praised them or thanked them for a job well done instead acting like they owed him for their meager paychecks. He maintained the same attitude outside of the office. He saw waitresses literally cringe when he walked into the local diner.  Yes, he'd earned himself quite a reputation as a cold hearted ruthless bastard who cared about no one but himself, a reputation that had now turned on him. He wished he had it all to do over again. He'd certainly be a different man, but it was too late. No one cared about him and he heard the cruel whispers behind his back. No one understood why someone as sweet and kind as Stella had stayed with him all these years, but she had and he'd never questioned it. Love was strange.

He'd lorded his power and authority over his employees and now he walked in their shoes and didn't like the fit. He closed his eyes, but popped them open again when the haunted eyes invoked his memory. He slammed his fist on the table.  Mr. Perkins had looked at him the same way Joe had looked at those men and women. Perkins had given him no compassion or sympathy, just a cold, uncaring look as he dismissed Joe from the company and his thoughts. The company didn't give a damn what happened to him now. They cut him free and tossed him out on his ass.

He didn't wait for Stella to get up, but scribbled her a quick note telling her he wanted to get an early start.  He walked slowly down the busy streets, looking at others hustling to get to their jobs.  He envied them…every one of them; even those with jobs he'd always felt were beneath him. He felt nothing but the pain of shame and humiliation knowing what people were thinking and saying behind his back. No one pitied him. Why should they?  He got what he deserved.  What goes around comes around.  He would feel the pangs of poverty and know what it felt like to go without.  He swallowed hard.  He wanted to cry. Now wouldn't that give everyone something to talk about? Joe Butcher walking around Main Street crying his eyes out. They'd think he was having a nervous breakdown. 

He walked for hours, then headed back to his house. He laid the check on the table.  Stella looked at him, but didn't say a word. Did she know this was the last check?  Did she suspect something?  He'd tell her later about his plans to sell the house, but not now.  He needed to get down to the pond, to his friends.  Was it his imagination or was Stella staring oddly at him?  She didn't make her usual comment.  In fact, she kept silent, but the strange look in her eyes gave him an eerie feeling. He shook it off as a case of nerves.

He smiled as Sally and her gang headed toward him, waving as they neared, then put his hand into his pocket. Oh no!  He'd forgotten the bread.  Sally was inches away from him, squawking as she looked toward his empty hand.  He watched as she stopped, then turned to her followers.  After a few seconds she turned back to him.

Joe's stomach lurched when he looked into her eyes.  He'd never seen Sally's eyes so filled with hatred.  "Sorry, Sally," he hoarsely whispered. "Let me go back to the house and get some." He sensed that Sally knew that if he went back to the house he would never return. He backed away as she neared, her evil eyes boring into his. He ran, but stumbled at the edge of the hill, then screamed when he felt flesh being torn from his forearm. No one could hear his terrorized screams. This was the price he paid for his solitude.

The ducks were all over him now, pecking at every part of his body. He shrieked as pieces of flesh were ripped from him and rolled onto his back, trying to shield his face, but all he could see were dozens of eyes staring back at him, eyes filled with coldness and hatred. Those were the same eyes with which Stella had looked at him earlier, the eyes with which he had looked at everyone else. The ducks covered him.  He couldn't breathe.  Blood gushed from his body; he tasted it on his lips. He was growing weak.  He slowly opened his eyes and saw Sally's staring at him. He'd seen those eyes so many times before. Those were the eyes of Stella. His screams pierced the quiet countryside. He had to make Sally understand.

Stella stirred her cup of tea.  She smiled brightly as she looked at the life insurance policy she'd taken out on Joe two years ago.  She tossed the notebook Joe had fervently been scribbling in this morning to one side. "No one will take the power from me," she said with a broad smile.

She stood up and peered out of the window. Terror engulfed her as she watched Joe bloodied and weak, coming up the path holding Sally in his arms. As they neared, she saw blood dripping from Sally's bill. But it was the eyes of Sally that frightened her.