Failure's Art

They had Little Billy tied up in the basement when the doorbell rang.

"It’s them!"

"I can’t go South again–not again!"

"We have to do something!"

"I’m not going South, you hear me?"

At this point, Little Billy began to cry–a low moaning crescendo becoming a cacophonous howl.

"They’re going to hear him, what are we going to do?"

"I can’t go South, I can’t. I just can’t go South."

Tears began to form around the corner of Sid’s eyes; his long eyelashes seemed even longer when wet. Pacey continued to pace around the foyer, mumbling.

"I just can’t. Not again. Not ever."

"Well, we sure as hell will go South if you don’t help me think of what to do with Little Billy!" Sid was not openly weeping, but the tears were coming down now, the hint of desperation not so subtle anymore. Pacey stopped. He gave an incredulous look at Sid, as if realizing for the first time the real possibility of going South. Little Billy yowled violently. The doorbell rang again.

"Why didn’t we get a muzzle for him? We could have bought a muzzle from some pet store on the way back, I’m sure it would work. We just can’t deal with them if Little Billy is free to howl and wail as if Judgment Day has come!"

"We didn’t have time to get a muzzle! We should have gotten the muzzle before we started the operation!" Pacey said, the fear of going South bleeding through his eyes as he spoke. Sid was weeping now, his frail body rattling as he buried his face in his hands. Sid looked like some skeleton resurrecting itself.

"Sid, stop it! You’re worse than a woman!" Pacey checked himself— they might hear him if he yelled too loudly. He couldn’t go South, and now Sid was going to send both of them there. Little Billy’s moans abated. The doorbell rang, followed by knocking. A thought occurred to Pacey.

"Sid, listen to me!" It was a hushed yell. In two steps, Pacey was shaking Sid’s limp shoulders.

"I have an idea but you have to listen to me!" Sid looked up at him, tears all over his face, in a sort of grimace that only people who are crying can attain.

"This is what you’re going to do. Go down to the basement and calm Little Billy down, and I’ll handle whoever is at the door [Pacey suddenly began to deny that it was them who were at the door.]. I’ll give you a signal—it’ll be something like, well, there’s nothing down in the basement—when you hear that, hide Little Billy and yourself, and then we won’t go South!"

The thought caught Pacey by surprise, and there was a moment when he suddenly felt free. He was far away from this run-down, two-story house, from Sid, from this failed "operation," and especially from Little Billy. He was on the shores of Africa, on the pinnacles of the Alps, and in the basins of Death Valley. He was everywhere and nowhere, with no responsibility and no liability. He was absolute.

The knocks on the door now, vicious and constant, brought him back. Pacey released the nodding, contorted grimace. Despite the exigent circumstances, Sid shuffled past the stairs over to the basement door. Sid looked back at Pacey, rubbed his nose and his grimace with his entire palm, rolled his neck, and then opened the door to the basement and disappeared.