Village Squire, 1980-11, Page 15Three of the five pellets had drawn
blood. It trickled from the harmless
looking dimples over the transparent
white flesh of Tony's calf. He sat on a
spruce log and picked out the shot with
the point of his pen -knife, winced. with
each probe, cursed under his breath, and
then held the tiny object up for a
squinting examination before tossing it
aside in disgust.
"Goddam stupid!" He looked up at
Billy who stood nervously watching.
"Goddam stupid, if ya wanna know the
truth."
Billy flushed. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry."
"What's 'at?" Tony asked as he
squeezed the fourth wound into a ridge
and proceeded to work on it. Blood oozed
under the pressure and Tony brushed it
aside with the blade.
. . . said I was sorry," Billy
mumbled.
"It's me that's stupid, kid. I know
better'n to hunt parallel."
"I'm not a kid exactly, you know. I've
got a licence."
Tony looked up and then lowered his
head again to his task. "Sure. Don't know
what I could' a been thinkin'."
Billy watched while his father's friend
removed the last pellet, the most deeply
embedded and painful of the five.
"There's the bugger." He held the
offending little ball up for Billy to see.
"You wanna keep it? Like a souvenir of
your first hit."
"I hit the partridge first!" Billy lied.
"Ah. Right. I don't seem to pe able to
get anythin' straight today."
"But I was - too close. You know. It
sort of - just - you know."
"Sort of just, like, exploded, eh?"
"That's right." Despite the harsh
October wind, Billy's back was dripping.
"Into a million little bits?"
"That's right." Billy said.
Tony nodded and pulled down the leg
of his trousers. He wiped the blade clean
on his thigh and then used the point to
pick between his teeth. "Yeah. I guess
only a broad could miss with a 410 at that
range."
Billy forced a laugh against his anger.
Tony pushed himself to his feet and
tested the leg. "Seems okay," he said.
He picked up his gun and tried its heft
with one hand. "You wanna try it with a
22, though. Get'm in the head, right
between the eyes so it doesn't mess up
the meat. Then you're a hunter an' you
got proof in case some old sonofabitch
like me wants to go callin' you a liar."
Billy frowned and turned away. "1
The illustration for First Kill is by Jane
Conventry, a Grade 12 student at
Central Huron Secondary School
don't care what anybody says. I know
what's true."
There was a long silence broken only
by the sound of some creature scurrying
through the dry leaves - a chipmunk
probably, Billy thought, unconcerned
with making noise since hunters didn't
bother with chipmunk. Partridge were
different - wary, like the one that had
fluttered sideways out of his shot and
then disappeared into the silent autumn
colours, the only one he had seen all
morning. The woods were full of them but
with the day already half gone he had
begun to fear that he would not have
another chance, that his first real trip
would end with an embarrassing lack of
evidence that the gun for which he had
begged for months had been anything but
a hollow gift. a joke. He wanted proof -
for his father whose reluctance and stuffy
words of caution had tainted the birthday
giving, for Tony whose flippancy was
galling, but most of all for himself for
some reason that was as vague as it was
overwhelming.
"Let's go, kid," Tony said. He draped
his arm over Billy's shoulder and the boy
stiffened. The man drew him along
without seeming to notice. "There's this
guy I knew once - you'd've liked him -
could get a bird with a 22 without even
seein' 'm. Just hear the rustle and get'm
right behind the ear - bazang!" He
nudged Billy behind the ear.
Billy twisted free of the man's
embrace. "Partridge don't have ears,"
he said and instantly regretted it.
"That so?" Tony said. wide-eyed.
"What a lot of baloney."
Tony laughed. "Well. there y'are.
Kids don't believe nothin' these days."
"I don't know anything about what
kids believe."
"Ah, shucks!" Tony snapped his
fingers. "There I go forgettin' again. He
lowered his head in mock shame and
rediscovered his leg. "Hey. About this
little accident. 1 don't suppose we have to
get tellin' your old man. What he don't
know won't hurt'm. What say?"
"Sure. If you want."
"It's not if I want it, boy. You think it
matters to me if your old man knows? I'd
as soon tell'm for the laugh. It's if you
want it."
Until that moment Billy had just
assumed that his father would be told. It
hadn't occurred to him that he might be
given a choice hut, now that he had, he
felt cornered and miserable. He wanted
to reject the offer, coolly, and accept the
consequences.
"Well? What d' ya say?"
Billy looked down at the path. "Sure.
Alright." he whispered.
"Okay. It's a deal. Now, what say we
get on back to the car. I could eat a
horse."
Tony led the way. Billy trudged along
behind, dejected and paying little at-
tention to the man's cheerful stream of
tall tales on the theme of the hard -
drinking, hard -fighting, musky hunting
male.
When they emerged from the bush into
the clearing at the end of the dirt road,
his father and Rene' had already returned
and were lounging against the car
drinking beer.
"What's the good word, Harry?" Tony
asked. "Got y'r quota?"
"Not me. Raynee got two. I missed
two. I couldn't hit a barn door with a
bulldozer."
Embarrassed, Billy sat on a rock
outcropping apart from the men and
fiddled with his gun, his eyes fixed
resolutely on the weapon.
"Y'r lad got himself one," Tony said.
"But he tells me he was too close and
blew the critter into the middle
o' November. 'n't that right, kid?"
Billy had taken if for granted that this
had been part of their bargain but now
Tony was playing dumb and calling upon
him to spread the lie a little further.
Confused and angry, Billy looked up at
the men.
"Sure," Billy said. "When I looked
there was bugger all left of him." He saw
that his father was not smiling.
Tony slapped his thigh and laughed.
"Y'r kid don't mess around, Harry!
When he kills 'em, pappy, he kills 'm."
"You can't eat them if you can't see
them," Rene said solemnly.
This kicked off another round of
grating laughter from Tony. "C'mon,
Raynee, y'old frog. Give us one of them
beers ya been hidin' for yerself."
The two men went to the shaded side of
Tony's battered Chev and Harry
sauntered over to Billy and crouched
down beside him.
"You okay?" his father asked.
"Sure. Why?"
"1 don't know. You seemed - Look,
Bill, when a fella kills something for the
first time - well, it's not always."
"I know," Billy said irritably. "I'm
okay." Billy felt he had been cheated. His
misery could not be spoken and he had
proven nothing. He prayed that the
afternoon would bring him a second
chance.
His father eased himself to the ground
beside Billy who pretended to be
absorbed with his shotgun. "I'm not
much for hunting myself. But I like to get
out a bit in the fall. You know. Anyway, 1
don't much care for partridge - a bit too
gamey for my taste."
Billy glanced up to see if Tony and
VILLAGE SQUIRE/NOVEMBER 1980 PG. 13