RALPH THE RATKILLER
© 1996, 1997 Leonard Smith

It is an afternoon in late August. The sun cooks the thick, sticky air -- air filled with pollen, buzzing flies and the crackling hiss of cicadas. A mat of duckweed lies across the water. Shore birds and ducks probe the water.

Ralph sits on a long, sloping bank watching his line and waiting. He digs his heels into the soft soil and pushes himself back up to where his slow slide downward had started. He often spends his days here just like he is now. Sometimes his cousin, Louey, is with him; sometimes, he is alone. Sometimes, he catches fish; most often he does not. It is not the catching that is important to Ralph. It is the sameness -- the recurring, unchanging things in life -- that Ralph feels most at home in. He is happy when each day is much like every other day. Ralph has a lot of time for fishing. He does not have steady work. He gets by on part-time, low-paying jobs and on the kindness of the people who give him the discards from their lives. People do not dislike Ralph, but they do not want to be like him. Ralph is retarded, but not so much so that he is unaware that he is different and not as quick as he might have been. He knows he wants something, but he's not sure what. He is quiet and friendly, silly with children and loving of animals.

He lives in an old house trailer that was too far gone to sell so the owner pulled it down to a field along the highway, parked it under an old, dying cottonwood and told Ralph it was his if he wanted it. Slowly, Ralph spent more and more time there till he felt at home and moved in. He has lived there for years now. The tires have lost their air and weeds grow up around the edges of his home. Inside, it is clean, and Ralph is proud to show you his home and have you stay, if you will.

Ralph drives an old 1966 Ford pickup with the tailgate gone and the side mirrors broken. He has painted it gray with porch paint leftover from a job he did in town. With great care, he lettered on the doors, "Ralph the Ratkiller," with some red paint that he had found in the dumpster behind the hardware store. The can had been damaged and started to leak. When Ralph found it, the leak had scabbed over. He took it home and placed in on a shelf along side other treasures he had found. He lettered his truck with a sponge, and the paint sagged and ran down the door as he slowly wrote out the letters that he copied from a note that his cousin had made for him.

Years ago, Ralph had attended school for as long as the law required. He often was not in class and, in boredom, wandered the school. One day, he found his way to the basement and the rats. He saw them as funny, furry little things and managed to corner one. When he tried to grab it, it bit him. In his hurt and confusion, Ralph killed it and as many others as he could before the noise brought the custodian. Ralph was sent home. For days, he was taunted with cries of "Ralph the Ratkiller" and, in his mind, this new attention felt good to him. He would smile and wave at his tormentors, not knowing they despised him and were terrified that they might have been like him, though they didn't really understand this. Now, years later, Ralph dimly remembered this short-lived fame. In his lonely heart, he yearned to be noticed again so he painted his truck with sloppy red letters and was once again, Ralph the Ratkiller.

He looked up at the sun and, in his way, knew it was time to go home and clean up. He had a date with Sandi. He rolled over, got to his feet, and shouted to Louey that he had to go. Louey just smiled and said, "See ya' Ralph, see ya' tomorrow." Ralph carried his poles into his house and went back out to his truck to clean the glass with a rag and some water from the faucet in the yard. He didn't want Sandi to look through the dirty windows. He put a blanket on the seat to cover the holes and stains. He cared for Sandi. He went back in the house and carefully bathed and dressed himself in the best shirt he had and his good pants. He kept them in a drawer by themselves so he wouldn't wear them by mistake. They were his good clothes.

It was dark when he got to town and pulled into the parking lot at the Two Pines Diner. You have to have lived here a long time to remember the two trees that grew here when the diner was new and for which it was named. They had long since died and not been replaced. The owner figured he could park cars there and make more money, and he did. Ralph pressed his face against the glass and peered in at Sandi who was working, cleaning tables with her back to him. He stared at her for a while and then drummed his fingers on the glass. She jumped, then smiled when she saw him. She motioned him in. Clumsily, he opened the door and went in. They all knew him and said hi, but went back to what they were doing, ignoring Ralph's reply to their casual greeting. Ralph sat quietly while Sandi finished her work. They left hand in hand, animated in their happiness.

Every Saturday night, they did the same thing -- went to the movies. It didn't matter what played. They barely followed the story. They were in awe of these figures that were so much bigger than life before them and lost in the world that they held for each other. They sat in the flickering twilight at the rear of the theater. Their arms touched on the rail between the seats. In his hand, Ralph held the coke. In her hand, Sandi held a box of Milk Duds. With their free hands they took from these shared treats as they wanted. Sometimes, they would touch each other in the dark as they reached together and would smile, not really knowing why they were so happy.

Sandi had lived in this town all her life and was three years younger than Ralph. By comparison, she was so much smarter than Ralph was, but she had struggled through school, graduating finally. She still lived with her parents in their little house behind the water tower. She was not a girl that most men think of as pretty, and she was never asked out. She didn't mind too much because life scared her. She liked to stay at home, play with her cat, and tend the flowers in the yard in summer.

Ralph met her one day and, after much hesitation, she would walk a bit down the road in front of her house with him. Finally, she got a job at the diner, and Ralph missed her. He looked for her until, one day, he saw her emptying trash outside the diner. He shouted her name and ran across the street. Most people would have been embarrassed by this, but not Sandi. She had been noticed by her old friend. Slowly and awkwardly, she asked him if he would go to the movie with her. He said he would, and they did. It had been two years now, and the habit had set. They were both happy and in love in the way that was normal for them. They did not understand love, but they each knew happy. Happy was with each other.

When you sit in this theater, you see about you other couples, daters who know the game and play it hard. There is wild passion and heated anger when hearts are crushed and promises of eternal love die from frequent disputes over imagined slights. You would not think that these two, the town's sad souls, knew of love and commitment, dispute and separation -- and, they don't. If you were to ask them about love, they could tell you nothing. If you asked about plans for the future, they have none; neither plans nor future. Yet, within their grasp, is the love the rest search for. They are open and honest. There are no games. They touch and feel happiness. They kiss and giggle at the feelings they do not understand.

He takes Sandi home, says goodnight to her, and she goes in. Ralph lingers outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sandi in the windows. Sandi quietly slips into the house and checks on her parents, seeing that they are in bed and asleep. She takes off her shoes and tiptoes into her room. She looks out the window and sees Ralph under the street light. She waves at him. He waves back. She turns off the light and slips into her bed, this comfortable bed she has had all her life.

Ralph drives home, goes into his little trailer, and sits on his bed for a while. Then, he undresses and turns off the light. By moonlight coming in the window, he finds his way to bed, this bed that has never held a woman -- only him alone. He lies there and thinks of Sandi. He cannot think of what to do with her. He knows he will see her again because he always does. He feels so good and doesn't really know why. He closes his eyes and turns to the wall. He drifts away, barely saying, "Good night, Sandi."

Tomorrow, he will go fishing again. Maybe someone will come by with an offer of a job -- some trash to haul or shed to paint. Most important to Ralph is that he is "Ralph the Ratkiller."

It says so on his truck.