Alyce Miller
                     

Niccolo went to work on his pumpkin with a vengeance.  A tablespoon of seeds and stringy orange guts found their way onto Hooper's pants leg.  "Sorry," said Niccolo.  "This is so messy." He leaned over and scraped them off, but now there was now an oily stain on Hooper's leg.  Niccolo continued to scoop with gusto.

Anita sauntered among the pumpkin carvers kneeling on the floor hunched over their pumpkins.  She wore that trademark look of keen interest, characteristic of grade school teachers encouraging small children in bad art projects.

"What a great smile!" she remarked to one man, whose pumpkin was developing an uneasy leer.  The man beamed and began to explain the idea for the smile, but Anita had moved on, adjusting her rabbit ears.

The room buzzed with voices.  Something ridiculous, Hooper thought suddenly thought, about a room full of lonely grown men in sports coats and ties carving pumpkins.

Anita's shoes appeared right under Hooper's nose. He looked up.

"So you two got stuck over here," she said amiably.  She squatted down to monitor the progress, resting on her heels.

"Your pumpkin's face is a little crooked," she commented amiably to Niccolo. "He could use a tooth right there."

She scraped her fingernail against the pumpkin's crooked grin. Niccolo looked up in a fever, strands of orange pumpkin clinging to his nose and cheeks.

"Here," said Anita, and handed him a napkin. "You've got goop on your face."

She turned to Hooper.  "Where on earth did you get that huge pumpkin?  I've never seen anything so big."

Someone nearby guffawed.  Bud began to whoop with laughter. Hooper pretended not to hear.

"So you work on personal injury cases?" asked Anita. She was speaking so loudly that Hooper imagined the whole room of ears were attuned to his reply.

"Yes, been at it about thirteen years now."

"That must be interesting work," said Anita.  "My sister recently tripped over a Mr. Potato Head in her girl-friend's driveway and broke her hip. She's suing."

"Here in California?"

"No, Idaho.  That's where my family's from.  I'm the only renegade."

"How long have you been here?"  Hooper imagined fields of potatoes (or Potato Heads), or was that Iowa?  Those "I" states always confused him.  Indiana, Iowa, Idaho.  They all ran together. Beside him, Niccolo was sweating profusely and stabbing at his pumpkin.

Anita rocked back on her heels, calculating. "Oh, about ten years.  I took a break for a year and lived in China."

"In China!" said Hooper. "That must have been interesting. What were you doing in China?"  He modulated his voice into sincerity so it wouldn't appear he was making small talk.  Anita was not all that pretty, he'd decided.  And certainly the rabbit ears weren't helping.

"Yes, I'm a registered nurse and I was working in a small village teaching people about nutrition and AIDS and general health care."

"That must have been fascinating," said Hooper.  "I've always wanted to go to China."

"Yes," sighed Anita, "that's what everyone says," and she stood up.  Hooper started to say he meant it, that he'd been in Asia several times himself for conferences and once for vacation in Thailand, but Anita's attention was now on Bud's pumpkin.  "Now that," she remarked to no one in particular, "is a weird pumpkin."

She walked to the other side of the room and joined the biker and a stuffy-looking dark-skinned black fellow with a too-small pullover sweater straining against his potbelly. He heard Anita ask, "And what do you do?" and the potbellied man said, "Me?  I'm a retired history professor."

Hooper asked Niccolo, "So, did you meet Anita through a personals ad too?"

Niccolo, flushed, nodded.  "I think it's how everyone here knows her."

"She didn't invite any women," said Hooper.  "Don't you think that's a little weird?"

"No," said Niccolo, "but why should she?  She is trying to meet a man."

Hooper scanned the room.  He was definitely at the top of the pile; maybe the biker had him beat, but that was always the advantage of youth.

"Come over here, Anita," called Bud. "I need an expert medical opinion on whether my pumpkin's anatomically correct."

Anita snapped back, "If you don't know about anatomy by now, Bud, it's a little late."

This got a laugh from everyone.  Someone said, "Your pumpkin's not the only one who could use a little Viagra, Bud!"  More nervous laughter.

Bud was reveling in the attention, his face a bright mask of triumph.  He reminded Hooper of prisoners kept in solitary for weeks at a time, who were so desperate for physical contact and attention, they'd bait the guards just to get them to rush in and tackle them.

Hooper wanted out.  He finished gutting his pumpkin and quickly sketched on the face with a pencil.  He would leave as soon as he'd turned the thing into a semblance of a jack-o'-lantern.  What was Anita going to do with so many pumpkins? Light them all and stick them in her window and laugh at everyone for their folly?

Niccolo seemed to have given up on his pumpkin and sat looking down with disappointment at the mess he'd made.

Anita seemed to have given up too.  She sat on the edge of the sofa now, legs crossed, eyes roaming the room carelessly, with disinterest.  She had put some easy listening music on the CD player. A dozen men, thought Hooper, and none of us made the grade.

"Hey, Anita," called Bud.  "You got any booze here?"

"This is a dry party," she said. "I think when you're first meeting people you shouldn't be under the influence."

Someone joked, "Where are all the girls?" and uncomfortable laughter followed.  No one came right out and said what everyone was thinking.

"Well, now!" said Anita.  "You've all done a great job on the pumpkins.  Let's line them all up here in a row and put the candles in them and see what we have."

She began to clear space along the window ledge behind the sofa.  Hooper straightened up.

"Nice work," she complimented him.  "Very artistic."

"Thanks."   Hooper stood up and brushed off his knees.  "Thanks for having me, but I've got to get going. I had this previous appointment...." He was a horrible liar, and it was obvious he was lying, but he was past caring.

"Oh?" She gave a shrug.  "Too bad you have to leave so fast before I've judged all the pumpkins.  Thank you for coming." 

He started awkwardly in the direction of the door.

"Hooper!" He turned. Anita pointed to his pumpkin.  "Be sure and take it with you.  Grab a candle off the table on your way out. Enjoy your Halloween."

Hooper said a general good-night, shook hands with Bud and Niccolo, and hoisted up his enormous pumpkin onto his shoulder.  On his way out, he snagged a candle and a couple of stick matches, for no good reason he could think of. 

As he started down the carpeted steps, he heard the sounds of other leave-takings.  Men making excuses.  Everyone finding a reason to go.

Anita was thanking them all, urging them all to take their pumpkins. Hooper quickened his pace.

"Hooper!"

He turned around.  It was Niccolo, right on his heels.  He carried his half-finished pumpkin in an awkward embrace.

 "That was not a good time, was it? You want to get a beer?"

Hooper didn't, but it was easier to feel sorry for Niccolo than for himself.  At least he, Hooper, didn't sweat under stress.

"Sure, how about down on Clement Street. You want to follow me in your car?"

"I took a cab," said Niccolo.  "Where do you live?"

"Mission," said Niccolo.  "I come with you for one beer, then I catch cab home.  No problem."

"What the hell," Hooper said and, juggling his pumpkin in his arms, he unlocked the passenger door and made room for Niccolo and his lopsided pumpkin.

Go to part:  1,  2,  3,  4,  5

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Copyright 2002, Alyce Miller

nidus is an online publication supported by the Writing Program at the University of Pittsburgh's English Department.