The Anthill
Bryan L. Lee
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Bryan L. Lee
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Harold Lutz squinted in concentration over his glasses as he added a ribbon to the dark curls of the busty maiden on the front of the ship. He pursed his lips for a moment, grunted in satisfaction, then set down the tiny paintbrush and reached for the jar of varnish. It wasn’t until she walked into the basement that Harold realized Alice was shouting at him.
“Are you down here again?” she asked, even though the answer was obvious.
“Harold, I asked you to mow the lawn today. Violet and Margaret are picking me up for bridge tonight, and I won’t have our yard looking like something out of the Wild Kingdom. Honestly, I don’t know why I even bother asking you.”
She paused to inhale, but before she could start again Harold stood up, apologized meekly, and shuffled past his wife and up the stairs.
“And don’t forget to use the rake,” she called out behind him.
The lawnmower jostled for space in the tool shed with Alice’s potting soil, two cans of yellow house paint, assorted garden hoses, and a rusty bicycle. Harold wiggled it away from the bicycle and rolled it around the side of the house and through the weathered gate into the front yard. He adjusted his glasses, then leaned over and gave a sharp tug on the pull cord. Three more times, and the engine sputtered and coughed itself into life.
The drone of the engine made it easy to lose himself in his thoughts. He could almost enjoy it, if it didn’t take so much time away from the Santa Maria. Now he’d have to re-do the varnish on the poop deck, since he couldn’t put the second coat on in time. Then there was the question of the rigging. He finished his final turn with the mower and pushed it over to the gate and cut the engine. Alice was yelling something from the porch.
“Harold, I said don’t forget to sweep the sidewalk.” She paused and took a drink from her iced tea. “You always forget to sweep the sidewalk. It’s part of the yard too, you know.” She turned and let the screen door slam behind her.
Harold muttered “yes, dear,” and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. Then he straightened his glasses and walked back to the shed to get the broom and the rake.
By the time he finished up, Violet and Margaret were just pulling into the driveway. Alice called out over her shoulder that she’d be home late, and Harold waved as the three of them drove off. He wondered if Alice had left any of that iced tea. Turning back to his pile of grass clippings, he loaded them into the trash can and lugged the can back behind the shed.
He squinted in the afternoon glare as he dragged the can back into place and pushed it up against the wall with his foot. Alice didn’t like the trash cans to block the walkway between the shed and her rhododendrons. He grabbed the other can and moved it a little to one side. Satisfied, he brushed off his hands. He turned to go back inside and noticed the ants.
Must have disturbed them, he thought. The ground around the can was a scurrying mass of alarmed activity. He squatted down and peered over the tops of his glasses. They were just regular black ants, the kind boys feed grasshoppers to, or zap with their magnifying glasses. He grinned and rocked the trash can back and forth a few times. The ants scurried back and forth, sending out their silent alarm.
“Earthquake!” he said, and chuckled.