A SMALL NOTEBOOK
Uncle Jesse's eyes followed her niece as she stormed inside the living room, walking to the couch and sinking into it, her arms folded and a strange look on her face as she bit her lower lip. Uncle Jesse knew that look: Daisy was lost into a painful thought but at the same time she felt angry because of her impotence, the same look she had the day he told her about aunt Lavinia's illness.
The wide man had a deep sigh and sat on his armchair, "So, what? Did Enos start again to talk about resignation? Or… what else? Did he find out about your recent interest for The Los Angeles Time and he got angry?"
When he named "The Los Angeles Time" Daisy stiffened, and uncle Jesse thought he got it: Enos found out Daisy's plan and he was now disappointed, and it wasn't surprising, "Don't worry, Enos is going to understand you was just worried for him and…"
"He didn't find out how we knew it, but he knows we know, anyway, thanks Catherine Burns."
As Bo sat on the couch by Daisy's side, uncle Jesse opened his eyes wide, surprised by his words, "Catherine Burns? Who's Catherine Burns?"
"A journalist from the Los Angeles Time, coming here from L.A. in order to interview Enos."
Uncle Jesse turned to Luke's voice, looking at his nephew who rested against the fireplace, his arms folded.
"Please, do you want to explain me what's happening?" uncle Jesse's eyes moved from Luke to Bo and finally to Daisy, the only one still silent.
"Sorry uncle Jesse," Luke shook his head, "well, while we're goin' to the town we met this journalist and we gave her a lift. She told us she works for The Los Angeles Time and she was planning to interview Enos."
"I understand the idea of interview him: Having one police officer testifying against others in support of a defendant is a rare phenomenon in the courtrooms of Los Angeles, a break with the L.A. Police Department's notorious code of silence, the so-called blue wall of silence. It's more or less what we read in the newspaper, isn't it? It isn't surprising a journalist wants to interview the cop breaking the Blue Wall of Silence; I don't know why now and not when it happened, in April, but probably L.A.P.D. forbade Enos to talk with journalists, and, then…" a brief pause, "… then he got severely injured so he couldn't answer journalists' questions, but journalists are really stubborn, especially when they smell a possible scoop," he shook his head, caressing his white beard, "and I suppose Enos isn't glad to meet someone remembering him his time in L.A., especially remembering him THAT thing. So, Enos found out you know what happened in L.A. 'cause he met that journalist and he understood she told you everything. Well, at least Enos knows there's no need to hide things any more, a good thing for him, and for us, so we can stop pretending we don't know anything."
"Not so simple, uncle Jesse. There's something more. Unfortunately."
Uncle Jesse stared at Bo, "What else? Isn't it enough?"
By Bo's side, Daisy bit her lower lip even more, and uncle Jesse caught it.
Again, Luke acted as spokesman of Daisy and Bo, "That journalist told us something more about what happened, something unofficial. Just an idea of that journalist, but she seems pretty sure of her idea, and… we too, after looking at Enos' reaction to her words about some news on police investigation," Luke unfolded his arms and scratched his head in frustration, "it seems Enos was beaten not by protesters but by other cops, because of a sort of retaliation due to his deposition. I think Enos doesn't know that journalist told us this … little… unofficial addition, anyway, so he still thinks we believe protesters beat him up."
"WHAT? It is…" uncle Jesse didn't find the right words to express what's going on into his mind, the same rage, disbelief and sadness his nephews and niece faced just few hours ago, his shocked state broken by Daisy slamming her bedroom's door.
Wrapped in her bathrobe after a long hot bath, finally lying on the bed of her room in Hazzard's Hotel, Catherine read her notes on her small notebook, trying to recollect everything about that day.
She was pretty sure Enos Strate was victim of a terrific retaliation inside L.A.P.D.; she read it into his gestures and his unsaid words. How convince him to talk?
Soon after her arrival to the Hotel, excited by her brief (but meaningful) talk with that cop, and inebriated by the exciting smell of that scoop, she forgot her desire for a hot bath (desire following her since that bus stop) and she spent some time to talk with the receptionist, a young and talkative woman who seemed even too much happy to chat with a journalist from a big city, maybe driven by that sort of admiration mixed with sense of inferiority some people of small towns felt for people from big cities, or maybe Lucy May (it was the name of the receptionist) was simply an extrovert and happy woman who liked to talk to anybody. Beside, Catherine told Lucy May she was there to interview Enos Strate simply because he was injured during a police dangerous operation in L.A. and she, as a journalist of The Los Angeles Time, she'd have liked to interview Enos the same way, along her career, she interviewed many other cops who served the community, risking their life, but, before to interview him, she was going to know a bit more of him from his folks.
Catherine recollected Lucy May's words about "poor Enos, we all supposed something bad happened to him in L.A. 'cause, you see, Mrs. Burns, he's slimmer and he visited Doc Appleby several times, so, yeah, we all were wondering what happened, and I'm not surprised now to know he was injured. Enos is the only honest cop here, and we all trust him, if something happens here in Hazzard and if we need the Law, well, we ask for him, for sure not for Mr. Hogg or Sheriff Rosco P. Coltrane. OPS, sorry, delete my last line, please."
Catherine underlined that last line, especially that "only honest cop", underlining it many times, and noting Mr. Hogg and Sheriff Rosco P. Coltrane's names in order to ask more information about them. If Hazzard's Law had been so corrupted as Lucy May let her realize, Enos Strate's honesty would have stood out even more: the cop fighting corruption. The journalist smiled thinking of this definition, so journalistic.
Skimming through her notes, Catherine underlined words here and there, adding more notes.
Family: Enos Strate's father was a moonshiner! A cop, an honest cop, the cop fighting corruption: the son of a moonshiner. When and why did he cross the line dividing his family from the Law? His father died when he was a child and after his father's death he lived with his mother 'till he went to the Police Academy, and, after his coming back to Hazzard as Deputy, he lived in a Boarding House, his mother away from Hazzard, living sometime in Capital City (where she had some relatives), sometime everywhere else in U.S. (with her various flings) or sometime visiting his son at the Boarding House (a son she probably thought not needing her any more).
"Mrs. Strate is a weird woman, not bad but strange. She's always been weird, a woman from Capital City meeting and marrying in a couple of days a moonshiner and deciding to live in our small County. She loved for sure Thomas Strate, and she loves Enos, but… it seems she doesn't like very much to live in this small and dusty hole… her words… and it isn't surprising, since she was born and she spent her childhood in a big city. Enos from time to time visits her and his relatives, in Capitol City, and Mrs. Strate from time to time comes here and stays at the Boarding House with Enos (and sometime Mrs. Strate's sister too, Minnie) but… I wouldn't be surprised to know she didn't know anything about her son's injuries in L.A." Catherine underlined Lucy May's words about Enos Strate's family.
Love and friends: Bo and Luke Duke were on probation! Their uncle Jesse Duke (and his brothers) ran moonshine along with Thomas Strate, so, it meant that Daisy Duke, Enos Strate's fiancée, was the niece (and daughter) of moonshiners. How did Enos Strate can couple his duty with his strange family and friends?
"Dukes are Enos' best friends. They're sort of a putative family for him. He has a crush on Daisy Duke since the third grade and everybody knows it, whereas Daisy… well… she's famous for her various flings, though in the last couple of years she seems more quiet and, if I don't get wrong, she didn't date anybody else beside Enos. And, after their nearly wedding, people think they're finally engaged. Finally!" Nearly wedding: Catherine read again, sniggering, her notes (Lucy May's version) about that strange wedding, based on false charges, robbers, and… hives; for sure people of that small town talked a lot, and they were still talking, about what happened behind the scenes of that sudden and surprising wedding. Strange town.
Reading her notes Catherine smiled amused, anticipating the pleasure to interview various people in Hazzard County, developing those juicy anticipations and so developing Enos Strate's character. She felt as she was going to write a romance and not a simple article.
Entering his apartment at the Boarding House late in the evening (or, it was better to say, early in the night), Enos wondered if Catherine Burns was still in town or if, understanding he wasn't going to answer her questions, she decided to go back to Los Angeles, and he hoped for the second hypothesis.
11 P.M.
Glancing at the clock he put his hat off, he took off his belt, he untied his tie and he rolled his shirt's sleeves up to his elbows.
He had no time, nor willing, to have dinner, and now, opening the fridge, he stared at the emptiness inside it: lately he wasn't taking care of his apartment as he usually did, and Daisy noticed it too, to the point she tidied up; he remembered Daisy in that small room with a mix of embarrassment and funny.
Hot milk. It could work. The previous night it worked.
Pouring the milk in the little pot and putting it on the little stove he waited it boiled, observing the white liquid's surface rippling and inhaling its scent.
"Sugar or honey in the milk?"
He opened the cupboard, he took the honey's can and, glancing at the salt's can he smiled, telling himself to put the salt's can somewhere else but not so near to sugar: it'd have been wiser.
He poured the hot milk in a cup, he filled a spoon with honey and it mixed that dense and yellow liquid to the milk, stirring it until the milk took on a soft yellowish shade. In the little room there was only the sound of the spoon touching the cup as he stirred the milk: the deep silence of the night and his loneliness amplified that sound.
He usually liked those little moments of loneliness and relax at the Boarding House after a day spent doing his job: he liked having dinner in that silence, or listening to music from the radio, and he liked to read comics or some book before to go to sleep. Loneliness wasn't so bad for him, especially 'cause he spent the whole day patrolling Hazzard's streets, talking with folks and friends, so, in effect, he didn't feel lonely: being lonely and being alone were totally different things. He liked looking for moments of loneliness: he liked spend the evening at the Boarding House, just silence or music he liked surrounding him, and he liked to go fishing, just the sound of the water around him. He LIKED it, simple past, 'cause actually he felt empty, nothing pleasing him; he felt like something inside him was definitively dead (was it dead or was it simply in a sort of coma, waiting for waking up again?), and it was the thing that scared him the most.
He wasn't even able to hate who pushed him to that hell, 'cause they were colleagues, and so like brothers to him. He wondered if protesters had beat him he would've been able to hate them, or he was simply unable to hate the same way he was unable to lie (nearly unable to lie), he was able just to feel disappointed and sad.
He sat down at the table and he slowly sipped the hot and sweet milk.
It didn't work: probably Daisy, and not the hot milk, worked the previous night.
He put the empty cup into the sink and he walked to the bathroom. He had a hot shower, he wiped himself and, totally naked, he crawled under the blankets.
When, at 4 A.M., the dream of Daisy's hand on his forearm turned into a real and pulsing pain, he grabbed the Vicodin's bottle waiting for him on his night table, and he swallowed a couple of pills, just to be sure IT worked.