Letting Loose the Hounds by Brady Udall

Author:Brady Udall
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 1997-08-01T16:00:00+00:00

The house we live in, a big ornate structure that was built by a polygamist family a century ago, sits back off the road in a stand of old aspens, just outside the city limits of Payson. It used to be the summer home of Frank Berger Jr., citrus kingpin of Arizona, who donated it to the city before he died. It sat around for a few years until the city came up with a good use for it: to house Payson’s “developmentally challenged”—one of those gracious terms for people who are healthy and fairly self-reliant, but don’t have all the faculties to make do entirely on their own. The idea was to take these people out of the state homes, or out of situations in which they were burdens on their families, and put them in a setting where they could be productive and more independent. All they needed was someone to supervise.

I saw the ad in the Payson Primer last June when I was up here trying to sell Kotex and condom machines to the bars and convenience stores. If there is a job worse than a traveling tampon and condom dispenser salesman, I would like to know about it. I went for an interview (one of only four applicants, I learned later) and began outlining anything in my background I thought might be relevant to the job: my three years in the Peace Corps, my Eagle rank in the Boy Scouts, my sociology degree; but the woman stopped me and said that no professional qualifications were required, that other than a clean criminal record, all I needed was patience, responsibility and love. I told them I’ve had those things my whole life and was just waiting for a chance to put them to good use. So eight months ago I traded the heat and bad water in Phoenix for the cool, piney air of Payson.

Right now we’re all in the kitchen, getting our feast ready. I have the whole downstairs to myself and the others have their own separate rooms upstairs. Iris is pressing cloves of garlic and I’ve got Hugh at work stuffing peppers. Tormey is over by the stove watching the water boil. I consider myself lucky that there are only three of them for the time being. The city council is actively recruiting other candidates; they want to be able to claim that the house and the small budget that goes with it are being put to good use.

“Never, ever again,” Tormey says to the water. He’s dressed in his dark blue suit and quilted pink booties. He’s seventy-four and his features are smoothed and blunted, worn down by the friction of passing years.

When I first started out, the state-appointed mental health specialist who drops by every other month or so advised me that, among other things, I should provide my charges with as much physical contact as possible. Though I didn’t feel entirely comfortable doing it, I tried giving everybody hugs for the first few days.

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