Resurrecting Ravana by Ray Garton Page B

coffee on his lap from the mug that was halfway to his mouth. He sat forward, put the cup back on the bannister, and cursed quietly as he brushed at the coffee on his pants. The sound continued: an obnoxious growl so loud and deep, Delbert could feel it in the porch beneath his feet when he stood. He went down the steps to the front walk and turned toward his friend’s house.
    Tom was on the riding lawnmower his son had given him last Christmas. It was small and compact, but sounded like a monster truck rally, as far as Delbert was concerned. Besides that, it was completely unnecessary, because Tom’s yard wasn’t big enough to need a riding lawnmower.
    Although Tom’s back was to him at the moment, Delbert shouted at him, told him it was too early in the morning for all that racket, sprinkling his diatribe with a few choice curse words. His words were swallowed up by the lawnmower’s noise, but as Tom turned around and headed back in his direction, he saw Delbert’s mouth working, saw his fist shaking angrily. Tom yelled back, waving an arm at Delbert several times. Neither one could hear the other, but each made his point.
    Delbert went back up on the porch as Madge pushed the screen door open and leaned out from inside the house. She wore a green-and-yellow flower-print dress and a white apron hung from around her neck; she tied it in back as she spoke.
    “Did I hear you yelling something out here, Del?” she asked.
    “Oh, it’s that damned riding mower of Tom’s,” he muttered as he grabbed the coffee mug from the bannister. “Acts like he’s tilling a field over there. Hell, we’ve got a bigger lawn than he does.” He started back down the porch steps.
    “What’s wrong with you two?” Madge asked. “Are you having some kind of stupid fight?”
    “Never mind,” he called over his shoulder. “Go back inside.”
    “For goodness’ sake, Del,” she said, louder, “you’ve been friends for forty years!”
    “Just go do the dishes!” he snapped.
    Delbert went down the walkway a few steps, then onto the lawn, over to the fence that separated his lawn from Tom’s. He started shouting again as he emptied the coffee mug onto the grass. Tom saw him and yelled back, gesturing obscenely. That stiff middle finger stabbing up in the air, knobby with arthritis, angered Delbert even more. He hefted the heavy ceramic mug in his hand a few times, then drew his arm back and threw it as hard as he could, aiming carefully. His throwing arm wasn’t as sturdy or strong as it used to be, but his accuracy was still pretty good.
    The mug hit the front of the mower and shattered. The thick, heavy pieces scattered in all directions, and some of them hit Tom, at least one right in the face. He jerked backward and swung his arms up to cover his face. He fell off the mower and hit the grass hard.
    Something far in the back of Delbert’s mind told him to go over the fence and check on his friend, see if he was hurt. But it was gone in a flash, like a flying insect suddenly zapped by a blue-glowing bug light. Instead, Delbert smiled and nodded once with satisfaction as he watched Tom get slowly to his feet.
    The riding mower idled as Tom went to the front to check for damage. He turned and glared at Delbert, upper lip pulled back over his dentures. He got back on the mower and drove it forward, still glaring at his neighbor. The mower changed course slightly so it was headed directly for Delbert.
    Delbert tilted his head back and laughed as he pointed a finger at Tom.
    “Oh, yeah, come and get me with your big mower!” Delbert shouted before laughing some more.
    Without hesitation, Tom drove the mower over the flowers, then through the white picket fence. The fence was there for looks only, wasn’t very sturdy, and went down immediately, crunching and crackling as it splintered beneath the mower’s wheels.
    Delbert stopped laughing. He didn’t think Tom would do it. But he was still coming straight for