A New Life Read Free

said with a sigh.
    “Pauline’s been talking for years about visiting New York City.”
    “Yes?”
    “I wouldn’t want to stay too long. I don’t take to cities well, I get jumpy after a while.”
    “I know what you mean.”
    “You seem pretty glad to leave?”
    “I lived there all my life.”
    “I should say. Eight million people, that’s seven more than we have in the whole state of Cascadia.”
    “Imagine,” muttered Levin.
    “We’re growing, though, about three thousand a year.”
    Pauline set glasses on the table, then came out of the kitchen, carrying a casserole.
    “Tuna fish and mashed potatoes,” she said apologetically. “I hope you like it.”
    “Perfect,” Levin said. He was abruptly very hungry. They sat down at the round table, for which he felt a surprising immediate affection. Pauline had forgotten the salad bowl and
went in to get it. When she returned she served the casserole, standing. A child called from the kitchen. Distracted, she missed Levin’s plate and dropped a hot gob of tuna fish and potato into his lap.
    He rose with a cry.
    “I’m so dreadfully sorry.” She hastily wiped at his pants with a cloth but Levin grabbed it from her and did it himself. The operation left a large wet stain.
    “I’d better change,” he said, shaken. “My other suit is in my bag.”
    “I’ll get it,” Gilley said, his face flushed. “It’s still in the trunk.”
    “Everything will get stone cold,” Pauline said. “Gerald, why don’t you lend Mr. Levin a pair of your slacks? That’ll be quicker.”
    “I’d rather get my own,” Levin said.
    “Let him do what he wants,” Gilley told his wife.
    “There’s no need for him to be uncomfortable till we get his suitcase in. Your gray slacks will go nicely with his jacket. They’re hanging in your closet.”
    “Please—” Levin was perspiring.
    “Maybe she’s right,” Gilley said. “It’d be quicker.”
    “I’ll change in a minute once I have my suitcase.”
    “Gerald’s pants will be less trouble.”
    “They won’t fit. He’s taller than I am.”
    “Roll up the cuffs. By the time you’re ready to leave I’ll have your trousers spot-cleaned and ironed. It was my fault and I’d feel much better if you both please let me work it out my own way.”
    Gilley shrugged and Levin gave up. He changed into Gerald’s slacks in the bathroom.
    While he was there Pauline tapped on the door.
    “I forgot about your shorts, they must be damp. I have a clean pair of Gerald’s here.”
    He groaned to himself, then said quietly, “I don’t want them.”

    “Are you sure?”
    “Positive.”
    Before leaving the bathroom Levin soaped his hands and face, dried them vigorously and combed his damp whiskers. When he came out he felt momentarily foolish in Gilley’s baggy pants but the food, kept hot, was delicious, and he ate heartily.
     
    My first night in the Northwest, Levin mused, sitting in an armchair after dinner. Who could guess I would ever in my life come so far out? He began to think about the past and had to press himself not to.
    Gilley looks restless, he thought. I’d better give him back his pants and find some place to sleep.
    “Stay a while,” Pauline murmured. She was arranging red roses in a Chinese vase on the table.
    “Yep,” Gilley said. He was scanning the Sunday paper, one long leg resting on a hassock.
    I could be wrong, Levin thought.
    Pauline shut a window and rubbed her goose-fleshed arms. “Gerald, would you build a fire?”
    “It feels like fall,” she said to Levin.
    Gilley, grunting, got up. He stuffed several balls of newspaper under the grate of the fireplace, crisscrossed kindling, and topped the pile with two wood chunks with thick mossy bark.
    “Burns most of the evening that way,” he said to Levin. “The heat of each oak piece keeps the other going. That’s the secret of it.”
    He lit the paper and the blaze roared. The operation was interesting to Levin, even moving. He had rarely in