around?”
“What you want?”
“Like to buy a few things.”
“What things?”
It was very still back there behind the curtain.
“All right,” I said. “I’d like a five-cell flashlight, first of all.”
He watched me, his eyes as mean as a kid’s can get, which is quite mean. Then he turned and shouted, “He wants a flashlight!”
“Shut up and get him one, then!”
He disappeared beneath the counter, came up with a long cardboard box and flopped it heavily on the counter.
I bought the flashlight, batteries, two cheap blankets, a kerosene lantern, a gallon of kerosene, two 100-watt light bulbs and a five-cent box of matches.
“That’s all.”
He vanished behind the curtain. I took out my wallet and looked at the money, seven hundred and thirty dollars, saved from all the jobs. Then he returned and told me the price. I paid him and he went back there again. He returned with the correct change, laid it on the counter.
“Thanks,” I said.
He kept staring at me. Then his lips tightened and his face began to pale.
“You bastard!” he said.
He turned and ran back behind the curtain. I heard a car pass swiftly on the road outside. I found an empty carton, packed the stuff, and went out to the coupé.
I sat there in the car, staring at the store, but seeing nothing. The lights went out and somebody slammed the front door and locked it. I could hear the engine in Willy Watts’ tow-truck creaking as the night chilled down.
The house you were born in can change with the carpentry of years. Mine had not. The trees had grown some and the grounds were a weary tangle of vines, tall weeds, saplings, and torn wire fence. The gate by the road was down. I drove the car into the drive, thrust it deeply into crackling piles of brush and got out the flashlight.
There was no moon yet.
I turned and looked off across the valley toward the hillside where the Gunther farm was. Dimly, lights showed far over there. Suddenly the trees and the flow of land became painfully familiar. The house itself up there, with Lois inside. Memory was like warm rain.
I moved toward the tree-shadowed house. It was two-storied, large, and no one had lived here for nearly seven years. My heels clacked on a single exposed flag in the grass-choked front walk, then I was in damp matted leaves and weeds again. The porch steps were intact, and I stood there and smelled the cold emptiness of the house and blinked the flash on the boarded front door, thinking, How crazy can you get?
Something came bounding and ramming around the side of the house, took the porch railing at a clawing leap and started to growl. It was a large hound.
There was a lot of brown and white and much ear and paw and tongue, and we made friends under the flashlight. Then I tore the boards off the front door and we went on inside for a quick inspection.
It was dusty and large and even with the old furniture—very empty. Yet it was familiar. This house had been one of the things that drew me back; it was steeped in memories.
We came into the kitchen. I was trying the old pump at the zinc sink when I heard the car turn into the drive.
The hound lolled his tongue, head cocked, panting.
Feet scraped on the front porch.
“Al?” a woman called.
I stopped in the archway leading to the living room. I recognized the voice immediately and I could not believe it, didn’t want to believe it.
“Al, come out here, for goodness’ sake!”
I stood there blinking the light on and off. The abrupt anger that was inside me now was so savage I couldn’t think beyond it.
High heels scattered through the vestibule, scuffed and turned, then came toward me into the living room, groping. I put the light in her eyes as she moved toward me and I wished it was white fire. She held one hand up to shield her eyes and began laughing, pointing at me with that one hand up to shield her eyes. Her laughter cascaded in wild echoes through the house and the hound ran panting to her
“What you want?”
“Like to buy a few things.”
“What things?”
It was very still back there behind the curtain.
“All right,” I said. “I’d like a five-cell flashlight, first of all.”
He watched me, his eyes as mean as a kid’s can get, which is quite mean. Then he turned and shouted, “He wants a flashlight!”
“Shut up and get him one, then!”
He disappeared beneath the counter, came up with a long cardboard box and flopped it heavily on the counter.
I bought the flashlight, batteries, two cheap blankets, a kerosene lantern, a gallon of kerosene, two 100-watt light bulbs and a five-cent box of matches.
“That’s all.”
He vanished behind the curtain. I took out my wallet and looked at the money, seven hundred and thirty dollars, saved from all the jobs. Then he returned and told me the price. I paid him and he went back there again. He returned with the correct change, laid it on the counter.
“Thanks,” I said.
He kept staring at me. Then his lips tightened and his face began to pale.
“You bastard!” he said.
He turned and ran back behind the curtain. I heard a car pass swiftly on the road outside. I found an empty carton, packed the stuff, and went out to the coupé.
I sat there in the car, staring at the store, but seeing nothing. The lights went out and somebody slammed the front door and locked it. I could hear the engine in Willy Watts’ tow-truck creaking as the night chilled down.
The house you were born in can change with the carpentry of years. Mine had not. The trees had grown some and the grounds were a weary tangle of vines, tall weeds, saplings, and torn wire fence. The gate by the road was down. I drove the car into the drive, thrust it deeply into crackling piles of brush and got out the flashlight.
There was no moon yet.
I turned and looked off across the valley toward the hillside where the Gunther farm was. Dimly, lights showed far over there. Suddenly the trees and the flow of land became painfully familiar. The house itself up there, with Lois inside. Memory was like warm rain.
I moved toward the tree-shadowed house. It was two-storied, large, and no one had lived here for nearly seven years. My heels clacked on a single exposed flag in the grass-choked front walk, then I was in damp matted leaves and weeds again. The porch steps were intact, and I stood there and smelled the cold emptiness of the house and blinked the flash on the boarded front door, thinking, How crazy can you get?
Something came bounding and ramming around the side of the house, took the porch railing at a clawing leap and started to growl. It was a large hound.
There was a lot of brown and white and much ear and paw and tongue, and we made friends under the flashlight. Then I tore the boards off the front door and we went on inside for a quick inspection.
It was dusty and large and even with the old furniture—very empty. Yet it was familiar. This house had been one of the things that drew me back; it was steeped in memories.
We came into the kitchen. I was trying the old pump at the zinc sink when I heard the car turn into the drive.
The hound lolled his tongue, head cocked, panting.
Feet scraped on the front porch.
“Al?” a woman called.
I stopped in the archway leading to the living room. I recognized the voice immediately and I could not believe it, didn’t want to believe it.
“Al, come out here, for goodness’ sake!”
I stood there blinking the light on and off. The abrupt anger that was inside me now was so savage I couldn’t think beyond it.
High heels scattered through the vestibule, scuffed and turned, then came toward me into the living room, groping. I put the light in her eyes as she moved toward me and I wished it was white fire. She held one hand up to shield her eyes and began laughing, pointing at me with that one hand up to shield her eyes. Her laughter cascaded in wild echoes through the house and the hound ran panting to her
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